Mayday, mayday, mayday

by PoliteCoyote

Summary:

You barely make it, your threads tearing at the seams as you stumble onto the doorstep of your grandfather's old farm. The ruins of your old life, the rubble that remains, have been shoved into the bag at your feet. With no plans, with little hope, you have stumbled into Stardew Valley, a town far away from anything and everything. Here is where you plan to lick your wounds before moving on again, as you always do. But in a small town it is impossible to keep your life to yourself, especially when a blushing man and his overbearing friends have decided to do their bests to warm your cold hands and build something new from the stones you carry.

Notes:

Hi! This is my first fic and I'm very scared. Hope that you're a like minded broken soul who likes this type of stuff. English is not my first language, so my brain has likely used autokorrekt / autofill in some part, so just let me know if you catch any mistakes. Now, hope you have fun.

Chapter 1: The Ending

The rain drops hard and heavy against your bare shoulders. There is not a part of you that is not cold and shaking, but you welcome it as you stare up at the sign. Only three directions have been carved into the rotting wood:

Town Center

Bus stop

Firelight Farm

A testament to how far from everything you have gone. You hike the backpack a little further up on your shoulders, gritting your teeth against the scrapes now lining beneath the straps. You tell yourself to fight through it. You tell yourself that you’re almost there. You tell yourself that it’s almost over.

Yeah. You’ve been telling yourself a lot of things lately.

As you walk towards the farm, every step feels heavy and slow. You don’t dare look behind you, fearing, among other things, to see how short a distance you’ve actually walked. There are not a lot of things from your surroundings that jump at you in this state. There are a ton of plants, so many that you almost fall over a rock you had mistaken for tall grass. You knew that the farm had stood lonely for many years - your grandfather had barely been able to take care of it in the end - and that would show. What you had not been prepared for was how badly a farmhouse like this would suffer when being neglected to such a degree.

The stairs up to the veranda barely held under your soaked clothes, forcing you to step to the sides in hopes of not falling through and adding ‘broken neck’ to your list of shitty things that had happened recently. The handle on the door barely stayed on when you tried the key – the same could be said for the door, as you awkwardly manoeuvre around the leaning wood.

You shut the door behind you, allowing the darkness to crawl out from where it had been hidden, waiting. You stumble around, relying on memories and echoes of laughter a forgotten part of you could still hear in the corners, until you eventually bump into the creaking wood of what has to be a bed. You lower yourself slowly, carefully, not trusting it to hold you. There is not part of you that cares about the state of the bed, the age of the sheets and the company it possibly holds as you drag the wet clothes from your body, draping them over the frame. You are just relieved to get everything off, to lie down.

You drag a sheet over your body and close your eyes.

The mercy ends when the dreams begin.

 

***

It’s the light hitting your face that wakes you. The lack of curtains allows the sharp morning sun to graze your eyeline. And the deep ache in your muscles prevent you from rolling over in time to stop your float towards consciousness, so you find yourself blinking your surroundings into focus much earlier than should be legal. Not that you’re exactly mourning your leave from dreamland.

No, you decide quickly. The cracked paint and clear water damage is the winner this morning.

You glance down at yourself, seeing the surprisingly well-kept blanket covering your otherwise nude body. With a deep breath and a prayer to whatever deity is still listening, you raise the blanket with a squeal.

You don’t know what you had expected shared your bed all night. Perhaps a family of roaches, worms, and their hybrid children– love is love, you don’t judge. Perhaps an unhoused person who had called dips on a vacant lot – a cuddle wouldn’t have been that bad of a thing to wake up to. You had not, however, expected a chicken. The beast flew out from under the covers, as if it had been released from a cage and finally saw its opportunity to escape the horrible naked monster holding it capture for the entire night.

You roll your eyes and drag your legs over the side of the bed. That bird can stay in the corner and continue to glare at you for all you care, right now you only have one mission. As if it had heard your thoughts, your stomach growls loud enough to startle the feathered freak still hugging the wall. You ignore it and with a quick feel at the make-shift clothing rack decide you will already have to use your second set of clothes. As you drag your bag over to you, you wonder what that second set will look like. It was not as if you had had time to coordinate accessories before you left.

Shaking the memories away, you unzip your bag and search for something, anything, to wear into town that wouldn’t get your arrested immediately. You find a short-sleeved loose-fitting shirt and a pair of sweatpants and gratefully get dressed, slowly. At certain red spots you cringe as the material drags over them, and you have to move the waistband of your sweats to not hit directly on your waist. A tear springs to your eye as you bend down to put on the wet shoes and gather necessities for a town visit.

You’re shaking by the time you lock the door behind you, and you have to sit down on the steps to catch your breath.

The grounds are as expected. The trees have taken up most of the fertile ground, the weeds filling in wherever they could, and it was clear that what used to be a path lined with stones had turned into a runway for frogs and bugs that travelled from the small pond not far down the property. You run your hands over your face.

Fuck, this place is gonna be hard to sell.

With a sigh you hoist yourself up and try again. Perhaps if you just get going a little, the muscles will warm up again and make it easier to get through the day. Then you just have to not stand still until you can safely collapse in the bed again for a week. How in the world you were going to carry a week’s worth of supplies back to the house was a problem for future you. Shoutouts to her, she really pulls through for you time and time again. Past you, however, is a true shithead.

It's no longer early when the town square finally comes into full view, and it’s…

Tiny.

From where you stand there is one small convenience store, a bar and a few streets that lead down to barely a handful of houses. You scoff in surprise and shuffle towards the shop. At least the elders, that, let’s be honest, are the only ones that still hover in towns like these, will have no way of knowing anything about you. A feeling of being watched does however descend on you the moment your feet touch the stone road that meets the end of your nature trail, and it gives you the extra energy to hustle into the shop before anyone of them find the courage to approach you.

The bells chime happily above you, and you’re faced with a couple of aisles of differing supplies to your sides, and a smiling blond man cleaning up behind the till. He raises his head, alerted by the damned bells, and fixes you with what quickly morphs into a curious expression. You dart to the side and start looking for sustenance, trying to ignore the eyes that follow you. The bells ring out one more, their noisemaking fast replaced by the lively conversation between two surprisingly not old voices.

“Nuh-uh!” A male voice protests.

“As I believe the youth say, ‘yuh-huh.’” Another male voice counters drily.

“But- I mean, how?”

From how devastated the more emotional of the sound, you thought they must have gotten groundbreaking news. Someone has died. The pig has escaped. The queen has been abducted.

“She kept grinding all night, used her entire allowance, but she broke your record fair and square dude. I saw it.” A muted clap of what you assume to be a pitying hand against a clothed shoulder sounds on the other side of your aisle.

You shift quietly as you grab some bread and items with a long shelf-life just in time to move with the boys, rounding the shelves and scanning the other products as they unaware take up your spot. The move is so quick that you can still smell them. The sea and smoke.

You continue your shopping like this, almost praising yourself for not getting caught up in anything. For a moment you dare to dream about making it back to the house without a single unnecessary interaction.

Perhaps you would have, had the shopkeeper not revealed himself to be your biggest enemy so early on.

“Well, hello there, little lady. First time in here? Well, I sure hope you found everything you needed.” His voice practically booms over the small shop, and you can feel the silence behind you as the boys curiously peak out from behind the shelves.

You hand over your bills. “Just this- and well, a bag too.”

In the same tone and completely ignoring how your shoulders are now up to your ears, the man continues. “Looks great, sweetheart. Are you just getting some quick road-trip shopping in? Where are you going this fine spring day? You know, I would just love to head on up to the desert one of these days, but believe it or not, there’s always so much to do down here.”

Without any help from you, this man has an entire conversation with himself, taking his time scanning and typing in every product until the boys eventually finish their shopping as well. They come up to stand right behind you.

Kill me now.

He eventually finishes bagging your items, handing over your change that you try not to look like you’re clinging to too desperately. “My name is Pierre, what’s yours?”

You heave the bag over the counter pathetically, ignoring how Pierre’s eyebrows draw into a frown as he watches you.

“Sweetheart is just fine.” And with that you turn and leave, only getting a quick glance at the two tall boys. One with big blond hair and an even bigger smile, and one with dark flat hair that partly covers his bored expression.

The bell chimes as you leave.

                                                                              ***

 

“Fucking, fuck shit.”

You drop your body, hanging on only by the wrench in your hands.

“C’mon you piece of mindless metal, work for me.”

When the anger gets you nowhere after hours of work, you admit that desperation begins to cloud your good judgement.

“Hey baby, yeah good girl. C’mon, move a little for me baby. I know you have it in you. Yeah, just like that.”

Surprisingly, dirty talk is what eventually gets the pipes sputtering out with the warm water. You cry in victory, limping around the room with the wrench half raised in your hands, taking your well-deserved victory lap. The chicken panics between your legs and you both almost get flattened in the process.

You’re about to take off your clothes and hop under the warm water, having by then gone days without, when a knock sounds at your door. You and the chicken look at each other.

“Fine, I’ll get it.”

Bracing yourself, you heave the door open. It was almost easier when the wood was wet and slippery than dry and hard. Nothing is as willing to move for you in this house as it had been the first night. Perhaps you would have to try dirty talking to the door a little later.

On your steps stood a head of flaming red hair and a big smile. She wore a yellow shirt and a working west, as well as good walking boots and work pants.

“Hi! I’m Robin, the local carpenter. Mayor Lewis sent me here to make sure you’re doing all right out here by yourself.”

They’ve found me. You knew you wouldn’t be able to hide out in the farmhouse forever. At some point they would by process of elimination figure out where you were staying and eventually someone would remember that Frank had a granddaughter. ‘Sweetheart’ could only save you for so long.

You sigh. “I’m-“

“Oh you look so much like your pictures! All grown up, of course, but still.”

Your pictures?

Before you have time to ask, a basket is thrust into your hands. It’s to the brim with assorted snacks and also some… seeds?

“We figured you would need a little helping hand getting started out here. Oh we’re just so excited someone is finally coming here to… spruce things up a bit.”

You both look around at the sad state of the property.

“It would take a while.” You mumble to yourself, too tired to realise what such a statement would start.

“Oh, we don’t expect miracles. If you need a job to get an income in the beginning, just talk to Lewis and he’ll set you up someplace nice.” Robin seems to think for a moment. “Actually, maybe talk to Emily first.”

You agree that it’s perhaps a little too micromanaging for the mayor of a town to be taking care of the job market too. But a job doesn’t sound half bad. It could get some money in your pocket, and you didn’t think that people so far out would be against paying in cash. Perhaps if you didn’t outright deny the plans to renovate, they would be more forthcoming with job offers.

Not that you would be completely lying. Even if you were staying only a month, the place would need some help to make it liveable. Perhaps you could get some of them to come up here and catch the chicken. You had tried opening the door for it, but it refused to get out.

“Carpenter you said?”

Robin smiles another megawatt smile and nods eagerly. “Sure did. I can help you get started on this place.”

Setting down the basket and leaning against the door frame, you strap in for a longer conversation about prices and plans.

Robin is very ambitious, you learn quickly. And creative. A lot of the carvings and designs she wants to do end up being thrown in as some kind of deal, revealing how eager she is to just be allowed to do them. Something over the door that of course must go, because honey, how are you living like that? And many other things.

Eventually you both agree on a plan. And though it hurts to pay, you had taken such a large sum with you for this reason. Making a quick get-away was never the point. Lay low and once the storm is gone, you can cruise the seas. But not when the windows are falling out and chickens are stealing your blankets.

As you’re saying your byes, you bend down to pick up the basket and inadvertently groan at the shooting pain.

“Hey, sweety, are you okay?”

You hold up a hand before she can get too close and impose further questioning on you. It only takes a few deep breaths before you stop seeing dark spots everywhere.

Yeah, you’re totally fine.

“I’m good. Just slept weird. Thanks for the gifts, I’ll come into town again a few days.”

Robin doesn’t look convinced. “We have a doctor here. He can take care of you without a lot of notice. It really wouldn’t be a problem.”

Wouldn’t it though?

“There is nothing wrong with me. Have a good day.” And you rudely close the door in her face, trying your best to appear swift when every part of you tears as you hurry inside.

You slide down the door, ignoring the splinters settling in your back as you just try to breathe through the pain. When you open your eyes, the chicken is perched on the bed and pecking at your clothes.

You close your eyes and let you head fall back on the door.

 

***

It takes you a couple of days before you brave the world again. You admit that you look more put together this time and after having rested for almost a week, you’re itching to get started on – well – anything. The energy is probably what makes the townspeople a little braver when approaching you.

You meet several of the mothers and a couple of small children that hid behind their skirts as they watched you with fear. Some of the adults would have done the same if they could get away with it.

They really aren’t used to new faces out here.

Even though you had woken up early, once again blinded by the morning sun, you didn’t arrive at the center before midday. The sign in front of a large brown building reassures you that you have come to the right place:

The Stardrop Salon

In clear, big letter, the sign takes over almost the entire front of the building. As the only pub in the area, it’s really only there for tourists and newcomers like yourself. You walk inside and the quiet music is a relief. At least they’re not blasting music from open ‘till closing. Though the quiet doesn’t stay with you. Soon something blue pops out from the side and you catch your flinch as the girl practically runs towards you.

“Farmer-girl! I wondered when you’d come to our little shop.” Her blue hair is styled short, and her clothes are colourful and unique. She fits the description.

“You must be Emily.” You try to nod but quickly you find that your hand is pulled from your body, and now you’re an unwilling participant in hyper handholding.

“I am! Robin told me you were looking for a job?”

You nod as you gently try to pry your fingers from her grip.

“Wow your hands are cold. Do you need a cup of coffee before we begin?”

Emily is already behind the counter again, working the machines while you’re flexing your fingers, feeling for broken bones. She turns to look at you expectantly.

“Um,” you hesitate. “Tea, please. Whatever you have.”

She beams. “Coming right up.”

You take a moment to look around the pub. The entire area by the entrance seems to be the serving area, with a couple of booths and tables by the walls, but mostly chairs by the long bar. To the left is a jukebox, working as the divider for the next part of the bar. From where you’re sitting, you can see a pool table and what looks like an old arcade game. There also seems to be a faints smell of spaghetti coming from somewhere.

“We can’t provide a lot of hours here.”

You look back at Emily as she places two cups of tea on the bar, before she moves around to join you on your side.

“That’s fine.” You just need enough to keep the water hot, food in the fridge and an ear to the town gossip. Make sure the stench of the city doesn’t reach them before you’ve had a chance to prepare.

Emily watches you as you take a sip, and it’s not until you give her a polite nod that she continues, seemingly satisfied with your reaction. “It’s mostly busy right around dinner on weekdays, and evenings on Fridays and Saturdays. Then it gets really rowdy.”

Hard to imagine, but you nod politely, nonetheless.

Emily really doesn’t ask a lot of questions, and the ones she does barely need you to do anything but tell the limited version of. The whole ordeal is all in all painless. You agree to one last conversation with Gus, but Emily promises to put in a good word for you.

“You know, Gus really hates disappointing people. That’s why he has me approving anyone first. So don’t be nervous, he just wants to show who’s the boss-man.” She giggles at what you presume must be an inside joke.

“Great. Thank you for meeting with me. I’ll come in tomorrow then.” You try to hide your flinch as you get down from the chair, but it’s evident. You should have picked the booth, where your body doesn’t have to stretch and scrunch to get in and out. At least not without support.

“You know.”

You brace yourself.

“We don’t have a female doctor, but Maru, the receptionist, she’s always ready to sit in. I know it makes some of women uncomfortable to go in and see Harvey the first couple of times.”

You lean against the bar, trying for casual. “I’m assuming Harvey is the doctor?”

“Oh! Right, yeah, Doctor Harvey Becker. Sorry. It must be so hard to follow along as an outsider.” She blushes. “I mean newcomer! And if you’re an outsider, you won’t be for long. People are already talking about you so much; you’ll be boring old news in no time.”

You cock an eyebrow at her, more than a little amused at hole she’s digging.

“No! Not boring. Or old! What are you – 25 probably? No age. You’re practically a child. Well, of course you’re a grown woman. Strong, sexy-“.

“Emily.”

She stops, panting as if she’s run a mile.

“I’m not offended.”

Her shoulders immediately fall as a long breath flows from her. “Good.” And her smile is natural again.

The bells chime and she shifts her attentions to the door, her smile growing even more. “Hi! I’ve got your order right here, doc.”

Does every store in town have bells? You really hope that becomes part of the background noise, like traffic in the big city. But it is practical to know that they do take-away. Perhaps it would make the trip in to work easier if you knew that you could haul money and food with you home. Perhaps some bread for the chicken – you had heard bread was bad for them. Perfect.

As Emily rounds the bar once more, you turn to look at who’s come in. The first thing you notice is disheveled, curly hair and thick rimmed glasses framing a strong face. Clearly an adult man. Something about the bone structure gets more evened out when they go into their thirties, if the smile lines didn’t give it away. He’s wearing business clothes, a tie, dress shirts and slacks. Huh, you hadn’t seen an office or anything like that on your walk in. Perhaps scoring a second job in his building could be an option if the whole farmer thing goes down the drain.

He wears an expression of surprise as he takes you in slowly. When he sees you noticing, a mild blush spreads over his cheeks.

Huh. Not unpleasant, you decide.

“Harvey, meet our latest settler. Sweety, this is Doctor Harvey. He can help you with your thing.”

Curse Emily.

Chapter 2: Pinocchio

Summary:

Who can resist these awesome people? I mean, you can try.

During your life you’ve picked up quite a lot of skills. You can play a song on the piano after having just listened to it once. By softly knocking and tapping, you can judge the ripeness of almost every type of melon out there, you even know how to cut a mango right. You have been a waitress, an office worker, an employer, a boss, and, for a very brief period of time, a phone-sex worker – but only for one specific celebrity. You can braid hair quickly, the feeling of the locks as they glide effortlessly through your fingers almost addicting, and something you’ve come to do if you’re particularly distressed.

In short, you’ve been a lot of things. One of those things is a liar. You didn’t exactly highlight it on your resume, and you stumbled upon the skill by accident. Sometimes you wonder if you’ve become so good at lying that you can fool even yourself. After all, reality is made up. Reality depends on who perceives it. And you can change that perception for a lot of people.

It doesn’t really take a lot. Sometimes you would think of a different question in your head and just answer that one, instead of the one they actually asked so you seem convincing. You would distract and flip the subject, manipulate and hurt, just to avoid speaking on anything that could get you stuck in a bear trap.

You prepared yourself to do exactly that when Emily immediately ratted you out to a doctor of all people. A person with access to records, if he really desired it. Dangerous.

“Is everything alright?” Doctor Harvey Becker’s voice is filled with concern as he looks you over, this time more clinically rather than curious. You shift your weight, pretending to watch for the things behind you on the bar, when really you just need a second to gather yourself.

You try a soft smile. “Thank you, sir, but I’m quite alright.”

He exchanges a look with Emily over your head. He’s still standing far enough away that you can relax your posture. Not that it’s hard, you realise slowly. His presence is not particularly disturbing – not like the other men you’ve encountered in the town so far. You look at him more curiously.

“Then why did Emily say you needed my help?”

Before Emily gets a chance to say anything, you jump in. Better to tell the story than having to explain someone else’s. “I slept weird my first night here and I’m feeling the consequences of it now. But don’t worry, I’ll stretch it right out in no time, Emily is just concerned.” You try for another smile. “It seems like people in this town really care about each other.”

Emily comes around the bar, putting a plastic container into a paper bag and handing it off to the doctor. Because Harvey hasn’t moved further in than just by the door, you haven’t really realised his size. That changes when his hands graze Emily’s as he takes the bag from her with a polite smile and a nod. He’s a big man. Not muscled like a bodybuilder, but broad shoulders and a tall frame. You switch your gaze from his hands and back to Emily’s face.

She has her hands on her hips. “We do, and now you are part of that, as you’re clearly staying, so you’ll have to be put in the system some time or other. Why not just do it now? Harvey’s not busy, right doc?” She looks at him for support.

Without thinking, your jaw clenches and you turn to face Harvey. Your mind is spinning with ways to verbally take on the two of them without having to leave the place immediately. Being put in the system is something you’ll fight against tooth and nail – you can’t have something new with your name pop up anywhere, and you were already taking a big risk by coming back to a place that has traces of your family. Not that many in your life knew about your grandfather, but still.

Harvey watches you for a moment before he seemingly casual turns to Emily, his voice light and unconcerned. “Now Emily, let’s not pressure our new neighbour. Not everyone is as eager for the complimentary mints as you.”

You relax enough for your smile to settle in a more grateful line, but Harvey avoids your eyes as he takes his leave, saying his byes over his shoulder.

You worry about it being awkward now that Emily didn’t get her way, but she’s surprisingly unbothered. She moves on, showing you around as if you’re starting in an hour and not a couple of days. It’s fairly easy to get around, and the storage room is right up against the bar area, meaning no one can sneak in an out with risk being seen by everyone in the bar.

You can do this.

It’s something you tell yourself all the way home, and again when you stand on the veranda, looking over the land that is now yours. You get caught up in it all, forgetting yourself as the dreams overtake you. You imagine cleaning out the overgrowth and planting a bunch of flowers and pumpkins. You imagine sitting on a blanket by the pond, under one of the apple trees you spot next to it. It’s slightly down, but with a little love and space it will probably flourish.

Who doesn’t?

 

***

 

Life moves slowly outside of the city. Your days pass with little excitement. You went into town once more to speak with Gus, a large man with a wonderfully round belly who smiles but rarely laughs. Emily told you that they have a pole going to see who can make Gus laugh.

“Not a chuckle though,” Emily stressed. “A real, barking laughter.”

“Has he never laughed before?”

“Oh, he laughs,” she says as she looks over her shoulder at him. “But last time anyone heard it was a year ago, when Elliot and Willy collided on the deck at the luau and took a tumble into the ocean. Elliot came out of the water with seaweed in his locks and Willy with his trousers down around his ankles.” She turns back to you, mischief shining in her eyes. “We started the pole six months ago.”

That same day you sat down with Gus and went over possible shifts. It really isn’t a lot, so it looks like you’ll have to spend some time in the gardens, just to make the time go by.

Being introduced to the people in the town doesn’t take long. There are a few people who you’ve only heard about – like a guy called Linus and another who they call ‘the Wizard’. And from what people have said, you’re guessing they’re a couple living out by the forest.

But eventually, people start to know you. Or at least get used to you, which is really what you’d prefer. They’ll stop mentioning your name at some point and with you working in the bar you’ll soon enough become part of the furniture.

“Farm-girl!” A voice calls from one of the tables.

Whipping around you hurry over, your notepad already out. “What can I get you, Willy?”

Willy is the local fisherman. His long grey beard is always surprisingly clean from whatever the waters spits at him when he’s out on his boat, and though he smells of fish and the sea, it’s never to an unpleasant degree. He’s also very careful around you, as is evident by how he goes still and suddenly doesn’t need his hands to talk when you’re around.

“Just another chowder, love. Thanks.” His gruff voice is gentled by his tone. As if he’s speaking to Jas.

You don’t really understand the whole situation about Jas. You think Shane, a regular at the pub, is her dad, but they both live with Marnie – Shane’s aunt. The thing about being a waitress is that you’re privy to a lot of secrets and details, but most people speak in hushed tones when it concerns that family’s situation. Every town has its secrets and you’re certainly not going to pry.

As you go to put the order in, your eyes catch on a green jacket slung over a chair with no occupant – not that you can’t guess who it belongs to. Harvey usually only comes in when it’s raining, and today it’s clear skies all around. Perhaps it’s because of the girl sitting in the chair opposite.

Speaking of the devil. Maru waves you over.

You try to shake the thoughts from your mind. It’s not that you care about… that. It’s purely because you’re observant that you even know how often he frequents the pub. You have to be aware of who comes and goes. You have no choice. Keeps your enemies close, right?

Maru’s face brightens on a warm smile, chasing away the nerves building as you neared the doctor’s table. Thank your luck that there are no police officers in town.

“A cup of coffee, black, and a Piña Colada for me.”

You nod as you write it down, a smirk already on your face. “Feeling wild today?”

Her back straightens and her chests puffs out. If not for the wide grin you’d thought you had offended her. “Absolutely. My dad is too preoccupied with mom, so we’re going all out tonight!”

It was true. Demetrious and Robin were dancing close, not noticing any of the shenanigans going on right behind them by the pool table. You haven’t really talked or been in the vicinity of Sebastian, Robin’s oldest, and Sam, his blond friend, since you saw them at the shop that first day. They’re also a couple of years younger and a few experiences short of being able to relate at all. There is little darkness around them. Struggles and fear, yes, but life hasn’t revealed its true nature to them yet. Disappointment being still just a long-distance relative, rarely coming to visit but over-staying its welcome when it’s there. Anxiety is just a mask for hope – hope of getting further in their careers, hopes of finding their true passion.

Your eyes fall to Abby. You watch her watch Sebastian.

Hopes of falling in love.

“I’ll be right back with those drinks.”

At least as fast as you could go. The ankle was still causing you to limp most days, especially if you had already been on it for a couple of hours. You glance at the clock. Only a couple of hours left, so if you’re lucky the pain will remain manageable. Unfortunately, your luck has never been known for lasting long. When you return with the drinks, so has the doctor. His hair is truly messy after a long day of work, his smile ready and his posture loose, as if he’s been drinking a little already. But he’s not so relaxed his gaze doesn’t immediately zone in on your uneven step.

“Okay, here you guys go. Have a good evening.” You feel his eyes on your back as you check on the rest of the tables. It’s difficult to ignore, and you find yourself getting distracted. Careless. More careless than you’ve been since you arrived those weeks ago. Eventually, you have to go back to the table though, and you start to slowly realise that it’s not just his focus that has you fumbling.

You drop the pencil as you go to take the order. It slips from your fingers so easily, it’s no wonder when you carelessly reach for it. Perhaps some reflexes that haven’t been squashed yet. Whatever it is that does it, you fold quickly and immediately your side protests. You gasp, a hand coming to cover the area. As if your small, breakable fingers could do anything to stave off the sharp pain going through you. Your knees buckle under you, and you fall to the ground.

The silence before the storm really is true. The shock is a wave that washes over everyone in the bar. All movements stop and the eyes on you are almost more painful than the twisting in your side. Feeling faint, you’re not sure where your hands are. Your feet feel like rubber beneath you, and you slide to the side as if you had been sitting on branches. A hand catches you before you truly topple over, your own apparently unable to do anything but clench against the fire spreading in you.

But are you surprised? It wasn’t getting better. The colour something you had willfully ignored, hoping it would go away. Now the very thing you had been trying to avoid would come true. You found little will to care in that moment. Your vision going blurry, you barely recognising someone dropping down beside you, their voice lost in the sea washing past your ears.

You smell coffee. You smell blood. Then you smell nothing.

***

The light is bright above you. Much brighter than any lamps on your house, especially now that Robin had begun renovations. Where are you? The walls are white, sterile white.

Hospital. Your breath comes in faster, and you try to sit up, but a sharp pain stops you. You gasp and fall back, but you’re not calming down. You are in a hospital. They’ll know. You have to get out of here. There is a whining somewhere, and it takes you a minute to realise that it’s you.

From your side a tall man comes into view. Your hands try to fly up, but it tucks at your side, so you squeeze your eyes shut and wait for it to be over.

Someone murmurs your name above you, soft but urgent. It doesn’t pierce the fog of panic at first. Not until you feel hands on either side of your face, long warm fingers framing your pain, brushing at your tears.

“-safe, you’re safe, you’re safe.” The voice doesn’t stop, the mantra spilling from him. You realise your other hand has been placed against his chest, feeling it expand and fall in slow measure movements. Your own breathing stutters, falters, as it instinctively joins his.

“Shh.” He comforts in your ear.

When you come to yourself, you take your hand back, wiping at your face with the good side.

God this is embarrassing.

The man pulls back, revealing the mustache resting on a gentle smile. It’s silent, neither of you really knowing what to say now that your panic is over.

“I really don’t like doctors.” You could kick yourself for the careless words.

Instead of being offended, he huffs out a laugh. “That’s alright, you’re far from alone with that opinion here.” He scratches at his neck.

More silence. “So um,” you begin, waiting for him to say something. He doesn’t. “What happened?”

Harvey’s expression becomes serious, and he sits further upright in his chair. He adjusts his glasses a little before opening his mouth. “You passed out. You have an infection, but luckily nothing happened that isn’t treatable.”

You nod. “Good, good.”

It’s silent again. You consider passing out again just so you don’t have to stay in this conversation.

“What?” The bark comes from you quite suddenly, but it seems you’re over feigning politeness.

It seems to shake him a little. “Sorry, I do that when I’m thinking.” And he does it immediately again.

“Doctor Becker.”

“Right. Why have you been running around with an open wound? With seemingly homemade stitches? With that level of infection, you’ve had to have ignored yellow puss for a while. It has barely healed!”

You don’t understand what people mean when they say Harvey’s not passionate. Watching him now, you don’t believe for a second that anyone could accuse him of being anything but passionate.

“I don’t like doctors.” You repeat.

The air leaves his nostrils so quickly you almost smile. But you don’t, because you can taste his frustration, have become sensitive its notes in every expression and word near you. You feel it so overwhelmingly now.

“I’m sorry.” The words leave you on a rushed breath. You don’t know what he hears, what he’s thinking. But when he opens his eyes they’re gentle again.

“Don’t be sorry, just take care of yourself and you won’t have to come back here again.” He pulls out a clipboard and clicks his pen. “I’m going to need your information to set you up in the system.”

You shake your heard. “I can’t.”

“What? Why?” He furrows his brows.

Fumbling with the sheet covering you, you take the opportunity to look away from him. But you’re tired and no words come. “I just can’t.”

You let him look at you, feel his gaze take in every detail of your expression and tone of your words. You try not to show that it bothers you.

“Alright.”

Your eyes snap to his, dark brown under the fluorescent lights. “Really?”

“If you promise to get that checked at least once a week until it’s completely healed.”

You narrow your gaze at him. Sneaky little…

“Do you need business that bad, doc?”

“Harvey.” He corrects with a blush. “And can you blame me?” You don’t notice your mirroring smiles until it falls from your face.

After a bit of arguing he helps you sit up. You agree to stay the night at the clinic, not that you have much choice. Every time you protest a health decision, Harvey waves the clipboard at you with the cheeky smile of someone who knows he has the winning hand.

“Sorry I interrupted your date night,” you say after taking a sip from the straw of the offered water.

“Hm?” Harvey murmurs a bit distracted. “Oh no- no, Maru is a good friend and colleague, but that’s as far as it goes for me.”

You grunt as you adjust. “Too young?”

He scoffs. “That’s one way of putting it. How old do you think I am?”

You tilt your head, pretending to really consider your answer. “49”.

You get your desire result. Harvey sputters and practically glitches as he argues your answer. “That’s not – how can you even- I’m not! I’m 35. Do I really look 49?” His expression is comical, mouth agape as the look of devastation and betrayal settles over him.

You have to bite your lip to not laugh. “Don’t worry.” His expression calms a little. “I would’ve guessed 30.” He looks away from you, but not before you see the red spread to his ears.

“Alright. Well, if you’re done making fun of me, I’ll let you sleep. If you need anything just ring the bell right there, otherwise I’ll wake you early tomorrow and help you get home.” He stands to leave.

“Doctor Becker?”

“Harvey.”

“Harvey.” You correct.

He looks back at you.

“Was it close?”

By the way his eyes flutter and look down, you know he understands what you mean.

“Next time, know that you can trust us here.” With that he dims the lights and leaves.

How you wish that were true.

Notes:

Feeling good? Feeling great? Compliments and criticisms are welcome. Hope you had fun!

Chapter 3: A deal is a deal

Summary:

Getting into the flow of things - but when does life ever flow for more than 2 seconds?

The infection clears up relatively quickly, but you’re still told with a very serious expression that you have to finish the antibiotics treatment until everything is gone.

“Why would I just stop without consulting you first?”

“You’d be surprised.”

Now that you’re not drugged up and recovering from an episode, it’s easier to keep the walls in place around Harvey. Every appointment with good news makes it easier to breathe. There is an end in sight, and you’ll be clear from the chance of having your name written on anything digital soon. It makes it difficult for Harvey, you know, that he can’t document which patient he uses what on or how he’s getting the payments from you. Harvey never tells you any of this of course but coming to the clinic all the time – not just for the weekly appointment, also picking up medicine or confessing to a ruined stitch – has made you more familiar with the way the clinic is run, as well as the girl who helps run it.

Maru has passion. She’s young, but a genius and knows exactly what she wants. She could also just be telling you made-up while in reality she’s the loon of the town, but from the way she describes her robots you don’t believe that she is mad. Well, only mad in the way most geniuses are.

“So, why receptionist-slash-nurse?” Because of course the girl has had nurse training.

Maru exhales this heavy breath, folds her arms up on the elevated counter and rests her head on them. “Robots are fucking expensive.”

That is the moment Evelyn, the town’s granny, decides to wheel in her husband George, the latter giving us disapproving stares while the former gasps daintily. When they have been greeted by Harvey and taken out the back, Maru throws her head back and groans.

“Of course. Better yet, let my dad hear me the next time I curse. Hell, bring the queen and we’ll have a real party.”

“I don’t think the queen cares quite as much as George.”

You both share a mortified giggle.

Maru looks at the doors to the examination room. “No.” A sigh flows from her. “No, I think George is definitely a bigger problem.”

You lean over the counter taking her place, more to get some relief from the pressure on your wound, but also to be in confidence with her. “You think he’ll tell on you?”

A balled-up tissue flies at your head and you barely duck it in time, laughing.

“These kids jokes are getting old, farm-girl.”

“Jealous?”

And that is when the universe decides to grant you a small portion of your already limited luck, for Harvey appears just in time to stop whatever Maru was about to throw next. Mimicking an evil laugh behind his back, you follow him in to get examined.

Most of the examinations go the same way. A routine you’re thankful for, along with the distraction Maru proves to be. You’d be a ball of anxiety otherwise, as you were at your first appointment a week after having been sent home from the hospital.

It was not a good look having to take a week couple of weeks off work within your first month, but not many really cared. As you do not have a phone, Harvey promised to talk to Gus and stress that it’s doctor’s orders. That stirred the flames of the gossip train for a couple of weeks, and you were once again the topic of the week. The rumours became so out of control, that eventually the story of the Pub Collapse involved you, Harvey, and a robber. You were shot and Harvey jumped in front of the bullet. You believe it was Pierre who had tried to join in on all of the gossip with his own crazy details, which immediately killed it.

You stand in front of the bed, facing Harvey. He always has his back to you while you pull your shirt up and the side of your trousers down a little, as if he’s not seeing that spot of skin anyways. But no matter how silly it is, you appreciate the space.

“How have you been feeling this week?” He’ll always ask. And he does this time as well.

“Better.” You’ll say. And you do this time as well.

And he rarely believes you. He doesn’t this time as well.

“What? I swear it’s getting better. I can definitely start lifting stuff at work.”

Harvey just looks at you before he starts writing in his notes. “I mean, if you say so.”

You’re a little shocked. Though Harvey seems nervous a lot of the time, he doesn’t really seem like a push-over, or naïve, to you. “Really?”

He nods, still not looking at you. “Sure yeah.” But then he drops the pen he was writing with. It rolls to your feet. “Shoot.” He mumbles and looks up to see your narrowed eyes directed at him. “Can you pick that up for me?”

Slowly you peel your suspicious gaze from him and look down at your feet. The little green pen lies there so patiently. “You just happened to drop the pen?”

Instead of answering, he just snaps his fingers like an old-timey person would do when something didn’t quite go their way. You don’t appreciate his sassy side, which apparently only comes out when he deals with patients. You don’t know which other careers the man had considered in his lifetime, but you are sure this one is exactly the right fit for him just by the amount of attitude he can muster here when he knows he’s in the right.

You look down at the pen again, softly cursing under your breath but loud enough to draw a shocked chuckle from him. He watches as you slowly bend down, first at your knees before you lightly try to bend at the waist. You clench your jaw so hard you fear you may have broken a few teeth – but it’s worth it if it wipes the smug look off your doctor’s face. It doesn’t, because once you’ve gripped the pen and triumphantly pumped your fist, you sit with a daunting realisation.

The silence from above you is so pointed, you consider stabbing his leg with the damn pen.

“Everything okay?” He has the guts to sound genuinely concerned, as if he didn’t do all of this on purpose.

“I’m just realising something,” you say.

Harvey makes a sound of curiosity in his throat.

“Yup. I’m realising that women have for years and years been picking things up for men, and I’m sick of it, doc-“

“Harvey.”

“-Harvey. I’m sick of it. So no, I’ll not be picking up your pen for you.”

“That’s a shame.”

You nod with a forced melancholy air.

“Because it would get you cleared to work.”

It’s as if a lightbulb goes off above your head. A way to get the power back here. You look up from where you’re – pathetically – crouched on the ground, with an expression of feigned confusion and offense. Harvey instantly looks worried. Excellent.

“Me being on my knees would get me back to work?”

His eyes widen and his mouth falls open. You think you even see him twitch to take a step back.

“Are you, my male doctor, saying getting on my knees for you will get me favours?”

He sputters, looking for words, his eyes darting from my face to my position on the floor, to the corners of the room where he might be expecting cameras from a prank show would be hidden. “I’m doing no such thing!” He protests.

You shrug with one shoulder, not that you have much choice in that. “What is a young woman, like myself, supposed to believe? Unless you sign me off without getting me to fulfill this– this– fantasy for you.”

There is a good chance that Harvey is five seconds away from a stroke.

“You’re really taking it this far, just to not admit that you can’t get up?” He finally manages.

You both look at each other in silence, neither willing to give in but both on the cusp of doing so from sheer pain. Yours physical while his is emotional. That man is truly distressed. Yet he still manages to cling to his ground.

“Let me go back to work, Harvey,” you say softly.

In the face of his obvious stress, his reply shocks you. “No.” He shakes his head. “You’ll stress the area even worse, cause further infection, and be out of work even longer. I’m doing you a favor, stubborn woman.”

You don’t know what it is that does it. You don’t spend a long time pondering the whys from the floor. For a moment, you pick something other than a fight. Looking away, you chew at your cheek before you finally reach out with the good arm. “Please help me up.”

And he does so right away. Without being smug about it, without rubbing it in your face or taunting you, he confirms the date for next weeks appointment, wishes you a quick recovery and follows you out to the door before heading back to his mountains of paperwork.

Maru, with a secret smile behind her counter, calls out. “See you next week!”

 

***

By the time you’re finally cleared to work, your almost don’t want to go in. During the weeks where you’ve been slowly getting glued back together – physically – the townspeople have done their best to make sure you don’t have to get out of bed at all. This included sending you a mountain of produce and other products to keep your nourished and cared for. Each couple of days another one would knock on the door, smile and drag you into a conversation and then leave you with your batch of stuff that you desperately try to refuse each time. You’re sure the only way you have been allowed to walk into town and not being dragged into someone’s car for a lift is because Harvey encourages a little bit of exercise as part of your recovery.

 You try not to be touched, to not let any of it pull your focus. But that is incredibly difficult when one the baskets contain a drawing with the words “get well soon” on it. It’s covered in glitter, and you make sure that the path to your fridge is direct. You can almost see the trail of pink and sparkles behind you, but funnily enough it doesn’t bother you. You slowly sweep the floors with a smile on your face and an ache somewhere.

But all of this helps means that you feel horrible keeping everyone around you at arms length. How could you, if little Jas came up to you and asked you if you liked her drawing? How could you do anything but remark on how well it looks on the fridge in your home?

When you leave your house to go to your first shift after being cleared, you still have no plan on how to handle them all. How to handle their kindness when you’re not at all deserving of it. Of any of it.

On the street you see Evelyn standing by the flowers that she apparently is responsible for. She waves you, her smile kind. “Going to Harvey’s again, dear?”

You shake your head. “Doc has cleared me, Evelyn. I’m going to work.”

She claps her hand and gushes about how great that is. You feel your cheeks warming at the attention and try to get away as quickly you can while remaining polite.

In all of the places you’ve been to, you have never had this much of a challenge staying away from people. In most cases, people were as eager to create distance as you were. In the city there is a mutual understanding of keeping to oneself. Loneliness is part of the package and your only friend through the years. But of course, you have never been to a small town like Stardew Valley before. You have no frame of reference when it comes to what is just normal neighbourly kindness here, and your paranoia is working it to its advantage.

Do they know you? Are they tricking you? Is this just some large scheme that will eventually reveal its true nature? You will say goodbye to loneliness, just to be dragged back to it by your feet, clinging to people who never intended to be anything more than kind and will let you fall.

No. It’s better to stay down. You know what happened the last time you got too familiar.

So, you smile at Evelyn and retreat, more sure now than ever before that you’re going to keep a professional façade. Become part of the furniture. You can do it.

You walk in and see a figure sitting by the bar, his dark hoodie hanging loose around him. You’re about to walk past him to the staff’s room, when something stops you. That picture. Though you know it’s likely Marnie that dropped it off, her dad has to be aware that his little girl painted something for a stranger, right? You decide that you’ll just go over there and say thank you and leave it at that. That’s the most you’ll get involved with anyone. It’s easier to give the message to her dad, you tell yourself, than having to face Jas yourself.

“Shane?”

Cautiously, his head turns to you. His eyes seem focused, so perhaps it’s still early in the day for him, despite it being a Friday evening.

“Can you pass my thanks along to Jas? She’s really talented.”

His brows furrow but he doesn’t say anything, so you move on. But though most of the evening goes smooth, you feel him. Once or twice you look towards the bar and you catch Shane just as he turns his gaze away from you. If not for Shane’s infamous habits, you would be wondering if you had done something wrong. But you know that people like Shane are prone to be suspicious of any mild interactions. Anything not hostile is analysed over an over again until it becomes it. You know it like you know how to breathe.

Eventually other people catch on to it too. Emily stops you when you’re both behind the bar, running to and from the kitchens. “Did you and Shane have a fight?”

You narrowly avoid the urge to look over your shoulder. “Not yet.”

Gus has to take a break eventually, and you and Emily are left alone to manage the bar. Not that there is much to do on a Friday night except pour drinks and bring them around. Even the last part is manageable, because when people are tipsy the alcohol calls to them and then flock the bar instead of waiting for it to come to them. But it does make it so you stand near the moody shadow, not having moved from his post the entire night. It’s hard to ignore the stares, but you do. You understand it, and therefore have room to allow it. But if he tried that in the big city, he wouldn’t be sitting and certainly not with all his teeth in place.

You put a beer down in front of him.

“Did I order this?” Shane slurs.

“On the house.” You walk away before he has a chance to reject it.

The place eventually, thankfully, dies down. People stop dancing and soulful music is allowed to fill the bar as you and Emily start wiping the floors and putting the chairs up.

“How’s it going with the renovations?”

You wring the mop. “It’s good. Robin cut me a deal if I allowed her to use the tree on the farm and a little extra after she’s done, so she’s just getting the last of it processed and ready.”

“When will it be finished?”

You stop and look at her. “The actual renovation? She seemed to think it would only be a couple of weeks.”

Emily dumps the last of the water out of the open and unto the grass. Just as she’s about to say something else, a loud yell interrupts her. You both watch, shocked, as a very wet Shane appears in the doorway, face murderous and directed at you two.

“Sorry, Shane!” Emily squeals with a little laugh behind it. You can understand why. You bite your lip and echo Emily’s sentiment.

“Can’t you look before you toss disgusting water around?” He yells.

Emily crosses her arms. “Well, what were you even doing out there? Everybody left a while ago.”

The quick flicker of Shane’s eyes to you before they focused back on Emily answers her question.

“Did you need to talk to me, Shane?” You ask measured. You cross your arms as well, hoping it will hide the trembling. Confrontations were never your thing.

“Emily, can you give us a minute?”

She looks between you and Shane. “Just lock up behind you, sweety.”

You nod, both you and Shane silent until the blue hair is out of sight. That’s the last calm moment between you two that night.

“Why did Jas draw you a picture?” Is his first question, the venom clear even with the slurring.

You frown in confusion. “Marnie wanted to send me a care package, and evidently Jas wanted to add something to it.”

“Why would she want to do that?”

“What do you mean?”

He takes a step closer. “Are you talking to her?”

You take a step back. “Sometimes.” You decide not to lie. In a small town it isn’t unreasonable for you to have. It would be weirder if you hadn’t.

“I don’t want you talking to her.”

“Are you serious? You want me to just ignore her if she speaks to me?”

A commanding finger is pointed at you. “I know you’re hiding something. You may have everyone else fooled, but I see you. You act like you have some big fucking secret, and I don’t want Jas near that, do you understand me?”

His voice has slowly risen until he’s fully yelling at you, getting closer while you try to keep the distance. It’s while you dance around that you try to get him to calm down.

“Fine! I’ll stay away from her. If she comes in my direction I will walk away, if she speaks to me I’m deaf. Okay? It’s your call, you’re the dad.”

If you had known, if you had picked up more clues or just opened your mouth and asked, perhaps you would never have said that. You would have stopped with the ‘fine’ and the night would have ended there for the both of you.

“Dad?!” Shane yells just as you both come to a table. He picks up one of the stacked chairs and throws it at the wall. You drop down, narrowly avoiding the explosion of bear covered wood.

“Hey!” Another voice calls out and all motion stops. From below with your view obscured by the table, you can only see dark pants and loafers stand by the door. Shane storms towards the door and you’re about to cry out when he turns to the side and slides past the other person.

You see them hurrying towards you until finally the disheveled hair and mustache comes into views. “Are you okay?”

Eyes wide you nod and try to stand up. You know that you’re shaking but you can’t really feel it. You can’t really feel anything. Harvey helps you up with a hand on your elbow. You put the hand of that arm on his chest to steady yourself.

“What are you doing here?” You ask him, turning your face up to see the concern focused on you.

“I heard- I heard yelling, and the door was open. What happened?”

You shake your head. If you knew you would tell him, but everything went wrong so quickly you’re not sure which one was the misstep. And right now, you can’t really think further than to the here and now – the overthinking would have to wait.

“You’re hurt.”

“What?”

“Your cheek.”

You reach up and feel the wetness there. Your fingers are coated in red when you pull them back. “Oh no.”

“I’m sure it’s just a scratch, but I’d really like it if you’d come to the clinic with me so we can disinfect it and see if anything has gotten into it. Is that okay?”

Is that okay. You’re so startled by the softness in his words, that you agree without a fight. Together you turn down the lights and lock up the pub, walking through the center on the familiar route to the clinic. It’s long past midnight, and only the streetlights lightly illuminate your way. You’re sure that if you looked up you would be able to see the stars – even more by your house, as there is no working light there yet.

Harvey is walking beside you, tense and not making the usual nervous conversation. You don’t feel like broaching any subjects right now, so you two just walk in silence, arms brushing as you wait for him to unlock the door to the clinic. Inside the examination room you sit on fresh paper cover on the bed and wait as Harvey prepares everything he needs, snapping on a pair of blue gloves before rolling over to you on his seat.

“May I?” His hands hover in front of you. You nod your head yes and he begins.

One hand on your chin, he slowly moves your head to the side allowing him to fully see the cut. “This may sting,” he warns before you feel a wet cloth. Each move is careful and gentle, more dabs than the feared rubbing. He’s very close like this. Despite you both sitting down Harvey is still a little taller than you, so while your face is turned to the side a little it’s also held up. Every time his hands have to leave you, you feel the cold unbearably until they return, comforting the abandoned skin. You can smell him, too. He doesn’t seem to wear a cologne – not unusual for someone who works in health care – but he still has a distinct scent. His heat natural and pleasing while a hint of coffee plays in the depths. If he wasn’t trying to remove splinters from your face, you could likely fall asleep like this.

You shift your gaze from the white cabinets to his face. His trained focus and the way his mouth sets while he tries to hurt you as little as possible makes him appear older. Perhaps it’s the lightning that does it. But no man your own age has ever held you so considerately and you wonder then if it’s an age thing or if Harvey has always been like this. You can practically see him, 18 years old and still the gentle giant kissing the boo-boos of his peers.

“Did you always want to be a doctor, Harvey?” Your voice is quiet, as if afraid to disturb the bubble you have found yourselves in.

His body half turns to the table as another bloodied cotton-ball is placed on the tray, before he turns back to you with two different bandages – one with ponies and another with dinosaurs. You point at the dinosaurs.

“No. I had a different dream growing up, but circumstances made it- well, it made it impossible.” He smooths the edges of the bandage down, inadvertently stroking your cheek. “And anyways, you’d need perfect vision.” He smiled a close-lipped smile as you turn your head to face him. “So that ship has proper and truly sailed.”

You look back and forth from one brown eye to the other. “What did you want to be?”

He blushes and turns away, beginning to clean up. His reaction intrigues you.

“A firefighter?” You guess.

He laughs, but it’s a bit self-deprecating. “I’m much too big of a coward for that.”

“I don’t know,” you protest softly. “You were ready to be a hero today.”

The blush spreads to his ears. “And I will be paying for that decision once everything calms down.” When he sees your confusion he takes off his gloves and washes his hands. “Never mind that. You’re all sewed back together, are you ready to go?”

You hop down from the table and walk to the front. You expect him to say goodbye at the door and go back in, after all, his apartment is on the first floor. Instead, he walks out with you and locks the door behind him. “What are you doing?”

He looks immediately worried. “I-I wanted to walk you home. If- I mean, is that okay?”

You smile a little. “Sure, that’s okay.” His shoulders drop at your words, and he follows you as you start down the dirt road.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?”

You look down.

“Would you,” he hesitates. “Would you like to report him?”

“No.” The answer bursts from you immediately. No police. Not that you would report him if you could. In the moment it was really scary, and you’re not going to be alone with Shane again, but you were standing on opposite sides of the table and he was clearly not swinging for you.

“How much of it did you see?”

“Not much.” You hear him scratch what you assume is his neck, one of his nervous ticks you have become familiar with. “Though I did hear a lot of it.” He admits.

“From which part?”

“Something about a secret.”

You nod to yourself. “Do you know why he freaked out like that then? He’s a grump but I never took him for a violent drunk.”

It takes you a few paces before you notice that Harvey has stopped. You turn and watch him battle with an answer.

“You don’t have to tell me.” You say, suddenly feeling like you’re overstepping.

“I can tell you some objective public facts?”

You chuckle a little and wave at him to continue.

“Shane is – uh – he’s not Jas’ father.”

You heart drops. “Oh.”

“He’s her godfather. Jas’ parents passed away a couple of years back.”

You lean against the fence leading up to the bus stop, watching the sign. It looks cozy almost, now that it’s not dark and soaked through the entire wood. “I see.”

He takes a step closer and waits until you’re looking at him until he takes the last few to sit next to you on the bench. You look up at him.

“You know, you could’ve used your height to become a superhero or something. Or a master villain smashing an entire city.”

“I don’t think villains get healthcare.”

You snap your fingers, stealing his bit. It earns you a huff, which you memorise more intently than you should.

You watch the stars for a bit before you can’t take the silence anymore. “So, do I have to come in once a week for another month now for this?”

Another huff. “No, I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Darn, then I’ll have to get hurt some other more serious way to hang out.” You kick yourself for saying that. You’re not here to make friends, and certainly not with Harvey. He’s too open and nice, and you have a plan that you’re supposed to be sticking to.

Harvey looks down at you, his eyes glinting in the moonlight. “Or we could get lunch?”

A girl back in your high school used to hate her brown eyes. She said that blues and greens were better, more beautiful. Something about crystals and life and shit. But as you’re looking up at Harvey, seeing the pale light reflected in those brown depths, you wonder how anyone could ever think that they’re not special. They’re warm, comforting. They soften a face.

Pale blue eyes flash from your memories. You look away from Harvey.

“Sure,” you say. “Lunch sounds good.”

Notes:

*take my face in your hands, baby girl.* Wanted to end on a good note because I can’t be writing 12k words and not have them at least touch pinkies. This isn’t P&P.

Thank you for staying with me through my **~vision~**
See you soon!

Chapter 4: Dance of the Moonlight Jellies

Summary:

Inspired by the 28th of Summer Event - things take a turn

A loud, guttural scream pierces your subconscious. Is somebody hurt? You fight against the darkness that seems to hold you down. Tie you down. You’re tied down. You can’t move, you can’t escape. Your body writhes but your limbs are too heavy. You know they’re there. They’re coming, and you can’t run forever. They’ve caught you. Blue fills your vision, slams into your soul and carves out your life. Another scream. Please, you beg. I just want to help them. Please, help them! A hand grabs your hair, and lips settle next to your ear. Wake up, baby.

Your eyes fly open, adjusting to the darkness as you lie in bed panting. Your hands grab for the comforter and untangle it from around your legs. A layer of sweat covers your body completely. The screams are still ringing in your ear.

***

 

“Is that a-“

“Yup.”

You and Robin stand in the door opening, having a stare-down with the chicken that has raised hell against you for the past month and a half. Robin had wanted to get started on the renovations, and you had simply packed your bag and waited for her, because you had no clue how to remove the chicken without also getting an eye pecked out and you thought trapping her into helping was your best option.

There is also the problem of you having literally nowhere to go. You are kind of hoping that she’ll leave the roof on so you can sleep at the farmhouse when she leaves at night, but you’re also not in the mood for having a half-finished wall fall down on you. You’re still browsing your options.

“Is it your pet?”

“Nope.” You pop the ‘p’.

Robin readjusts her ponytail, looking from the chicken and back to you.

“Out with it.”

“Do you feed it? I’m pretty sure if you stopped feeding it, it would-“

“Robin. I’ve never seen that thing eat in my life.”

Shocked silence ensues.

“Maybe it’s Marnie’s?” She asks, as if you know the answer to that question.

You shrug. “I haven’t asked her.”

“Maybe you should, I bet she misses that sweet-“

As if it understands her, the chicken literally hisses at Robin. The pointed silence following is so loud that you can hear Robin wondering how she can back out of the contract.

“So how do you wanna do this?”

“Sweety, I would, but I have a family to think of. My husband is too young to become a widow and my children are too weird to find partners without my meddling.”

You share a look. “Can you work around it?”

“We should probably give it a name at some point instead of calling it ‘it’. And no! I can’t just work around it!”

“Demogorgon.”

You can feel Robin staring into the side of your head. “Pardon?”

“For the name.” You say a little defensively. Another bout of silence. In a sullen tone you add, “it’s Greek. For devil.”

“How about Paulie.”

“Paulie the chicken?”

“You don’t have to say it like that! But we’re not naming it after a Greek devil.”

“Abaddon.”

You’ve stunned her. “That is another name for devil.” It’s not a question.

You answer anyway. “Yes, but in Hebrew.”

“Are you trying to distract me so that I’ll have to start working with the thing?”

“Abaddon.” You correct her.

“We’re not calling it Abaddon, that’s mean!”

“It’s a mean chicken.” The chicken takes a step forward and both of you jump back a little.

Robin turns to you, her clasped hands in front of her mouth in a very pensive stance. You’re simply staring at her with a cocked brow and endless time to waste. Stressing Robin out is not easy, yet you love the few moments where she’s absolutely lost her marbles. You’re wondering if this will be another one of those wonderful times. Except – you’ve never really been on the receiving end of a freakout, only seen it in action and mostly with her children.

“Sweety.”

“Yes.”

She inhales deeply. “How about we call Marnie and get her to take it?”

You nod. “Should we warn her about it?” You feign concern.

Robin, in her desperation, doesn’t see through your shit. Her tone conspiratorial, she lets you in on her master plan. “Maybe we don’t have to. We’re not chicken experts, how could we possibly know that that thing-“

“Beelzebub.”

“-stop - that it’s not acting like any normal chicken? We don’t. So, let’s just say we have an energetic chicken up here, and she should come get it, please and thank you.”

You pretend to consider it for a moment. “Fine.”

She breathes out, the intense amount of stress and worry she had accumulated over the past five minutes having really done a number on her.

But it’s not Marnie that shows up – it’s Shane. With dark circles under his eyes and a roughness to his appearance you’re not used to. You and Shane have only seen each other in passing since the big argument. Honoring his wishes, you have stayed out of Jas’ way since, giving them all the distance and space he needs. Which also makes it incredibly awkward for you when he shows up, cage under one arm and a fishing net in the other.

What the shit.

He stands at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at you but not saying a word. You fold your arms across your chest, doing your best to not show how you’re feeling. Robin, sensing the tension, decides to dissolve it in the best possible way. “I still think we should name it Paulie.”

Shane doesn’t look away from you as he moves up the stairs, as ready to get this over with as you are. “Paulie is a shit name.”

***

The danger of living in a small town is that while there are not a lot of people to spot you, there are also a limited amount of people to come up or arrange activities for the day. While you’re used to being able to go down the street and run into at least three different mind-numbing, life-consuming distractions, in the Valley you’re stuck with only a handful of things to do. Willy has invited you to come out fishing with him a couple of times, informing you that even fancy Elliot tends to join him on some of the prettier and quieter afternoons. It shocked you a bit to find out that those two have a pretty tight comradery going on. Almost as much as when you walked down to the beach one night and happened upon the mayor and the cattle dealer of your harmonious and beautiful little valley. Mayor Lewis still acts like nothing happened, even though he ran like he was on fire that night, pants in hand as if those five extra seconds were the deciding factor on whether you were going to recognise him or not. Though you have to admit, purple is certainly his colour.

So, you wander the streets, bag slung across your back, as you wait for Robin to finish up for the day so you can sneak in and sleep in whatever state your house may be in. You have already gone to the library, gathering a few books on farming. You can remember a lot of the things your grandpa has told you, but you’re out of your element and you’d like to do this right. Now that Robin has cleared a large area to get the materials she needed, you have an open area ready to be turned and used. If this is how you’re spending your days, you might have some very tiny pumpkins ready for Halloween. Or perhaps something less ambitious, like dead flowers. It became time to leave though, when you saw a girl known as the town tutor, walk in with Vincent and Jas ready to start the lessons of the day.

Eventually you end up by the clinic, feeling all kinds of stupid. They’re busy with work and you’re about to go in there and bother them for no good reason. It was true that you had shared lunch with both Harvey and Maru a couple of times in the past few weeks, together and separate, but every single one of those lunches had been scheduled. Pre-planned. And even more important, initiated by them. You aren’t even supposed to indulge like this, you tell yourself, all while slowly opening the door, suffering from the incredible burn in your cheeks and the turning in your stomach.

Great, you’re about to throw up just from having to ask some people to lunch.

Maru sits behind the desk, sorting through paperwork looking serious and very not in the mood to be dragged away from it. But what had you expected? That she would sit in her chair, staring at the white walls, just waiting for someone to rescue her from the insufferable boredom?

The bells, the damned bells, announce your arrival. Maru drags her eyes away from the screen, a polite smile already on her face when recognition dawns on her. Her smile widens and with a soft blink you see something enter her eyes – familiarity, perhaps even fondness? Just like that, the worst of your worries fall from you. The squeezing in your chest and the worms in your stomach drip down your arms and out of your fingertips, running to the floor and disappearing into the cracks around you. A little lighter, you hurry up to the desk.

“Hey, if you’re not too busy, would you like to grab some lunch?”

“Busy?” She asks incredulously. With a quick scan over her desk, she wipes her arms across the desk, sending the contents flying to the floor. “Definitely not busy.”

You stare at each other, Maru, pleased with her performance, and you, counting down the seconds until she regrets the stunt. It takes less than 7.

“Can you help me?”

“Alright.”

Together on the floor you get to hear about Maru’s day and what has happened since you last saw each other. You try not to point out that Elliot happens to be the main character in most of her stories as of late. No, you file that observation away for later, wanting to see how things progress organically.

If you had been worried about interrupting a very professional work environment before, those fears are eased as well when Maru practically yells down the hall for Harvey to hurry up and go get lunch with you. In very little time, everybody is out the door and on their way to Gus’.

That was… easy. You rub at your chest, trying to wipe away the ache there.

“What’s with the bag?” Maru points at it with a fork, pretending not to notice when a piece of salad falls from it and directly into her purse on the ground beside her.

You shrug, playing with your soup. “I’m in exile while Robin is working on the house.”

Maru nods with her entire body as she eats another bite. “Finally! With the colder months coming, I really wouldn’t want you to be stuck in there like that. Sorry honey, but that place is a mess.”

“Where will you be staying while that’s going on?” Harvey asks.

You wipe your mouth to give yourself a few extra seconds. “Don’t worry, doc. Luckily, this isn’t the type of town that lets people go homeless.” And you continue eating, letting Maru gush over the changes that she hopes are being made on your house.

But you can feel a tension rising. You lock your muscles in place so that you don’t look at Harvey. Not even a glance. Because you can feel him looking at you closely, watching you as you interact with Maru. Or perhaps you’re imagining it – your paranoid side making an appearance once again. How would he even be able to see through you? You laugh internally at yourself and relax a little, letting your gaze run over him to share a smile, which he readily does.

See? There is nothing to worry about.

“At what time are you going to the festival tonight?”

Huh?

You turn to Maru. “What festival?”

A gasp of nothing other than melodramatic nature escapes her abruptly. “Has no one told you? The Dance of the Moonlight Jellies is tonight!”

When you gaze remains blank, she continues. “You know what, I don’t want to spoil anything for you, you’ll die once you see it. Oh, I can’t wait. Just be at the beach at 10 tonight.”

“Not that the prospect of dying isn’t lovely.” Your tone sarcastic before turning earnest. “But I don’t know, Maru, I’m already kind of tired.”  Not that sleeping has been able to change that.

“Where are you staying? Go and take a nap there now, and then you’ll be refreshed for tonight.”

As you open your mouth to protest, you hear a hurrying of footsteps thunder towards you. You turn quickly in your seat, almost falling out of it before the blue bob calms your racing heart. You place a hand over your chest and force a smile at the incoming participant.

“Farm-girl! A little bird told me that you’re going tonight.” Emily rests her elbow on the table, her face in her hand. She takes no notice of Maru’s devastated protests behind her when her elbow hits the side of the plate, sending some of the salad flying over the little table.

“Oh wow, the birds work quick here.” You indulge her.

“They do! You see, the birds speak to me. I can teach you, if you promise me you’re gonna go to the festival.”

 “I thought the birds had told you that I was already going?”

“The birds are liars, don’t trust them. So?”

Life is about picking and choosing fights, and you see no way of how you’re going to be winning this one without also giving up another territory. To win the war you’re going to have to lose the battle. “Yes, alright.”

Celebratory dance movements ensue. You fidget with the strap of your bag as you patiently wait for it to be over, when a light movement catches your attention in the peripheral. Harvey is lowering his hand as you turn your head, ignoring what has apparently turned into a dance battle. You fall into every detail of his face – the way there is a slight crease between his eyebrows, as if he’s worried about something but isn’t quite sure what. The way the side of his lips tilt up a little in a reassuring smile.

“You know,” he starts, his voice low, just for you and him. “What I wouldn’t give to know what you’re thinking about.”

“A star and half of the moon.” You say immediately, trying to be funny, trying to distract, trying to push him a little.

Trying to not hurt or get hurt.

He sits back and thinks. Thinks so hard that you wonder if you could get half of the moon and a star somehow to just be in the window looking into what is going on inside of his thoughts.

“You’ve got a deal.”

***

 

It’s not unusual for the beach to be cast in darkness at this time. There are no lights on the docks, and you have once or twice ventured down to this part of the town, just for that. For the way the sea and the sky meet in a black abyss, only broken up by the lights adorning the sky. The sound of the waves as they move below the docks, washing up on the sand, fill you with a kind of peace you rarely get. But you have never been up on the docks – docks that are now framed by small lights floating on the water. There is no music playing, which is unusual for any gathering in the Valley. They never let an opportunity for music pass, but, for some reason, tonight they are. You admit that it’s nice – the voices drifting to you on the sea breeze, barely audible over the waves.

You take off your shoes, sinking your feet into the cool sand and slowly walk along the line of trees. The rustling behind you is a strange sort of comfort. Some people are sitting in the sand, leaning close to talk, but most are gathering on the docks. You can recognise a few of them in the limited light, their shadows mingling around them. Golden haired Haley and the very tall Alex are standing next to each other, their backs to you as they look into the horizon. You’re not sure if it is an illusion created by the darkness, but you think you catch a few shy brushes of hands, and you smile to yourself.

You wonder what it’s like to grow up with such a limited amount of people and finding love amongst them. Is it fate or lack of choice that cause them to eventually fall into each other’s arms? Is it knowing someone so wholly, seeing every phase of their life hidden just beneath the skin, that creates the connection? Every flaw, fault, and failure has been witnessed by these very people, and yet none of them flinch as they finally find the courage to hold onto each other.

You turn your gaze, giving them back their privacy as you near the end of the west side of the beach. You stifle a yawn. There had been no opportunities fit in the nap that Maru had recommended. Every spot of sun-kissed grass or blessed shade of a tree was sooner or later invaded by others. Some were coming to talk to you, others were simply inspired by the image of you, wanting to partake in the last days of summer. Sometimes it feels like they’ve made a conscious decision to never let you be alone for long.

Faintly, you hear your name called. You turn and see figures waving at you, and you head in that direction. Maru comes into view, standing with a familiar redhead who is apparently fascinated with her hands.

“You made it!” Maru says this as if it’s the greatest news she has heard all day, a thought that sticks to your throat and runs cold down your back.

“Yeah, I couldn’t miss it.” You turn to look at the friend, who still has not torn her eyes from her wringing fingers.

“Oh sorry! This is Penny. You’ve probably seen her around with the kids a couple of times.”

You introduce yourself and are rewarded with a little nod and a look of longing towards the ocean, as if Penny is ready to fling herself into the depths to avoid meeting you. You share an understanding smile with Maru, and then the three of you are off.

Towards the docks.

You take deep breaths, trying to calm yourself as you move closer and closer to the water.

You can do this, you can do this, you can do this. The mantra fills your head, but the voice is desperate, not confident, and before you realise it you’ve dug your heels in and the others are turning towards you, noticing almost in an instant that you’re not beside them.

“What’s wrong?” You tear your eyes away from the docks to see the confused look on Maru’s face.

“No. I mean, nothing. Nothing is wrong. But can we stay here? I really like the feel of the send right now.”

Maru looks at you hopelessly. “But you can’t see it that well from the beach. You have to be on the docks.”

“What am I seeing exactly? Maybe I can be convinced if I know what it is.”

“No, that would ruin the surprise.”

You open your mouth to argue further when you feel a presence behind you, warming your back.

“Maru, I’m sure she’ll be just as amazed if she has some idea about what’s going to happen.” Harvey reasons. You look back up at him, seeing him already smiling softly down at you.

Maru sighs and you think she’s about to argue further. “Fine. We’re watching some special jelly fish migrate. They’re attracted to the light, so some of them will swim past here. They do it every year on this day, on this night. And it’s really much clearer from the docks, so please come. I really want you to see it.”

“Okay.” The word sounds like a sigh on your lips, and you watch an excited Maru bounce onwards with Penny trailing behind her. Still, your feet are planted in the unsteady sand.

Harvey doesn’t move from your side, silently waiting for you to do – something. Say something. You don’t know if you can.

“What are you thinking?” He murmurs softly, just for the two of you.

“A star and half of the moon, doc.”

“Harvey.” He corrects, but you can hear the teasing in his voice.

You sigh.

“You know.” He begins. “I’m afraid of heights.”

You snap your gaze to him, but he’s looking over the dark waters, not saying anything more.

“What if I fall in?”

That gets him to turn his head, looking down at you not with laughter and mocking as you had feared, but with surprise and something else. Something mild. Something new. “If that happens, I’ll get you out.”

You nod, still unsure.

“You can hold my hand. I won’t let go.”

There are more reasons than pebbles of sand on the beach, than stars in the sky, for why you should say no. For why you should turn around and just accept the role of being the town weirdo. You can do like Shane does and become so self-isolating that no one dares to hope or try anymore. It would be so much better for everyone around you in the long run.

You’ll start tomorrow.

You take his hand, your fingers sliding slowly down his wrist and into his palm, feeling the roughness left behind by hard work. His long fingers twitch but then wait until you’ve settled firmly into his hand, before they curl around yours.

“Are you cold?” He asks. You shake your head no.

He seems to accept that and slowly, painfully, you take your first steps on the wood. The further you walk out, the further there is to the ocean floor. Despite the darkness, you can see the changes where the ground falls, and the void expands beneath you. You clench his hand, hoping you’re not hurting him.

The noises that were once peaceful are now grating, heightening your anxieties and nerves until your breath is coming fast and you’re looking around, panicking for a way out.

But something has changed. The waves cease and the waters still. One by one, the townspeople notice it too and everyone stops talking. There is just the anticipatory silence now, waiting for something that everyone has apparently agreed to keep silent from you. You’re now grateful for the small lights, assuring you that everyone is still there. Still, you squeeze the hand in yours just to be sure and don’t breathe until it squeezes you back.

“Look.” Someone says barely above a whisper. And everyone does. To the left is a light that moves in the waters. Floating towards you in the darkness.

“What,” you gasp, but can’t finish the question. Because there are more.

Big and small lights move towards you, most of them much further out but a string of them is sure to be traveling under you. And then they do. Big purple jellyfish swim just below the surface, and everyone holds on to the ledge just to stretch further, to get closer to them. The tide is so high this time of year that if you went to your knees and stretched, you would be able to touch the surface. You don’t realise that your other hand has curled around the arm of the hand you are holding, your mind only filled with amazement.

Something catches your eye, and you point to it. “Why is that one green?”

“We don’t know,” Harvey whispers back. “But there is one every year.”

“Only one?”

“Only one.” He confirms.

“That sounds lonely.”

“He’s surrounded by a bunch of other jellyfish, but you still think that he’s lonely?”

“I’m sure they know, and he knows, that he’s different.”

“You think they care?”

“If they don’t, maybe they should.” Your tone is bitter, shocking you both.

Harvey doesn’t say anything, and you try to let go of his hand. You have either been a complete asshole about a poor fish or exposed something you shouldn’t have. Either way, you’re sure that he’s just holding it to be nice now. You open your fingers, letting you hand go slack, but his grip remains firm.

You look up at him, surprised, a question in your eyes.

“I won’t let go.” His tone like his grip.

And so, you watch the jellyfish instead. They float underneath you, bringing something magical to the endless depths. You wonder where they’re going. Perhaps the waters are only hot enough during the height of summer and they’re going somewhere where the waters will stay warm. After all, it’s officially fall in just a few weeks. You’ll have your house ready, so you can start on creating something you can sell for a profit at some point. The plants will die. And the jellyfish will be somewhere new.

When the last ones disappear in the horizon, a few people start gathering the lights as they go, leaving you both in darkness. Most have already said their goodbyes. But you’re not ready to go yet.

 Because you’ll have to start tomorrow.

“Sometimes, if it’s a still night, the stars are reflected in the water. If you dip your hands into the water right now you’ll be able to hold a star in your hands. Does that count?”

“You’ll still need half of the moon.”

He snaps his fingers, and you fight against the turning of the edges of your lips. “Can we not set up a payment plan?”

“A star now and the moon later?”

“Wait, now it’s the entire moon?”

“Well yeah,” you send a smile his way. “Interest.”

“Okay, how about this.” You both start giggling at the ridiculousness of the conversation. “Hey, hey, this is serious. You wait and don’t tell me what you’re thinking until I have paid in full. So, I’m slowly paying the price, but without the merchandise. Therefore, no interests!” He looks so proud of himself, even though it makes so little sense its ridiculous.

You pretend to ponder that for a while - though you would have done pretty much anything to keep that silly air around him just a bit longer “Fine.”

Slowly, you both lower yourself to your knees. It’s true. You can see the lights reflected in the water, almost as if you were looking directly at the night sky. Your arms are shaking.

A hand lands on your ankle and shoulder, holding firmly around them while you bend forward. With your hands apart, you break the surface of the water and wait for it to still before bringing your hands together. Your entire body is trembling, but your hands are still. Because you’re holding a star.

“It looks unreal.” You can’t bring yourself to feel stupid. This irrational glee you’re feeling over holding the reflection of a star is still glee. It’s still a glow somewhere that your scarred hands have not ruined yet. You let it go soon after, not wanting to test your fragile luck much longer.

Harvey takes your hand and together you walk off the docks and onto the beach. Neither of you let go, a realisation that doesn’t hit you until you reach the pathway between the town and the beach. Your heart beats a little quicker. Daring a look at Harvey as you pass under a streetlight, you see red colouring his cheeks, brushing softly over his ears.

Cute.

Almost as soon as you’ve had the thought, a different type of nerves start shooting through you.

“Where are you staying? I’d like to walk you there, if it’s alright.”

You barely hear him. “You don’t have to, doc. There is no crime in the Valley.”

“I know.” He stops you both as soon as you’ve crossed the bridge over the city river. “I’d like to walk you there anyways.”

You’re speechless. You feel jumpy. Pulling your hand back, you’re relieved when he lets it go without a comment. “I can get there by myself.”

“I know you can.” Curse him and his patient tone. “What’s going on, why won’t you tell us where you’re staying?”

“Because it’s none of your business!”

You can barely look at him.

“We want to be your friends. You’re not alone.”

You bark a humourless laugh, resolve of what you must do sliding through you like ice. After all, it’s past midnight. It’s tomorrow.  “I know I’m not. You think I want to be friends with a bunch of small-town weirdos, with nothing better to do than put their noses where they don’t belong? Who has no real purpose but to sit on their hands and wait to die? Yeah, right, like I want to be sucked into that any more than I have to.”

With that you turn and walk away, leaving him there under the streetlights.

It’s better this way, you remind yourself, biting at the inside of your cheek, nails biting into your palms. You look down when a sharp stroke of pain runs through your hand, in time to see blood rushing to the crescent shapes left behind.

There’s your fucking moon.

Notes:

• Aaaand ouch.
• Just want to say thank you guys for all the positive comments. And holy shit, I did not expect anyone to actually enjoy this. I hope I can keep writing stuff you like. *Imposter syndrome rolls up her sleeves*
• See you all next week!

Chapter 5: Nowhere to go

Summary:

Burning bridges - but it's raining.

Notes:

Hi guys! I’ve been sick this past week, so if this chapter sounds like it’s been written while someone is barely conscious with a fever, then that would be 100% accurate.

You burrow further into the blanket, trying to ignore the sensation of something crawling down your shirt. There are three hours until daytime, and if you could just get a little sleep it would make everything so much easier. And honestly, once the sun is out its much preferable to walk around tired than to lay in a bush. Because that is where you have found yourself the past couple of nights. On a trail behind your house, that evidently leads to the mountain where Robin lives, you discovered a huge bush where the wind doesn’t get through too easily. And most importantly, no one has a chance of spotting you in there. Most mornings you can see Robin walk past, humming to herself as she carries whichever tools she hasn’t already dropped off at your house, and that’s when you know that you’re in the clear.

You pack your blanket into your bag, hiding it in the bush before you make your way down to the house. You had tried sleeping somewhere on your property, but the fear, the risk, of waking up too late and getting caught? How would you ever begin to explain any of this? You had considered sleeping at the old spa further up the mountain, but someone came to lock and unlock it every day and you would rather not face whoever it was with a blanket over your shoulders. And furthermore, it was really creepy in there. You’ve only gone there to use the showers before you ran, still damp, out of there.

Now that you have finally started on tilling the soil, you’ve really needed those showers this week. It is a fact that you’re very proud of. Every morning you head down and work, each hour finding a more efficient way of doing things until you’ve started to become more confident in your abilities. Perhaps you can do this. Perhaps this is one thing that you will not mess up.

The only issue is that as each day passes, you’re only using energy and not regaining it. Because you can’t sleep. Not for long, not without waking up unsure if you’ve screamed your throat raw or if the ache is simply from the cold. The images have begun to haunt you during the day as well. It all started after the confrontation with Shane and since then sleep has alluded you. Danced just out of reach. It got even worse after the festival.

“Are you okay?”

You snap back to yourself and look up, shading your eyes from the sun with your gloved hand. Robin stands over you with her hands on her hips. You’re kneeling on the ground - not working. You hadn’t realised that you had stopped. Had you been sleeping sitting up?

“Yes, sorry, I must’ve been daydreaming. What’s up?”

You try to listen as she explains the next part of the process. How, because of the good weather, she’s much further ahead than she normally would have been, and if it continues like this she can be done by the end of next week. You feel relief at her words, experiencing just for a moment a lightness that you have been unconsciously craving for over a month now. That is, until the lightness becomes light-headedness, and the image of her turns blurry. You’re rubbing your eyes before you realise that perhaps rubbing dirt directly into your cornea is not the smartest thing to do.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

“Honey, oh here, take this.”

Your glove is removed, and a piece of cloth is placed in your hand. It does the job credibly and you internally beg to be spared from an eye infection, now that you have offended the only doctor within 50 kilometers. Giving it a once over, you see that it’s a handkerchief with flowers sewn into the fabric, along with a date from a little over twenty years ago.

“It’s Sebby’s birthday. The date. My, um, my mother made it for him.” She avoids your eyes as she puts the cloth back into her pocket.

“Thank you,” you croak out, throat dry from the hours of work. It has been hours right? The sun is high in the sky now. You look around you and notice that most of the weeds and grass has been cleared, though you have little memory of actually doing it.

You need rest.

But, seeing that you’re so far ahead on your own work schedule, you’re thinking of getting a couple of things from Pierre to get started. You remember Robin giving you some seeds when you first moved in, but those were long past their season, and you had something else you wanted to plant instead. A picture of pumpkins in all sorts of colours, shapes and sizes fills your mind and you feel a hesitant excitement. Working with the earth has been a way of working off any anxieties or worries plaguing you. Spending every day in the field, with your hands in the earth, feels, dare you say it, right. You tell yourself that it’s just to make the house more appealing to any potential buyers, that it’s just another way to make money while you wait – but a small part of you, a little voice somewhere buried deep and forgotten, says that maybe you’re enjoying it simply because you do. Because maybe it’s what you’re supposed to do.

You brush the dirt from you the best that you can and start the journey into town. In less than an hour you could be planting seeds, leaving you time to walk into the mountains, shower, and be ready in time for your shift at the Stardrop Saloon. After such a day, you’ll surely fall right into a dreamless sleep.

As you reach the center, the worries begin to creep back in. The clinic sits there in your way, looming over the street. You wonder who Harvey has told what you said to him that night. There is a chance that you will have to find some other place to buy seeds if Pierre refuses to serve you. He would be well within his rights to do so; you were horrible to one of his neighbours, a man he has known longer than he has known you. You just hope that he will be able to set that aside in the face of profit.

You close the door behind you and start browsing the aisles.

“Long time no see, little lady! Did you enjoy the moonlight jellies? I’m always so excited to hear from the newcomers when they see them for the first time. I mean, I can still remember how Abigail used to screech when she saw them. In fact – “

Tuning Pierre out becomes as easy as breathing. He doesn’t seem to mind that you don’t respond, just barely nodding every once in a while when you sense him taking in desperately needed air. When he finally reaches the end of his story, you’ve loaded all of your things onto the counter.

“Pumpkins! Let’s hope they’re ready by the time Spirit’s Eve rolls around! Much cheaper to order them from you than some farmer who wants ‘compensation’ for ‘shipping’. I mean, who does he think he is –“

You struggle with the sacks of fertilizer. Since when have you become so weak?

“Oh no! Let me help you carry them.”

“No, no, I’ve got it. If you’ll just place the last one on top, and then I’ll be on my way.”

It’s a challenge, but with him holding the door open for you, you’re out of there quickly enough. You barely have time to ponder why he was being so nice. Has he forgotten what you had done, or was he simply so focused on costumer service that it did not matter either way? You get it, of course. You could dislike someone outside of working hours because you needed their business and could not afford to lose them over personal conflicts.

You huff and look up, missing the feeling of the rays of the wonderful sun and finding that the clouds have cut off it from the ground. What you’re left with is not a bad view either. If you had been a painter, you would be able to appreciate the different shades of the clouds. How the whites gather the blues and yellows closely, rocking and layering them in ways that take your breath away. Some mornings, when they carry a purple so startling you’re not even reminded of the Mayer’s underpants, you look down at your hands. You look at the scar that runs down and across your pointer finger of your dominant hand and wonder what could have been. If you hadn’t been stopped so dramatically, would you have been able to copy such a thing? If even pinching a fork wasn’t at times a reminder of how unsteadily that same hand would command a brush? Would you be able to take what a camera couldn’t and place it on your walls, place it on your friends’ walls? Would something you had created carefully, without a shake or tremble, been something you could have been proud of?

In those times you would flex your hand, slowly, and hope for just a moment that it would close easily. When it didn’t, you would nod to yourself and move on with your day, not thinking about it again until a view like today brought out those old instincts.

Grief isn’t linear. No one had warned you that it was a circle, either. Always coming back to the one unescapable point; it was gone, and there was nothing you could do to bring it back.

You shift the load in your arms and start the path down to the farm. With the way you’re holding everything, it’s almost impossible to see past them. You’re resting it against your body and finding your way from the side view. A few exclamations follow you, but everyone in your way seems understanding of your predicament, none demanding an apology for almost tackling them. Or stopping to talk to you.

Your vision blurs slightly, out of the corner of your eye from behind the trees and bushes by the bus stop, you see a dark shape waving. When you turn to get a better view, it’s gone.

Maybe I’ll see if Emily can cover for me tonight, you consider. Because the closer you get to the farm, the heavier your eyelids become. The hope of a deep sleep spur you on, and you’re planting seeds before you’ve even blinked.

At least, you think so. You’re standing with a packet of seeds and a torn bag of fertilizer, and you realise that you’re almost done. Some of the rows are uneven, but that doesn’t matter much right now. No, right now, you’re mostly concerned with how much time has passed. The clouds have darkened above you, and when you turn towards the house Robin is nowhere in sight. It’s silent on the farm.

You heave the items all the way to the shed and put them away just in time for a cold drop of water to land directly on your nose. You flinch.

Maybe it’s not very late; maybe it’s just a little rain. Robin probably spotted it long ago and went home. You’re a little bummed that this’ll mean it’ll take a few extra days before the house is fixed, but the overpowering exhaustion trumps any concerns you have. You had planned on taking a shower first, but perhaps it’s better to just tell Gus that you’re not coming to work today and then head over to your bush.

Time to test how rainproof your little slice of paradise is.

The few drops turn into a drizzle, cooling your face. You feel it wash away the dirt that has accumulated on your face, and though you know it’s a bad idea to get your clothes wet, you give in the temptation and close your eyes, basking in the feeling of freshness that follows.

A bang sounds to your right and you jump, snapping your head in the direction, though there is not much to see. It’s very dark now. And you’re shivering. The rain is hitting far harder than it did just a few seconds ago. You push away from where you were leaning against the shed door, taking a stiff step towards town. You reach up to rub at your neck, but your arms protest the movement.

If you had been more conscious, you would have realised that something was very wrong. If you had been less stubborn, you would have accepted help hours, days, week, years ago. Had you been less scared.

But there is little point in wishing things were different. As the shapes move in strange ways around you, as you flinch at every rustle in the bushes around you, you can’t find it in you to care much about anything. You don’t even know why you’re so determined to let Gus know you’re not coming. A part of you knows that it’s already way past when your shift was supposed to have begun. Maybe it was an instinctive part – a part that realises that if you stop moving, you’re probably not going to start again.

If only it wasn’t so hard. Your boots are filled with water and your shirt is dragging you down. You can’t see past the wet strands of your hair, and you’re convinced that someone is calling your name somewhere beyond the rain.

You see a light. Just ten steps away there is a light and were there is light there is warmth and where there is warmth there is life – but you’re so tired. It’s so far away, it’s so hard to reach it now. It’s so hard to want to reach it now.

Your knees hit the muddy ground, the light swirls. You close your eyes.

And fall asleep.

***

 

A voice. Nothing.

Banging, and nothing.

A flash of white, and then nothing.

Your name, and then there is nothing.

A woman is tugging your pants, but you’re falling back down – somewhere else. Somewhere, where there is nothing. You try to stay there, but noises and movements and voices are all pulling at you. You wish they would stop. You wish you were nothing.

***

An insistent noise is the first thing you notice. You scrunch your eyes, fighting against the pull to consciousness. Please, you just want to sleep a little bit more.

The noise doesn’t stop. Somewhere it registers in you that it’s beeping – steady beeping. You blink your eyes open. The first thing you’re able to take in is the poster above you, featuring a comic strip from a book you used to love as a kid. It’s too small to read, but the details of it are entertaining enough.  The second thing you notice is when your eyes drift down and see the white walls and sheets around you. A hospital, that’s where you are. Panic would have been choking you at this point, if it wasn’t for the third thing that caught your eye.

Brown, thick hair falling over and down to the bed. A large body is leaning its head on their arms on the bed. One arm is out, its hand gripping a smaller one – yours. Glasses are folded neatly right beside the two hands, and the body is breathing deeply - all signs of a sleeping Harvey.

The curtain is being pulled aside and with practiced ease a familiar woman sweeps in and lets it fall shut behind her, clipboard and medicine tray unrattled. Maru starts a little when she sees you awake, her eyes darting to the only unconscious party left.

“You’re okay. Do you know where you are?” Her voice barely above as whisper as she starts taking your vitals.

With a worried glance at Harvey, you decide to just nod.

“Good. Do you know what happened?”

After a moment, you shake your head. You can’t remember anything.

“You passed out, poor thing. You’ve been working too hard. I know you can’t time these things, but it really would be better if you didn’t pass out in the rain. You have a mean infection and you’ll probably be sick with the flu for a little while.”

Harvey shifts a little and you both go stiff. It’s not until he exhales deeply that you both stop holding your breaths.

“Anyways, Emily was worried when you didn’t show up for your shift, so she sent out a little search party for you. Luckily they didn’t have to go further than to the edge of the center to find you. Shane will probably demand payment in form of beer, but you know how he is.”

You nod agreeably, but your mind is preoccupied while she starts talking about treatment. Shane had found you?

“He’s been staying up for two days with you while your condition was a bit unstable, so I’d rather just let him sleep unless you feel uncomfortable with him here?”

Your eyes sweep over Harvey again. His face has turned a little to the side, facing you. His expression is so relaxed he looks almost ten years younger.

You answer Maru with a shake of your head but open your mouth to ask something that has been bothering you for a while now. “Maru, did Harvey say anything about me?”

Her eyebrows furrow and she clutches the clipboard a little tighter to her body. “No, why? What happened?”

“Nothing. Sorry.”

She looks between you two for a moment before she visibly decides to let it go. The curtain falls shut behind her and after a few moments you hear the door click.

Gazing at him, you fall back into a dreamless sleep that you don’t come out of until a couple of hours later. As you look around, you can’t find anything that could have woken you up. Harvey is still beside you, his moustache decorating his slightly parted lips. You try not to notice the way his arms bulge as they pillow his head. What you do notice, what you can’t help but feel to your core, is the raspy fingers against yours. The heat of his hand as it holds yours. You adjust your grip a little, not intending to pull away, when you feel his hand close tighter around your hand. A matching furrow in his brows reveal his displeasure. You attempt to soothe him with soft strokes of your thumb over his knuckles, something he gradually accepts and relaxes into once more.

Had you really been out of it for two days? From the way Harvey has treated you, and the way everyone in town praises him for his abilities, you often wonder why he chose to have a small-town clinic instead of becoming a hot-shot doctor in the big city. But seeing him now, you realise that would be too much stress for him. The way he cares so deeply for his patients, whether he hates them or not, would leave him burnt not even halfway through his career if he had to deal with the fast-paced environment of a large hospital. He would never be able to make it through 20 consultations in a day, not without taking it all home with him after to analyse.

Immense guilt surges through you. You’ve only added stress and misery to his life since you came. You have tried to stay away, but your own reckless actions brought you right back into his life, causing even more pain. He would likely feel this little sleepover in his back for a few days at least.

You notice his breathing fall out of rhythm and realise that he’s about to wake up. You have no idea what to say, and you don’t try to think of anything. Instead, you keep up the steady movement of your thumb and wait for him.

The way he snuggles into his arm, rubbing his face as he comes to almost makes you smile.

Why is he so damn adorable.

At least he blinks the sleep away and looks up at you through hooded eyes. Then he recognises you and sits up quickly, his hand falling from yours as he gathers his glasses and wipes at his face for potential drool. You bite the inside of you lip so you don’t smile.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” His voice is groggy.

“I’m okay. Maru came to check on me a little while ago.”

He looks down at his watch and then sets to work. He picks up the notes strapped to the clipboard at the end of your bed and then begins to take your vitals once more.

You can practically hear all the things he isn’t saying. You open your mouth to speak but back out at the last second. This goes on a couple of times. You think you’ve missed your chance when Harvey suddenly leaves, but he’s back quickly with a cup of water and Maru at his heels. Like a well-oiled machine, they take care of you. Drawing blood and discussing medications, it eventually sounds to you like you got out of it pretty much unscathed.

“Barely,” Maru replies drily, but winking at you to soften the underlying scolding.

“Maru, I’ll finish up here. Can you begin to reschedule the appointments?”

She nods and leaves, giving you wide eyes and a little wave on the way out. You both wait until the door clicks somewhere to your right.

Harvey falls back into his seat. Your cuticles have suddenly become very fascinating. Damn, they scrubbed your nails too. You’re hoping that it was Maru who took care of undressing you. Not that you’re naïve enough to think both aren’t well informed about all the marks on your body.

“Where have you been staying.”

“Mind your own business.” The venom you had hoped would gather is nowhere. You’re just tired now and trying to breathe around the rock in your throat.

“If you don’t care about yourself, at least know that you have a lot of people here who would break if you killed yourself-“

Wow, hey. “I wasn’t trying to kill myself,” you protest.

He looks your square in the eye, his jaw set. “Weren’t you?”

Your eyes flutter and the hand you had been about to point with falls to your side. Whatever he sees in your expression is enough to soften his shoulders. He rubs his hands over his face and seems to search the room around you for words.

“I get… dreams.” It’s the best word you can use to describe them. Nightmares make them seem too far away or as if you’re undeserving of them. “And I’d rather not have to explain them to anyone. Which I ended up doing anyway, so great job me – but yeah, that’s why I tried to find someplace more remote to sleep. Not that I have been sleeping.”

Harvey stands up and walks around, agitated and not knowing which part he should try to fix first.

“None of us are perfect out here, far from it. We all have our issues, but we stick together. I get nightmares too. I came here years ago, and I was done with the adventures. I was a mine medic; it was a lot of money and most of the time nothing bad happened. Until it did. I swore I would never go into the mines again.”

You try not to get lost in his brown eyes, in the passion for helping. In the hope that things can get better.

“But I still suffer from it, once in a while. What I’m trying to say is that, whatever you’re struggling with, you’re not alone in it.”

You hope that you’re alone in it. You wouldn’t wish your baggage on anyone other than perhaps the person who gave it to you.

“A mine medic? How could you ever think you’re anything but brave?”

Your teasing tone shocks him. His eyes widen slightly, and he tries to push against the curving of his lips – but he can’t hide the blush spreading over his cheeks. “Right, that’s not going to work, sweetheart, but good try. If you don’t want anymore people involved, you can sleep at Maru’s, mine or Shane’s, but no more wherever you’ve been hiding.”

“Yours? I thought you had a studio apartment.”

His smile is slow. “Now how would you know that?”

He chuckles at the way you turn your head away, the sound coming from somewhere deep in his throat. “I have two couches, one of them is a pullout sofa. And my place is rather large.”

It seems that the decision was made without any real conversation or clear agreement. For a couple of days, you had visitors coming and going. Maru would sneak in to gossip with you whenever she could get away with it – not that she got away with it a lot, as Harvey had to come collect her more than once. Yet, his smile always stayed indulgent. If you hadn’t already had this conversation with him, you could have mistaken his affection for romantic rather than big brotherly – at times almost fatherly.

Emily took the time to do a tarot card reading on you, her brows furrowed and apologising a bunch of times for the way that everything was sort of contradictory or out of character. You tried to not let on that your heart was beating uncontrollably during the entire ordeal, especially when she pulled the Three of Swords.

Elliot joined once, but it seemed to you that he was more there to see Maru than you. Though he did have a very inspiring and hopeful sonnet prepared. Willy had luckily tagged along and spoke with you while those two fell into a conversation that you could not begin to understand.

“Ye see, I’m fixin’ up my boat soon ‘neuf. Ye should come join me. Learning stuff like that is good for a young lady.”

You thanked him politely, but there was no way in hell you were going willingly out into the middle of the sea. You’d heard he’d lost his wife some time ago, and you were very flattered that he seemed to consider you part of the family already. However misplaced and short-lived that affection would be.

At the end of day two – or what was in reality day four – Harvey helped you upstairs to his apartment.

The door swings open, revealing a much bigger place than you had imagined. To the right and up against the furthest wall is a double bed, directly across from it what seems to be the “living-room” area, and to the left stands a dining table, a desk with a bunch of tech equipment, and a door to what you assume is the bathroom. The small kitchen is just past the “bedroom”. His place is much more decorated than you would assume for a bachelor pad. Along the walls are posters and shelves with knickknacks, memories, and hobbies. His large bookshelf is filled to the brim and plants adorn the few free spaces left. If not for his non-existent work-life balance, this would give the impression that he’s a functioning adult. Which he is. You’re guessing he’s got almost a decade on you.

“I’m sorry I can’t offer you something more comfortable.” Harvey shows you how to pull out and set up the sofa-bed, warning you of the mischief you can expect from it. “But I tested it out before I bought it, so there should be plenty of space for you.”

You look up at him and he down at you. You both share a smile when yours suddenly drops.

“My bag!” You turn to rush out.

“Bring your jacket!” He calls after you, and you gratefully pull it on as you run for the door.

It’s obvious that you’re still not feeling good by the way you’re about of breath before you’ve even opened the front doors to the clinic. You wonder briefly if you should’ve gotten a key from Harvey, but there are more important things to take care of.

Please say that the rain hasn’t ruined everything in it. Most of your things can survive a couple of days in bad weather, but there are a few precious things that you had kept carefully sealed all this time that just couldn’t. Perhaps you can fix it whatever is left. Not that there aren’t a thousand things you have to fix already. The farm is likely in an unrecognisable state. You don’t believe that anything was planted right or even planted at all.

The farmhouse comes into view, the cloudy day seeming to dry it up a little after days of abuse. Then you see the grounds, and they’re-

They are good.

You stop in your tracks.

It seems a little wonky, sure, but nothing has drowned and some of them have even turned a little green.

A door slams closed behind you and you whip around. There stands the last person you’d have thought – Shane. Shane, with dirt around his ankles and a guilty look on his face before it settles into some more like his usual gruff exterior.

You look at each other, you with your arms crossed and him taking off his gloves to stuff them in his back pocket.

He hates you, yet he was the one that found you and brought you to the clinic. Even you don’t believe that all of the motivation and good came from the potential of beer. Maybe he just felt bad about the chair incident.

Or maybe, whispers a corner of your mind. He sees in you what you see in him.

He takes the time to scan you, his eyes flickering to different points of you. Your feet, your middle, your hands, and at last your face.

“I’m okay.” You say.

He nods.

“Why did you help me?”

He considers this. “If I was passed out in the rain somewhere, I would want somebody to help me.”

“I thought you’d like it if I wasn’t in the town anymore.”

He shrugs, his own gaze not straying from yours. “I’m not a complete asshole. I don’t exactly want you to die, either.”

“Does this mean I can talk to Jas?”

“Don’t push it.”

“Jeez, thanks.” Your dry tone gets a huff from him, which you delightfully choose to interpret as a laugh.

The fact that he hasn’t asked you about that night at all bothers you. You don’t know if you want to share that part with him, but it irks you that he might know the answers already.

“You’re welcome, Paulie.”

“I didn’t come up with that name for the chicken.”

“You’re an accomplish. But no, I heard what you came up with. Very edgy, you’re so cool.”

You flip him off and he actually smirks. “If I had a brother, I’d imagine he would be as annoying as you.”

“You’re right about that.”

You don’t ask him what he means, his tone stopping you. You don’t want to push this fragile connection.

“What happened to the chicken?”

“Cooked it.”

“What?” You exclaim.

“Calm down, it’s safe in the coop. Thought you hated the thing.”

“Aaand we’ve come full circle.”

As his smile tries to break free, you see him stick his tongue into the side of his cheek. Then, as if he has just thought it. “I’ll help you take care of this for the rest of the week.”

“Oh no, you don’t have to.”

He waves you off and begins to walk down the overgrown path leading down to the south end of your property. “It’s already done. Get better, buy me a couple of beers, and never bother me again – then we’ll be even.”

He’s lost to the trees before you manage a reply that’s not as unwanted as “thank you”.

When you get to the bush, your bag is gone.

Notes:

Thanks for reading! This week was a bit of character development, but next week we're finally getting **closer** to Harvey, so I hope you'll stick around for it.
See you next week!

Chapter 6: Take-a-farmer-to-work Day

Summary:

You have always wondered how a stethoscope works.

You look around, even wander further up into the mountains, but there are no hints of where your things could have gone. It was likely an animal. If it was one of the townspeople, you could expect a notice on the Notice Board within a few days.

You try not to let it get you down, but you sink further and further into acceptance when nothing comes on the board, and no one mentions a word of it anywhere. Harvey doesn’t bring it up when you first return with nothing, walking past him as he’s greeting a client in the clinic, but Maru suddenly has a lunch break not half an hour after you’ve let yourself into the apartment.

“I’m kind of tired, Maru. Another day.”

She stands in the door with her bag over her shoulder, her nurse’s hat crumbled in her grip. She chews her lip. “I hear you.” And goes down the stairs without another word.

Sitting at the dining table, you’re looking at the puzzle Harvey has just begun. The image isn’t clear yet, still a chaos of divided colours and a barely holding frame. You have noticed a few boxes gathered around his bookshelf, which you now see are an assortment of colourful pictures, some consisting of over a thousand pieces. When he finds time for all of his hobbies you have no idea. You look for the lid for this current one, but what you find is something that fits the box but is taped over with what looks like gift wrapping.

“He gets weirdly excited when we cover the pictures.”

You squawk and jump. “Maru! That’s it, I’m getting you a bell.”

“Oh, now you like the bells.” She giggles and walks further into the room. She’s holding a brown paper bag.

That’s how seamlessly you continued with your lunch dates. Going from a couple of times a week to every day – even the days when Maru isn’t working. Sometimes others would join, a lot of the times it would be Harvey. As a way of thanking him for letting you stay, you pick up the habit of bringing them both coffee every morning again. Maru usually jumps at the cup as if she’s gone without for years, showing her thanks in forms of what you’re pretty sure is native rain dancing. Harvey merely looks up at you from behind his desk, his eyebrows lifted, and his lips parted in surprise as he takes the cup from you, knuckles brushing yours.

“Thank you,” he would say, very quietly. In these moments it takes a lot to control the urge to ruffle his hair.

Though you have been ordered to rest, you can’t help sneaking over to the farm every day, claiming that you’re merely going for a little walk for some exercise – something you doubt anyone believes. Shane orders you to sit on one of the tree stumps as he tends to the baby plants sprouting eagerly towards the sunlight, and Robin always watches with a bemused expression that you often find yourself sharing.

Though Shane is not looking any better, for a little while, he’s not looking worse. Which makes you believe that you aren’t getting worse either.

This day, after almost a week at Harvey’s, you’re walking swiftly with your usual beverages and letting yourself into the clinic just as Evelyn leaves.

“Hello, dear.”

“Morning, Evelyn. Everything alright?” You feel a strange sort of protective instinct for this older woman, and you see her a lot at the clinic – even more than her wheelchair bound husband George, who still refuses to acknowledge you with anything more than a disgruntled grunt.

“Yes, yes, dear. No need to worry about me.”

She starts to tell you something about her recent health concern, and you try to listen. Even with the cups burning your palms, you’re rarely too busy to politely listen to Evelyn’s long stories. But something catches your eye. Harvey, leaning over the counter, his side profile to you as he sorts through the mess on Maru’s desk. You see him shaking his head, a crooked smile adorning his lips as he sorts through a few papers, until he gives in and writes a note, sticks it on the folder, and drops it on the side of the mess. You watch how his arm moves as he writes, and the way he holds the lid of the marker between his teeth, and your own lips part. He turns and walks into his office.

Laughter penetrates your fog. You whip your head to Evelyn’s secret smirk.

“What? Sorry, Evelyn, I zoned out there for a moment. What were you saying?”

She shakes her head, clucking merrily. “Nothing important, dear. You go on and bring him that coffee before it gets cold.”

Though eager to follow her suggestion, you still hold the door open for her as she leaves, still laughing every time she looks at your face. You quickly scan yourself in the mirror before knocking on the office door.

“Come in.” The muted voice allows.

Harvey’s office functions as the examination room – the usual practice for doctors in your experience.

He looks up when you enter, a smile ready for you as you hand him the small offering. You soak in the surprise and delight you find there, watching him as he takes his first sip. He takes off the lid and gently blows on the hot liquid, his eyes on you as he experimentally drinks from it, testing its heat.

“Thank you.” The words are almost relieved, as if this is what he has been missing all day. You feel almost giddy from the appreciation.

“No worries.” You take a big drink from your own tea, trying to calm down the fluttering in your stomach. You turn from him and walk around, inspecting the different tools, fingering the paper on the table. You can feel him watching you as you do.

“Do you have any patients soon?”

He clears his throat. “No, I- well, I have a little break before then.”

You nod and turn back to the stuff. “How does a normal check-up go? I suspect being at death’s door isn’t how people usually show up.”

He chuckles. “Well, ehm, no.” After a moment of silence, you hear him rise from his chair and start opening drawers. You face him when you hear items being placed on the desk in time to see him sit back in his chair.

“No, normally I go through the usual things. The throat, eyes, ears, lungs, and heart.” He says all this while pointing at the different things he’d use to check with. The last two is the stethoscope around his neck.

“I’ve never understood how that thing can check both lungs and heart. Won’t the sound of either interfere with the other?”

You lift your eyes from the tool to find him looking contemplatively at you. “Do you want to try?”

You swallow and nod, moving to sit on the table. He shakes his head before rising again, pulling the tool smoothly over his head and into his ears, a move he’s done likely a thousand times before. The ease in which he moves in the office so at odds with how he is outside of it. Normally, he seems to be always aware of himself to a painful degree. Always holding himself back or overthinking how he should even place his fork on a plate. You wonder how these two versions can live in the same man.

“I’ve only done this on you while unconscious,” he pauses. “Which sounds so wrong to say out loud.”
You giggle and watch the red spread to his ears.

He continues, moving as he’s talking. “I’d normally ask you to remove your shirt if it was in the way, but here it’s not necessary. I’d move it like this to check your heart and keeping it in these spots makes sure that I don’t hear anything else.” He glides the cool metal over your t-shirt, distracted by the routine of it.

“Then, to check your lungs, I have these front spots, but I’d get the most from listening to your back.” He moves in then, to lean around you and place the warming tool on the middle of your back. He’s standing almost completely between your legs, the feel of him against the inside of your knee almost sinful. You can smell him, like this. A familiar scent by now. Still pleasing. You try not to inhale too deeply, something that’s hard to do when he literally asks you to take deep breaths.

“So,” you clear your throat. “What can you hear?”

He pulls back to look at you. “Nothing against clothes. This was just for demonstration. Though, if you pull your top a little to the side, we can play lie detector.”

“What?” You giggle somewhat nervously.

He gapes and blushes. “I mean, sorry, in med school we used to see if we could guess someone was lying from their heartbeat.”

The way he rubs his neck, looking shyly away from you, makes you almost lightheaded. Or perhaps its his closeness. All you know, is that you can’t think straight, which is probably why you let the next words flow from you.

“Let’s try one.”

He huffs, but seeing that you’re serious, he puts the stethoscope in place, slowly gliding it beneath the collar of your loose shirt. He’s about to ask a question, when his eyes flick back to yours, a little frown on his face. “You’re, um.”

“Yes?” If your voice is a little breathy, you hope he doesn’t notice it.

“Your heartbeat is a little fast. Are you, um, are you alright?” You nervously bite your lip, his eyes following the movement. The tension rises and you feel your heartbeat going quicker, and you’re sure he can hear it form the way his eyes flicker between your mouth, your eyes, and your chest.

You can’t stand it. “Can I try it on you?”  

He nods, only hesitating slightly. He walks backwards to his chair, and you follow him, jumping down from the table. He lowers his bigger body into the seat with you now standing over him. Slowly, carefully, he pops the first few buttons on his shirts, revealing centimeter after centimeter of skin, until you can see just below his collarbone, and the few hairs on the top of his chest. He clears his throat and leans back in his chair.

You put the buds in your ears and guide the metal to his chest. He positions your hand correctly, keeping his hand over yours as you listen. It’s hard at first and very strange, but soon his heart breaks through everything else. It’s beating fast.

Your eyes flicker to his, to find him observing you with a heavy-lidded gaze. Your eyes land on his parted lips, nothing the details of them, the fullness. You still can’t hear anything but the running in his chest, and you don’t know if you’re brave enough to take the buds out. You watch his breath leave him faster, your hand guided up and down by the rise and fall of his chest. You wonder, briefly, wholly, how those soft lips would feel in contrast with the beard. His mustache isn’t new, but the slight stubble from forgetting to shave this morning is a sight you’re very fixated on.

He squeezes the hand he’s still holding against him, and you look back into his eyes. There’re darker, more intense. Burning. His chest falls even quicker and it doesn’t take long to realise that yours does as well. You lick your suddenly dry lips and then it’s his turn, tracking the movement intensely. Obsessively. That’s the only word you can find to describe how you’re both watching every little movement of the other.

 He shifts his body, moving forward. A large hand lands on your hip, kneading it insistently, mindlessly.

 “Sweetheart.” He murmurs. You feel the rumbling through the hand that’s still pressed against him. The sound goes up your arm and drips through you, molten. A helpless noise leaves you. He gasps at the sound and sits up, moving in, closing in, almost –

A loud buzzing goes off and you both jump back. Chests heaving, you’re taking each other in before something visibly dawns on Harvey. He rushes out and you’re left there, trying to calm yourself. Your cheeks are warm, and you can barely see straight. It takes a couple of deep breaths and the distraction of the voices down the hall now audible with the open door before you’re able to face the world.

You turn the corner and see Harvey standing with Abby, while Sam is bend over in a chair, clutching his hand.

“Is everything alright?”

At the sound of your voice, Harvey turns to you. It’s good that you took a few moments to calm down, because that man is looking flustered, barely able to make eye contact with you as Abby explains what has happened.

“Sam fell off his skateboard and we think he sprained his wrist.”

“Dude, I’m telling you, it’s definitely broken!” Sam counters from his chair, rocking back and forth as the pain seemingly gets worse the more you’re all talking about it.

Abby looks you dead in the eyes. “It’s just a sprain.” Followed by an eyeroll at the howling of her friend.

“No matter what it is, it’s best that I have a look at it.” Harvey turns to you, but he’s barely meeting your eyes. “Thanks for the coffee.”

You feel it like a punch in your gut. “Yeah, it was nothing, doc.” And you turn to leave, waving at the two chaotic friends.

You don’t go far. Exhausted by the strain of everything, you plop down on a patch of wet grass in the graveyard. All the stones are well taken care of; none of them very dirty and with nothing growing on them.

This community really protect their own, even after they’ve gone.

You wonder how it would have been if you had grown up here, instead of in the city. How it would have been if the conflict between your grandpa and parents had never existed. Would you have come here every summer? Been the bad big city influence on Abby, Sam, and Sebastian? Perhaps you would have been close enough to figure out what the hell Evelyn puts in those heavenly cookies. Maybe you would have been there to help grandpa when he got sick, so he didn’t have to move away and let his life’s work fall apart. You would have had a community at your back when everything went wrong – or maybe, nothing would have gone wrong.

You try to imagine a version of you, unharmed and bright. But every picture is from when you’re a child. You wish you could warn her, but at the same time you don’t want her to know what’s about to happen. Give her a few more years, you think to yourself. Older you can take it, if it means she gets just a few more years in peace.

But, that version of you, unchained and open, would have kissed Harvey back there. And Harvey wouldn’t have been embarrassed about almost kissing you.

You put your head in your hands. You have to go back and sleep in the same apartment as him. But how – when you can still hear his gasp. Still feel his hand on your waist. See the need in his eyes. When he has seen the same in yours.

When did this happen?

Nothing has happened, you remind yourself. He is a friend and the two of you got a little carried away. You can be an adult about it and move on. He has been nothing but kind to you and deserves the grace of you letting it all go.

And you try not to think about it. You almost succeed after having spent a couple of hours seeing Emily run around the pub, balancing plates and scaring Pam – the town’s alcoholic and mother to Penny.

“Nothing happened!” Emily calls out as she rushes back into the kitchen. Gus sliding a piece of pizza to Pam as compensation, before turning back to you.

“When you’re feeling better, I’d like for you to relieve Emily for about a week. She hasn’t had time off since long before you came, and I’d like to amend that.” He says this as if he’s fired you.

To his surprise, you don’t fall to your knees and sob. Instead, you eagerly agree. Emily has really been a good help to you since you’ve arrived, and being out of work so often in less than two months really hasn’t been a good look.

He cautiously shares the smile. A huge crash of ceramic and glass causes you both to flinch and look back to the swing doors just as Emily emerges. “Nothing happened!”

You actually don’t think about what happened with Harvey until you’re in your pajamas, setting up the sofa, and he emerges from the bathroom in his own set with planes on the bottoms.

You grunt and heave. Son of a bitch.

“Is it stuck?” You hear over your shoulder.

“Yes, and my usual trick seems a little inappropriate here.”

He huffs. “What, why, what is it?”

You freeze, debating. “I, uhh.”

“Is it a secret?”

“Well, it’s just…”

“Come on,” he teases. “Doctor/patient confidentiality. You can tell me.”

You laugh nervously. “It’s going to sound silly.”

“Just tell me.”

“I dirty talk.”

Oh, if the sofa could fold out and kill you with blunt force right now, that would be awesome. If not the sofa, the silence surely will.

You shake the frame.

“Does it work?”

“Nothing can say no to me when I talk dirty.” Sweet, sweet regret. Because now you’re doing what you had promised yourself you wouldn’t. What you had done such a good job of avoiding for the better part of that day.

You’re thinking about it.

“Never mind, but it is actually stuck. Can you do it?”

“Dirty talk?”

“No!” You exclaim and see his raised eyebrows as you whirl to face him. You soften your tone. “I meant; can you pull it out? The couch.” You add the last part quickly.

You step far away from the couch as he steps closer, as if proximity is the most dangerous thing that could befall you two just then.

You purposely look away when he bends to fight the couch. Instead, you just get an earful of his increased breathing mixed with the sound of stubborn mattress springs – both doing a very poor job of getting your thoughts on a different path.

“What the-“. And then a the couch implodes.

Or you so you would guess from the sound. In reality, the bed part jerked out underneath him, and Harvey in all his height and greatness, fell face first into the thing, snapping the fragile metal bars and causing the entire thing to collapse. So now, it’s a sort of ramp to the couch.

“Holy shit, Harvey, are you okay?” You rush over to help him as he’s trying to get himself up. Your voice is bubbling, first with panic and then as you watch the mess beneath him, it morphs into laughter. And then you can’t stop.

“It’s not funny.”

That just makes you laugh harder.

He’s watching you from the floor, leaning back against the normal couch, narrowed eyes and skewed glasses.

You grab for the back of the couch, but fall over, laughter ripping from you almost hysterically. Eventually, you’re on your back, looking up at a very pouty Harvey, until the last of the giggles escape you with a final exhale.

“Done?”

“Yeah,” you say, you voice almost blissful.

He gives you an odd look that you can’t interpret.

You sit up next to him, both looking at the destroyed bed.

“Should I call Maru and see if I can sleep at hers?”

He looks at the clock. “It’s a little late now. You can take the bed and I’ll sleep on the one couch I have left.” He makes the last part sound pitying, but you can hear the teasing notes he cautiously places beneath the lines.

“It’s okay, I’m your guest, I can take the couch.”

“No way.”

“What- Harvey, you’re being silly. I can at least fit on it.”

“I actually prefer to sleep on the couch.”

You look at him as if he’s full of shit.

“I do! But society has always stood in the way of me doing what I truly wanted. You’d be doing me a huge favor.” He adjusts his glasses, trying to hide the turn of his lips.

“Harvey, I believe you as much as I believe Vincent and his stories.”

“Did you hear about the one on Mars?”

“No, is it good?”

“That kid is a born storyteller.”

“He really is.”

You’re sitting next to each other on the floor, arms brushing occasionally as your breathe in and out.

You look over your shoulder at the desk. “You know, you haven’t told me what that tech is for.”

He looks over his shoulder briefly, before focusing on his hands. “I’ll show you some time.”

“When?” You both look at each other.

You know you have no right to make demands like these and are about to let him off the hook when he answers simply, as if no thoughts of boundary or revenge for the way you’ve treated him are even considered.

“How about this weekend?”

You nod eagerly before you both fall into a contemplative silence.

The floor is starting to hurt, though.

“I’ve got to set up the couch.”

“I’ll do it,” you protest.

“We can’t keep having this argument.”

“You’re the one with the patients!”

“You’re still sick.”

“Am not.”

A laugh bursts from him and you watch in amazement as his head falls back. “So mature.” He drawls.

You flick him lightly on the arm.

His eyes glide down to the area before finding your gaze. In them you see a light that causes your stomach to flip. There’s a challenge, a feeling, something you wouldn’t expect in the calm, shy doctor.

“I think this is the easiest conversation we’ve had since the – thing.” You try to avoid mentioning your latest accident, not wanting to see the look in his eyes or the flinch of his shoulders.

But it’s true. You rarely talk while alone. Whenever it’s time to go to bed, Harvey just makes sure that everything is alright, then avoids you like the plague. If you’re hanging around the apartment, he suddenly has some paperwork to fill. Normally if you visit him in his office, you’re interrupted by Maru before he has to think of something to avoid you with.

At first you had been worried about the actual sleeping bit, but apparently a miracle has happened. Or modern-day painkillers. Either way, some magical thing is helping you sleep. Not that you’re without nightmares. No, you still wake in the dead of night, mouth poised to call out your terror. That is until a soft snoring penetrates your haze of panic. Each rise and fall of the covers somewhere to your right lulling you into joining its rhythm. Soon enough, your lids droop and peaceful darkness swallows your again.

So not even that has forced you two to interact more than necessary.

“I know. I’m trying to give you space.”

You don’t know if you believe him. Still, you say, “thank you.”

He nods, then goes to stand, pulling you with him. You’re both looking back and forth between the couch and the bed.

“Don’t even think about it, doc. I’ll wrestle you for it.”

His blush is so deep, you almost want to tease him again just to see if it can spread down to his shoulders too.

“I’m an old man, sweetheart. We need to come up with a solution soon.”

You contemplate the bed, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “It’s a pretty big bed.”

He frowns, not getting the hint.

“We could… share?”

“Oh.” You note with delight that yes, his blush can spread down to his neck and shoulders.

“Just until Robin can help fix the bed tomorrow.”

He nods, but you’re not sure that he hears you, his eyes glued to the bed.

Right. Nothing to do but get in. If you act like its no big deal, maybe he’ll believe it too. And it’s not like you haven’t shared a bed with someone platonically before.

Carrying the pillow and covers from the pullout, you climb in and scootch over, trying to get as close to the wall as possible. You hear his heavy footsteps as he nears the bed, awareness shooting down your spine. As the bed dips behind you, a shiver runs through you. Though you’re not sharing the covers, you start shaking when you hear the glide of his body against the soft material. It’s followed by a deep exhale that causes the hair on your body to stand. You’re fisting the covers, keeping your hands locked in front of your, with your back to him.

“Are you cold?” You hear mumbled behind you.

Can he feel the bed shake? “Just a little, but I’ll warm up soon. Fall happened a little quicker than we expected this year.” You’re thankful that your voice doesn’t shake.

His grunt of agreement is the end of that exchange.

You’ve actually begun to calm down when all of your progress gets ripped out from underneath you. “I’m worried-“ he begins, but stops just as suddenly.

“What?”

It’s as if he’s shocked that he even voiced his thought in the first place. But you both know that it’s too late for him to back out of it now. “As the only doctor in town, I’m constantly worried about making my patients uncomfortable by being too… familiar, outside of the clinic. It’s why I don’t have a lot of close friends here. It’s hard to know when the lines are being crossed, you have to tell me when the lines are being crossed.”

You roll over in bed. As you had guessed, his overthinking is paired with the familiar knitted brow. You press a finger between the wrinkle they create, watching him forcefully soften his expression before you let your hand fall.

“I don’t have any friends, Harvey. Your guess is as good as mine.”

Cautiously, a hand that had been hidden under the cover peaks out, laying flat as if in offering. Slowly, you move your own and let it slide into his, as easily as on the docks, both equally afraid now as you had been then.

Neither of you say anything. When his eyes finally fall shut, so does your own, gripping his hand a little tighter.

Notes:

• *‘Kiss her you fool’ by Kids That Fly starts playing* *follows up with ‘Older’ by Isabel LaRosa*
• This chapter was a little shorter than the others. I’m trying to figure out a balance and schedule – but so far Tuesdays and Wednesdays have worked fine. It’s possible I may have to cut down to one long chapter every two weeks – with possible sprinkles of extra chapters when I have the time. I want to make sure nothing feels rushed.
If you have any opinions on that, feel free to share. I’m always open to hear what you’d guys would prefer!
• As always, hope you enjoyed this chapter and I’ll see you next week!

Chapter 7: Fall - Year 1

Summary:

“Nature is in a perpetual dance of impermanence.”

Before you’ve even properly woken up, you know something is wrong.

Perhaps not wrong – but something is very different. You feel your limbs are stretched out, instead of in their usual cramped, fetal position. And you’re relaxed. A bone-deep, borderline comatose state of relaxation that you haven’t felt in – well, you can’t remember when you last felt that.

You realise with a start, that you’ve slept through the night. No nightmares or panicked thrashing. No sore throat from screaming or aching teeth from biting it back. No, not this morning. This morning you’ve slept the entire night, and you’re wondering, almost dazed, how that could have happened.

As your body goes to turn onto your back, you feel the constricted hold around it.

He’s found me, is your first thought, and you almost want to puke. You want to crawl from your skin – to scream, to trash, to cry, to beg for it not to be real. You almost do, when a soft snore breaks through your panic – soft exhalations brushing over the back of your neck. You blink, your eyes focusing, and recognise the blue wallpaper.

Oh.

You know that snore, that soft scratch of noise that has comforted you every time you woke from a nightmare. You know that soft blue, have stared at it for over a week.

You’re in Harvey’s bed.

With Harvey wrapped around you.

His body is pressed up against you, his arm locking you to his front. You can feel the warmth of his chest on your back, and you enjoy it for a moment before you smile to yourself in mischief.

So that’s what Harvey was so worried about – he’s a chronic cuddler. You shake your head at the absurdness of it. This man’s big secret, his biggest shame, is that he cannot help but cuddle a little if someone is near him. You slowly pull his arms from you, ignoring the pang of regret going through you, trying not to wake him and cause him the embarrassment you know he’d feel if saw how he’d tangled his limbs with yours.

As you sit on the edge of the bed, you give in and allow yourself just a minute of indulgence. You watch his hair falling over his face, his lips parted as he breathes softly. You notice his chest rises and falls shallower. He must be waking up. So you get up from the bed and walk towards the coffee machine, giving him a bit of privacy as he crawls towards consciousness.

The purr that comes from him as he stretches is something you vow never to forget, and you bite your cheek, so you don’t smile like a maniac.  

The covers rustle behind you and you hear his steps as he comes towards you. He stops at your side, half turned towards you, the heat of his chest against your arm as he looks down at the rusty machine that brews his life elixir.

“I smells better than when I make it,” he muses, his voice carrying the gruffness of sleep.

You make an agreeing noise.

“How did you do that?” His voice is accusing.

You slide a sly smile his way. “A girl has her secrets.”

For a heartbeat, Harvey’s focused on something other than the coffee and you both have to take a breath and step about ten centimeters away from each other. You, going to grab the mugs, and him, rummaging through the fridge for some eggs.

An observer would think that you both had rehearsed this domestic scene. No one would believe how natural it all comes to you – moving around each other without bumping anything; exchanging plates and filled cups until you eventually sit down, enjoying the morning in silence. More than once, you catch yourself wanting to reach out to his hand only a few centimeters from your own. Criminal, really, to tempt you so unabashedly. There he is, drinking from his mug, looking all mushed and relaxed from a long night of sleep.

Heathen.

 

But the peace doesn’t sit with you for long – not that it ever does. It scares you, how easily you slip into this role again. The domesticity of it all. It’s probably why you almost rip the plate from Harvey before he’s finished, rushing to wash the dishes and yourself before you head out.

“Bye,” is something you barely remember to throw behind you as you throw your bag over your shoulder and start your journey towards the farm.

There is a buzz rushing through you, not just from the crisp air of fall embracing you, kissing your cheeks. You fear it’s coming from the man you had sworn you wouldn’t become close to.

Perhaps it’s okay, you tell yourself. Having a few friendships before you leave won’t do too much damage. It’s not like Stardew Valley is a hotspot of social media and front-page worthy news. You will indulge a little. You have allowed yourself this one morning, but you’ll go straight to Robin and tell her about the bed that needs to be fixed, and that will be the end of it.

As the farm comes into view, the familiar black and red hair greets you, one from the ground and the other from the roof.

“How early do I have to be to get a head-start on you two?” You call, exasperated.

Robin throws her head back and cackles before hammering on.

Shane’s big, gloved hand falls on your hair, ruffling it before you get a chance to push it off with a curse or two. “I’m up at six. So, coming in at seven-thirty isn’t exactly ambitious out here, Paulie.”

“Call me Paulie one more time, Shane.” Your words are measured, venom forced into them.

He narrows his eyes, the challenge more than understood. His lips part and very slowly, preciously, he says, “Paulie.”

You spring for him. He lets out a very unmanly scream as he tries to shield himself from the alley cat that just clung to him. You’re on his back, fighting to stay on as he bucks like a horse. Before long the annoying tree falls, and you both hit the mud with a thud.

“Hey! You two! Stop it, right now. Don’t make me come down there!” And if that’s not the scariest thing you’ve heard since you’ve come here. You and Shane let go of each other immediately, murmuring apologies under Robin’s scowling gaze. It’s not until she turns back to her work, satisfied with your shame, that you look at each other again.

“You’ve got some dirt on your face.” He says as you walk to the shed, pushing himself up from the ground behind you.

“Your face is dirt.” Your retort earns you a snort.

The plan today had been for Shane to catch you up on the basics of farming, what to look out for, and when the smartest time is for planting different crops.

“You really want them to be ready for harvest way before the seasons change – or it’ll be a whole load of crops wasted. Once they’re dead, they’re dead.” He even suggests getting a scarecrow, so the birds don’t destroy everything the second you have you back turned.

“I hated scarecrows as a kid.”

“Don’t worry, they only come to life during a full moon.”

If not for the warning glare from Robin, you wouldn’t have lowered your fist before it hit its sarcastic, little shit of a mark.

By the time lunch rolls around, so does Maru – with food enough for everyone. Maru and Robin carry the conversation, you and Shane stuffing your faces in silence. But where your eyes are shifting between the talking parties, Shane’s are stuck on the ground, or on the horizon. It’s in moments like these where you really notice the depts of his dark under-eyes and the stressed tilt of his mouth. Even his chewing is at times mechanical.

“What’s your favourite food?” You whisper to him, not wanting to halt the mother-daughter debate.

He shrugs.

“I bet it’s ‘Salmon en papillote’.”

A shake of the head, though with a small turn of the lips this time.

“Quiche Lorraine?”

The side-eye amuses you beyond rationality.

“No? Coq-au-vin? Or perhaps snails?”

He mumbles something you can’t quite hear, so you ask him to repeat himself.

“Pepper poppers,” he finally admits.

“Oh, cool.”

“Cool?”

“A little TMI, but I appreciate the trust, big guy.”

Your laughing body is shoved, getting even more covered in dirt than you already were.

By the time the sun starts to go down, Robin has begun packing up and you listen to Shane scramble to remind you of every possible piece of information he can possibly give you on life on the farm. You picture him as an anxious mother hen.

“I’m going to be okay, Shane. Thank you for your help today, and especially the past week.”

Shane has been your saviour, wordlessly doing anything that needed to be done without ever demanding something from you. Tonight is the end of that, and you wonder if, from the way that he’s fussing, he loves this as much as you do.

Today has really sealed that knowledge for you. Working your body into exhaustion has easily become one of your favourite things. You realise that your muscles won’t always ache likes this, that at some point you will get used to the hard work. But these days it certainly can’t hurt to be dead on your feet as you walk back to the clinic. The buzzing from earlier is gone, and you’re left with a deeply sated feeling. It’s not until you see the still broken sofa, that you realise what you had neglected to do today.

“Shit.”

Harvey looks up from the puzzle.

“I forgot to tell Robin. About the couch.”

He looks back and forth between the bed and the couch, slowly but surely turning red as he violently overthinks.

You rush to reassure him. “It’s not a problem for me. I’m just sorry to be taking up all of your space again.”

“Oh,” he rubs at the back of his neck. “It’s fine. I slept great.”

“Me too,” you almost whisper. Then head for the shower like a coward. You had luckily remembered to leave your boots down by the clinic, so you don’t track mud all the way through every real estate Harvey owns.

From the other side of the bathroom door, you hear Harvey’s muted voice. “Have you had dinner?”

Shit. “No, but I had a big lunch.” Silence. “Have you?”

“No.” He admits after a moment. “I’ll heat us up something small.” And then the footsteps recede.

You scrub every crevice you can reach, even attacking your nails.

Your fear of it being awkward is quickly replaced by everything else. The peace of talking about your day with Harvey, the soft concern on his face as you recount your less-detailed observations of Shane’s state. His increased visits to the bar, though he tries to time it with when you’re not working – something you can see from his shocked expression when you switch shifts.

Harvey takes you hand during this part. “It’s difficult to accept that others want to help you when you don’t want to help yourself. But trust me, I’ll be long dead before Shane loses his last lifeline. He’ll not drift too far; I won’t let him.”

That both comforts you and scares you more than he can ever know. This passion for helping and fixing, when sometimes the person just cannot be fixed. Will it eventually ruin him? Will you ruin him?

As the night wears on, both of you start yawning, wordlessly agreeing to get ready for bed. Like yesterday, you get in first, waiting for him to join you after taking his turn in the bathroom. You’re thankful for your exhaustion, noting the lack of tension that had been prevalent yesterday. You release a relieved breath, your body barely responding when he slides beneath his covers.

“Goodnight,” he whispers, his voice heavy with something.

“Sleep well, Harvey.”

You promise yourself, and him, that you’ll tell Robin tomorrow.

You tell yourself that you don’t enjoy it when you wake up with him arms around you a second time.

You tell yourself that his proximity is not the reason for your ceaseless work in the fields, or why you decide to clear an area for livestock. With winter as the next season, you doubt you’ll be able to plant anything. It was Shane who had given you the idea, suggesting getting you a good deal through Marnie.

“Doesn’t the feed cost a lot?” You had asked him that first day.

“Not compared to what you can get for a little processed milk and eggs in the end.” Settling that debate quickly.

But the end of the next day comes, and you still haven’t informed Robin of the accident. Not even when she catches you as you carry wood back and forth, informing you that despite the setbacks from the weather, the house will be done by next week.

A small part of you, a little voice, suggests that perhaps now that there is so little time left, does it even really matter?

Every day you fight to exhaust your body so you don’t do or say anything stupid, so you can just enjoy the warm, strong arms around you without complicating things. Not that the mornings, when you’ve regained your energy, aren’t a little… challenging. But you’ve solved this problem by quickly sliding away from Harvey’s intoxicating heat, hunting for the cold shower immediately. Waking up at a little to six has really made it easier to avoid Harvey during these weak moments.

The fact that you have to avoid him at all is something that you’re not willing to question further.

The result from your hard labour quickly comes to fruit, as you realise that you have cleared a huge part of the land that will be ready for Robin to start working on the second she’s done with the house. She squealed and jumped when you asked her, happy to get the extra work. You know that it’s not because she needs it, so you wonder if it’s because you generally let her do whatever she wants.

You even manage to fool yourself into believing that the routine you’ve created is stable. That is, until the weekend. Saturday morning, you wake up the same way you’ve done the entire week. Taking in a few moments of the familiar snoring behind you before you make your move. You try to slip out when a soft whine stops you.

Though that is your first mistake. In your attempt to not wake him, you gave him an opportunity to grab hold of you and drag your body back against his. A gasp leaves you slowly, as if you’re not really startled at all. Which you very much detest – it was totally not un purpose. So what if you’re enjoying the consequences? You really did want to leave. You do want to leave. You have to get up and save Harvey the inevitable embarrassment of waking up curled around you, as you have done every morning so far.

Except, when he snuggles further into you, his moustache brushes the back of your neck in a way that makes you shiver. You bite your lip and breathe deeply.

Zen thoughts, Zen thoughts, Zen thoughts.

The mantra goes through your head excessively, except there are no real Zen thoughts happening – just you repeating the need for the aforementioned Zen thoughts over and over again. Therefore, you’re not at all cooled down when he shuffles his hips further forward and make contact with your back to his front.

You grip the sheets tighter, desperately.

It’s natural, you tell yourself. Most men wake up like that. It would be weird if he didn’t, it doesn’t have to mean anything. But the fact that it’s natural doesn’t negate the fact that every heartbeat sends a pulse of heat through you. It’s your turn to blush, and you can barely keep your eyes open when he snuggles in further. He’s slowly waking up – making his moves, though still unconscious, more purposeful. His lips seek the back of your neck, nuzzling in a way that’s pure torture. The contrast of beard and soft skin sending sparks through you. With your attention elsewhere, a leg gets past your defenses, slipping easily between your own.

One flailing hand of your own clasp over your mouth, barely muting the whine his actions elicit.

He inhales deeply. You know he would never be presumptuous enough to do anything like this if he was fully awake. The deep, otherwise steady, inhales behind you confirm that.

The deep, rumbled hmm goes through his chest and into your back.

And then, he licks you. A small, barely conscious movement against your neck. You bite into your palm, but you can’t entirely stop the moan that rips through you. Your entire body is shaking when his answering needy sound is poured into your ear, your body drinking it up like a wilted flower.

His body is rocking against yours now, sliding your heat torturously against his leg. With dawning horror, you realise that every rock sends your further towards something dangerous, something capable of changing everything, something you can never come back from, and something you crave so deliciously.

The arm around you slides slowly down your stomach, quickly finding the exposed skin where you sleeping shirt had ridden up. You go almost cross-eyed at the extra contact, crushing your face against your palm.

You don’t know why you’re trying to be quiet. If it’s to spare him from the embarrassment of waking up to the position you’re both in, or if it’s to make sure it doesn’t stop.

Because you feel yourself spiraling, unstoppable, unyielding, towards something so sweet.

Your fight is lost when you feel him bite down on your shoulder.

The loud, whiney gasp that is torn from you freezes the before unceasing movements. He exhales and rubs his face against your neck, before you hear him shift behind you, his arm moving with him as you presume he half sits up, looking down at you both.

You try to hold still, to be calm, even as your body pulses with every frantic heartbeat. Your eyes are closed tightly, fighting against your body, trying to spare you both from his regret.

“Sweetheart,” he says, his tone mournful.

Right, that tells you all you need to know.

“It’s fine, doc.” You say as you get up on unsteady legs and rush towards the bathroom. You gasp under the ice-cold stream, feeling it attack your heated skin. Guilt the only thing preventing you from trailing your hands down and finishing what you had started. He didn’t want this; it was clear from his reaction.

You have to talk to Robin. Not just to repair his bed, but to hear if she had someplace for you to stay while you wait for the house to be finished.

***

Turns out, you don’t have to find a replacement. Before you step onto the path from the Valley to the Farm, red hair springs out from behind a bush.

You, understandably, scream. Robin, less understandably, screams at your scream. Now you’re just two women who would definitely have had a lobotomy if this scene had been witnessed a few decades ago.

Once you stop screaming, you just stare at each other. “Did you- want something, Robin?”

“Right. Your house is done.”

You blink at her. “What?” She had at least four more days before the promised deadline.

“Yeah! I stayed up all night because the weather was so good. Man, haven’t done that since before I had kids. Anyway, a little cleaning and you can move right in. Today. Now.”

“Uhhh…” Eyes wide and unblinking, you instinctively look for other signs of potential drug-use in the older woman.

Robin tugs you along behind her. “What are you waiting for! Come see the masterpiece.”

You had obviously been able to follow along in the progress of the exterior, watching Robin scrap almost every part of the walls, taking off the roof, and rebuilding it with a new and stronger foundation. Some smaller parts she had insisted on keeping hidden from you, slapping your hand away if it dared venture too near a white curtain covering a specifically intricate piece.

Now, however, she is getting ready to reveal her masterpiece to you, and for a split second you wonder, horrified, if she’s actually any good. Or if you’ll have to live in a still barely standing house, just with less rotten walls and deadly mold. And deadly chickens. Deadly, rotten chicken.

Robin rips away the curtain covering the front of your house, and you’re amazed at what you find. The bright red tiles on the roof shinning under the rare sun, perfectly complimenting the almost orange wood carrying it. The before ruined veranda now shinning, stable beneath your feet. You test it with a few half-hearted jumps, smiling amazed at Robin, who looks so proud her chest could burst with confetti.

You’re led inside, into the unrecognisable one room cabin. You note the patterns in the wood along the ceiling, pointing and aweing at every hidden gem you find. In fact, you’re so impressed by her work, you don’t notice what else is new until you see Robin lean against.

A new bed.

Eyes flicking between Robin and the alien furniture, you move, uncertain, towards them both.

“It’s for you.”

“Robin, I- I don’t know if I can’t afford it.”

She scoffs. “Didn’t you hear me? It’s for you. A gift, honey. All you have to do is accept it.”

You let a hand glide against the smooth wood, sitting cautiously down on the springy mattress.

“I had to toss the other one. It would be inhumane to continue sleeping in that until you could afford something better. And I just had this bedframe lying around. I had meant for me and Demi to use it, but that man is way too logical to appreciate art like this.”

The way she looks at the piece stirs an ache inside you, but she won’t hear you out when you offer to let her take it back.

Hands up, she waves you off. “No, it’s a gift. You’re not getting out of it. But don’t worry, I left you some dirt to clean, just so you don’t get too spoiled.”

When the silence just sits between you, her with nothing more to say, you with no words to speak with, she tabs the headboard a couple of times before turning towards the door. You get up, grabbing her hand.

Though you let it go just as quickly, as if you’ve been burned, the gesture still has the desired affect. Robin smiles one of her cheeky smirks. “Anytime, kid.” Before she leaves you.

In your house. Your own house. You can’t get yourself to sit on your new bed. Instead you sink to the floor, pressing a hand against the wood warmed by the sunshine peaking in through the window.

It couldn’t have come at a more perfect time. With you having ruined your friendship with Harvey, you need space from the clinic desperately. Being able to safely sleep somewhere that’s your own – well, that’s a huge burden lifted from you. You can feel it, the dark layer of concern and fear always draped across your shoulders – you can feel it as one thin layer is peeled off. Yes, it’s still unbearably heavy, but at least it’s a little lighter now. It makes it easier when you once again have to get to your feet. Another day waits for you.

“Raise the curtain.” You mutter to yourself, pulling yourself through the front door.

 

***

 

Time does as time always will. It passes. It crawls past you in a manner that leaves you impatient, yet shocked when you suddenly look back and see how far it has gone.

Time forces fall out from its hiding place, painting the leaves seemingly overnight into amazing oranges, yellows, and browns. Once in a while you’ll catch a leaf falling, swayed by the wind as it’s slowly lowered to the ground, and you’ll be hurt by how much the colour reminds you of a certain set of eyes.

Weeks pass, the plants grow, a miracle you get to partake in every day. Every morning, you’re equally surprised when you see the crops, still standing, still growing.

I haven’t ruined it, not today. I have another day.

Emily turned out to be unable to enjoy her vacation, but the extra tips and digits on your paycheck made it all worth it anyway. When Emily would come into the pub, anxious as she perches on the stool by the bar, making sure no one is left unattended for long, you did your best trying to shoo her from the establishment.

“What? Can’t I do a little day-drinking? I’m on vacation!”

“Emily, you don’t drink alcohol.” Just drinks and smokes all sorts of weird plants, that you’re smart enough to never touch. You’d heard the infamous ‘Pierre on the Roof’ story, where he’d gotten so high off one of her teas, that within half an hour Lewis had to chase him off the roof of his house – oh, and Pierre had been naked. As the day he was born. Since then, not many had dared try anything Emily-made.

Eventually, she came back to work a day early, strapping on her apron like a bulletproof vest and diving right back through the frontlines.

“She does know it’s paid time off, right?” You’d asked Gus, who had only shaken his head, a fond smile on his face as he let her carry on.

You don’t have work tonight, which is all the motivation you need to work your body until it can barely stand. You start by going around and tending to the pumpkins, handling them with care as you tend to their ground, making sure they’re watered properly. You’ve tinkered a little with some old sprinklers you dug out from somewhere in the shed, but they still only release one singular stream of water, and always straight in your face – no matter where you stand compared to it. It means that every single growing boy – pumpkins are boys, everybody knows that – has to be checked to make sure they’ve gotten enough water. Some of them, as they grow inexplicably larger, you begin to measure. Today it seems like at least ten of them will be big enough to be used as lanterns for Spirit’s Eve. The rest can probably be used for pies or decorations.

Just a few more weeks.

That’s another thing you’ve noticed time has brought with it. A growing confidence. You’ve never gone this long undiscovered. And every time you remember this, you spent a couple of days looking over your shoulder until you stop hearing the wolves snap at your heels again. The peace never lasts long.

Today, it’s especially fragile. Once you finish with the pumpkins you have a meeting with Shane and Robin again to discuss which farm animals you can acquire and how soon. Shane had suggested chickens, an idea you’re very sceptic about.

“It’s tamed now.” He says, probably for the fifth time as you both wait for Robin.

“I don’t care. We don’t know where she came from, though I have a few guesses.”

His patience visibly deteriorates in front of you. “It’s not like I’ll sell her back to you, what I’m saying is that they’re not all bad – and those that are, aren’t for long. They just need love and patience and safety.”

The way he speaks of them, the chickens, warm you in a way you don’t completely understand. Something akin to pride?

“Who doesn’t,” you murmur noncommittally, looking towards where Robin wanders down from the mountain path, waving her down.  

Most of the discussion is between Robin and Shane, which suits you just fine. For some reason, your eyes keep drifting to the trees and overgrowth in between, making it appear dark and mysterious even in the daylight. The hair on the back of your neck stands up as sounds and sensations flood you.

You can feel the fallen sticks rip at your shins, leaves and low hanging branches wrenching the hair from your already bleeding scalp. And the smell – gone is the cold, wet, fall. In its place there’s a metallic tang, early frost, and oil. Burnt oil. Laughter, someone is laughing. And they’re yelling. Boots crushing a pathway directly towards you. They call your name-

“What do you think?”

You blink, looking away from the unending trees to find two curious expressions.

“Um, I’m not sure. As long as it’s not chickens.”

“How about ducks then?”

“Ducks?”

“Ducks. They lay eggs too. Chickens are the easiest animal to start with, but if you insist on being so damn stubborn, I guess a duck will do.”

Robin, wide eyed, asks. “Do what?”

Shane closes his eyes, breathing deeply from his nostrils as he turns away, leaving you and Robin to fall into a giggle.

As they move on from the first designated coop/barn area, you throw a look over your shoulder towards the forest before you follow them. You force yourself to ignore the sound of a twig breaking behind you.

You still take your lunch in the city. As midday arrives, you wander down to the center, finding Maru and Penny on a bench, holding their respective containers in their laps as they chat animatedly.

They make space for you immediately. “Hey, guys.”

“Hey, sweety.” Maru greets, her tone eager, more than making up for Penny’s silence.

You nod at them both and start unpacking. You’ve gotten into the habit of sharing, each person preparing a dish for the others to try. Today you’ve brought a pasta salad, a dish you’re very proud of and hope they’ll like.

“We were just talking about Spirit’s Eve.”

You take a bite of Penny’s Roots Platter, complimenting her as you savour the seasoning. You turn away when she blushes, not wanting to overwhelm her. “Really?”

“Yeah, we were thinking of getting costumes together. Penny wanted to go as vampire seductress.”

Penny gapes at Maru before the latter breaks into a snort. “You should’ve seen your face. No, just vampires, but I am planning on being very sexy. It’s the only time where dad won’t be in my face about it.”

You arch a brow but decide to leave it alone.

“What are you going as?”

You make a thoughtful noise. “I was thinking pumpkin seller.”

A chorus of devastated no’s and bread fly at you. “What! What?”

“You have to dress up, babe. Them’s the rules.”

“The articulate engineer, honourable attendees.” You announce drily, throwing the bread right back.

“I’m serious! Emily is helping us make the costumes, come by and she’ll get your measurements, so you have something when you change your mind.” Maru smiles, all pleased with herself.

With a roll of your eyes, you agree to the compromise, getting the feeling that you’ll end up in that costume one way or the other.

You swallow around the stone in your throat, setting down the half-finished paper plate.

Penny and Maru are in an argument, or should you say, Maru is in an argument near Penny about the colours, how fake blood without clumps just looks tacky, with Penny begging Maru to think of the kids.

You leave not long after, promising to see them both tomorrow, and head towards the mountains. Robin had asked you to help transport the wood down so she can get started on the barn as quickly as possible. You’re getting a cow and four ducks, more than enough work for when the winter comes, and right up until then. Raising a barn is apparently not as easy as the Amish make it look like.

The mountains here are not really mountains, at least, not the parts you have access to. You know that further up, past the old railway, there is a peak that takes at least a day to reach, but the rest just require you to follow the slightly raised path for a while. The river runs and bubbles pleasantly beside you all the way up, birds rushing out of the way as you turn the corner.

There is even an abandoned community center, which you make a mental note to go explore one day. Every time you pass it, you swear there is something moving in there. What if it’s a scared animal that got lost years ago? It deserves to be home, or at least housed with someone who’ll love it. Only the trauma of devil-chicken keeps your good Samaritan gene at bay.

For now, you leave it, enjoying the mild wind brushing through the golden crowns of the trees. You see why most people don’t have a car in the Valley, it’s much nicer to take the time to breathe all this in. You’ve rushed your whole life, so it feels like a decadent treat to take your time for once, just for a little bit, just for forever.

 

The barn is up and functioning a week later. Though you pretended to be annoyed by how Robin over-played the wise mentor card, you’re thankful now that she involved you in every step of the way, confident that you’ll be able to start fixing other things around the farm. Perhaps building a fence before spring arrives and any animal has to be let out to feed on the returned life.

Leah, a girl you’ve only met in passing – and only around Elliot – comes up to the farm early one morning, trailing Marnie.

There are so many redheads in this town.

She’s the one who eventually paints the barn for you, a beautiful, classic red, that matches the roof of your house. While she does that, you have time to go to Shane’s lessons on animal care. With the ducks, a lot of the care is centered around where the egg comes out, some of it making you thankful that you don’t have to perform the maneuvers on the devil chickens.

“They’re not that bad!” Shane protests every time you mention it. The passion in him makes you doubt if your continued dissing of the devil spawns is actually upsetting him, and you decide to cool it. For now. Can’t let the beast think they’ve won.

Sooner than later, it’s moving day for Jolene the cow, and the ducklings Bobbi, Dobby, Mimi, and Harold.

Harold is your favourite. With his long green stripe and black beak, he looks like a race car. You wonder if Shane has ever looked as disappointed as he did when you mentioned this to him.

This is generally how your days go. You check your growing boys, your now breathing growing boys, and see people as you’d normally do. You’re so busy, you don’t even have time to think about a certain doctor, or worry about the shadows, ignoring how they’re crawling in your peripheral. It’s only late at night, when there is nothing more to do, that the darkness takes shape. You wake, screaming into your pillow, fighting against your body, your mind, your memories – now without the soft snoring a few feet away. You live without, as you did before. You go back to being desperately exhausted, but at least it’s not as bad as when you slept outside – a fact you force into the empty space you once saved for hope.

So, basically, you’re feeling great.

Notes:

* This was written in a bit of a hurry. The chapter I've prepared for next week is a bit more detailed. Hope you have fun with it anyway!
* If you see any spelling mistakes I've overlooked - no you haven't.
* Byeeeee

Chapter 8: Spirit's Eve

Summary:

There are ghosts everywhere

 

In the big city, there’s a certain competition. A need to always be the best in everything. Provide the best burgers, the fastest cars, and the most expensive heels. Every club is desperate to bring in the hottest people and be known for the most insanely niche things. And everyone else runs around with that mindset – it infects the blood, makes every citizen insatiable. For perfection cannot be achieved, though most will chase it their entire lives. Being the best at something is the mark of a life well-lived, of a life earned.  

And you have to admit, sometimes it was fun to pit them against each other. Around the holidays it was about finding the bar with the best eggnog or the place where the decorations are just short of magical. Spirit’s Eve, you recall, is one of the highest, most bloodthirsty competitions, you have ever had the glee of experiencing. Every media platform is used to highlight their events, their “never seen before” decorations and drinks. Every innovation bigger and better than anything the other clubs have.

One time, before things got really bad, your recent arrival into official adulthood was to be celebrated by going to each and every one of these bars and place judgement on their commitment to the spooky theme. Some clubs hired actors to come scare the patrons, others would send a shiver down your spine just from looking at the entrance to the place.

Long ago you loved horror. Some part of you still does. But, understandably, your nerves can’t take it anymore. Still, your expectations of small-town Spirit’s Eve were about as high as Jas, so you rightfully assumed that it was safe to attend.

So there you are, arriving at night after being banned from the square all day, bearing the costume Emily had made you to match the other women. Women you are going to kill brutally. You are dressed as a modern interpretation of a witch, but it’s mostly just a bouncy skirt and a corset, completed with a long-sleeved black shirt, tights, and the signature hat. You’re carrying your cape over your arm, still feeling warm after hauling pumpkins for the past half hour.  

The pumpkins. Your boys. In the last few weeks, they grew at a concerning rate. When you taste tested one of the smaller ones and baked a pie out of it – recipe stolen directly from a strange cooking show – you were surprised at the freshness and pungency of the pumpkin. You had successfully grown something. It had only taken a couple of months’ work, and you are so proud that you almost denied any offers to buy them off you.

Mayor Lewis had already reserved some for Jack-o’-lanterns around the city. Evelyn and Gus had politely asked for a lot as well, and a few of the families wanted some carved pumpkins outside of their homes. You gifted three of the smaller ones to Shane – all of which he sent back, forcing you to send them again, to which he then re-returned. It continued until you threatened to tell Pam that he had a crush on her if he didn’t take them without pay. No more was spoken of it.

You’ve trusted the leftovers to Pierre, who has volunteered to sell them and return the profit at the end of the night, leaving you plenty of time to explore the festivities of the Valley.

Gratefulness was a fleeting illusion.

Because boy had you been wrong when you assumed that small-towns can’t compete with the big city. The square is lit with just a few torches, spanning the edge of where people can actually walk. Some of the folks are sitting together, still eating. An impressive feat when you see how late you’ve arrived. You notice that some of the older gentlemen are slowly entering a state of food coma, which is also a very terrifying sight. Clint, the town smith, falls forward onto his plate, leaving the top of his butt crack exposed to the pranks of barely post-pubescent boys and girls. You catch a certain emo and blond boy sharing a conspiratory smirk.

All the decorations are on point, but the scariest parts are definitely the labyrinth and the animatronics. The animatronics are skeletal figures, walking around in a cage guarded by an older gentleman with an eye-patch. You swear, you can’t see how they fit the gears into some of the parts. It really is impressive technology, and you decide to ask Maru to explain it to you later. If not out of interest, then to take away their power to become nightmare fuel. It wouldn’t take much to convince you that they were real.

It’s by the cage that you finally find Maru, talking to Elliot with her arms across her chest except for the occasional gesture across the plaza. At Leah.

Elliot reaches out to presumably touch her but stops when he catches your eye over her shoulder. Maru turns in his arms and rushes towards you, a mild blush visible even on her skin.

“You’re wearing it!”

“I hope so, or this would be the start of a different kind of nightmare.” One with forgotten pants and a school presentation. No, no, instead you just have skeletons and Hedge of Horrors. Your nerves are slowly but surely getting fried.

Maru links her arm with yours and drags you away. You wave over your shoulder at Elliot as Maru enthusiastically points out all of the details you’ve already seen but awe at anyway. She even steers you past the table to receive a drizzle of compliments on the pie.

“It wasn’t even me who baked them. Evelyn, Gus, these are delicious, thank you so much for letting us all have a piece.”

“Modesty doesn’t belong around here, sweety. You know full well that the ingredients are as important as the rest of it.” Evelyn croaks with a closed-eyed smile, her full cheeks getting in the way.

You nod politely and try to follow along in the conversation, but a head of dark hair drinking in the corner catches your attention more than once. As if you could hear your thoughts echoed somewhere else, your head turns towards a seat further down, locking on the familiar dark frames and messy brown hair looking sorrowfully at the same subject.

The pain spears you, through your chest and up your throat. Quickly, you whirl your head away and try to engage once again in the conversation happening around you.

“Will you be planting more soon?” A green haired woman asks.

You shake your head. “No, sorry, with winter around the corner it just doesn’t make sense.”

Disappointed but understanding mumbling is the signal Maru’s been waiting for to drag you away again.

“What happened with Elliot?” You ask conversationally.

Her sigh is strong enough to blow her hair out of her face.

“That bad?”

“Men.” Is all she says.

You nod. Because she really doesn’t have to elaborate after that. Though, you wish she would. You need the distraction as you make your way past the cage again, heading up to the area near the abandoned community center. To the labyrinth.

As you walk up the steps, the hedges give the illusion of them looming over you, much too tall to look over. Like trees.

The opening is by the stairs, the labyrinth consuming you the moment you step up on the hill. It’s dark in there. From where you’re standing there are only two balls of light in the opening, but further in it goes completely dark as it splits into two roads: left and right.

Maru looks into the darkness, excitement edged into her features. You hope that nausea isn’t carved into yours.

“Let’s go.” You look at her, mouth slamming shut when you realise it’s fallen open.

“Right now?”

“Yeah! You have to experience this. They’ve worked on it since dusk.” She starts pulling on you, but to both of your surprises you dig your heels in. You both look down at your feet.

“Are you okay?”

Your mouth opens and closes, feeling the darkness stare back at you. The laughing from somewhere down by the tables makes the hair on your arms stand. This is insane, you’ve come this far, you should just go in there. Maru will be by your side.

You nod to yourself, the last thought making you square your shoulders and lifting your feet – though right now they feel like they’re made of cement. Now that you’re thinking about it, so does your tongue. And there’s a weird tingling in your fingers, and-

“Sam!” Maru greets with glee.

One of the boys comes stumbling out from seemingly nowhere, a sly smile on his face.

“How long have you been in here?”

He reaches a long arm up to ruffle his blond spikes. “’Bout ten minutes. I’m looking for Vincent.”

“You let Vincent go in here?” They’re both startled by your outburst, and frankly, so are you.

“It’s alright, we’ll help you find him. Let’s split up and meet outside in fifteen minutes.” Maru is already moving away from you as she says this. She’s pointing down this way and that, but her words are lost on you. The moment she let go of your arm, your stomach rose to your throat, gravity letting you go as well. You can barely feel your feet and you look down to confirm that you’re even still attached to the ground. Where’s the cement when you need it? When you look back up, you’re alone.

In the dark.

Oh no.

You see sparks of grey in the edge of your vision. You heave air in, but it doesn’t stay in your lungs. They shiver and crumble under what you demand of them, every breath taking you closer to the sensation of them collapsing, refusing to open again.

Come on, come on, you tell yourself. You’ve survived worse than a maze. You just need to find the ground again. Blindly, you let your knees crumble under you, your hands out in front of you to brace the fall. The wet and loose ground allows your fingertips to dig beneath the grass, searching for the cool earth. Your mouth falls open on a gasp as you make contact, and you finally feel like you’re getting air in. With every breath your lower body regains its feeling, its weight. You’re aware of your knees, your feet, no longer feeling like you’re about to fall forward from the lack of weight holding you down.

You can do this.

On unsteady feet you pull yourself up and face the darkness once more. You hadn’t realised, hadn’t paid attention to how far Maru had dragged you both into this place. This is what you get for panicking and not thinking clearly. It’s what got you caught the last time.

You shake the last thought away. Remembering is the last thing you need right now.

A thought drifts to you, offering itself. Hadn’t you once heard someone say, that if you’re ever lost in a labyrinth, to just hug the left wall until you’re out? And if you happen upon Vincent in the meantime, then all the better. Not that you’re feeling like a trusted adult right now, but you’re sure you can pull it together if the kid needs you to.

You try your best to be normal. You really do. Even though you’d never intended it, never thought you needed it, you’ve somehow become involved with all of these people. People, who’ve come to depend on you for stuff, like helping them find a missing, and probably scared, kid. But these situations are just a reminder of why you stay away. You can’t be there for other people. You bring nothing but further problems, becoming a liability when they need you, when they ask so little of you.

These thoughts overwhelm you as you turn down another dead end, determined to not stray from the left “wall”.

You don’t know who you’ve been trying to fool. You’re not normal. You never will be – they made damn sure of that. You cup your ears and fall to the ground, trying to keep the voices out, but you can’t see anything for the bushes and the trees.

Merry laughter has turned taunting. The ruffling behind you not a warning but a promise as they get closer. They’re closer. You can’t run. They’ve found you, oh god they’ve found you.

“She’s over here!” The large one yells, fingers like sausages around your forearm. His teeth are golden, gleaming like the badge on his chest.

You whimper, trying to get loose. You grab for a stick, but your hand can’t close around it, the blood making it too slippery.

“Nowhere to hide now, girl. No one can escape justice. Not even you. No, you’re going to face what you’ve done.”

“Are you okay?”

Your vision is blurry when you open your eyes, the small, high voice bringing you out of wherever you had gone.

“What?” You whisper, panting.

Small hands reach out and take your own, bringing them away from your ears. “Do you need your mom?”

You wipe your eyes. A concerned little face is crouched down in front of you.

“Vincent?”

He cocks his head. “Duh.”

Your lips twist reflexively, but you know it’s more of a grimace than an actual smile.

“Your brother is looking for you.” You cough, trying to get rid of the hoarse voice.

He looks around, as if Sam may be near and he just hadn’t spotted him yet.

His clothes are slightly dirty on one side, but you see no scrapes. “Are you lost?”

“I didn’t mean to.” Hands wringing, his voice is full of shame.

You frown. “What do you mean, bubs?”

He shrugs.

Right, well, there’s not much that will get accomplished from sitting on the ground. Perhaps if you wait for a while, someone will come find you. But considering how big this place is, you’d rather just begin making your way out. Testing the strength of your legs, you go to stand. It would be really embarrassing if you cried and had your knees buckling in front of the kid.

You brush the dirt from your body, Vincent watching you as he hugs his knees.

“Let’s find a way out of here.”

He nods but doesn’t rise. You consider him for a moment before you hold out a hand. Gingerly, he takes it, getting to his feet. “How?”

Good question, kid.

“I actually heard a maze survival tip once.”

 

***

It would be a lie to say that everything became easier once Vincent found you. Because it didn’t.

Your hand was stretched out beside you, wanting to lean on the hedges for support but afraid of touching the leaves and branches in case another memory awakes. It’s dark, horribly dark. You can handle it when you’re surrounded by four walls, but not out here. Too much has happened for that.

But you try. You grit your teeth, and you try. You shakily breathe through it when you turn down another dead end, listening to Vincent giggle at your annoyed expression. It’s amazing how the kid has seen so little upset in his life, that he expects it to be surface level. That it’s a bit, a gag, something to entertain him rather than used against him. There’s a light in him that you hope is never taken away.

But your body has always betrayed you when you needed it the most. Every limb shakes as it bears your weight, a movement. You must look like those skeletons in the cage, bones unsupported and moving like you’re about to fall apart.

It entertains the fuck out of the kid, though. The little shit is even starting to imitate you. Not that you actually mind, it’s a good distraction for you both as you move what you think is further into the maze. It’s not enough to keep your head in the moment, though, so you scramble for something else.

“Were you guys playing? Is that how you got lost?”

The giggles cease. “Sam never plays with me anymore.”

You could’ve sworn you’d seen Sam teaching Vincent how to skateboard the other day. But you know time works differently for kids.

“Is he playing with his older friends instead of you?”

He nods, pouting the only way a kid can.

“I bet it’s hard being small.”

If you hadn’t had your head so far up your ass, you could’ve predicted this outcome and avoided it. But no. You stabbed a small child in the stomach, and now you’re watching, horrified, as he sobs next to you.

“Hey, hey, hey, no, no, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you sad.” You crouch down but your hands are sort of hovering over him, not knowing where to put them or how to comfort him.

Luckily he knows. He pushes his snotty face against your costume, holding you as tightly as his small arms can manage. You pat him awkwardly on the back.

“There, there.” You say, like some alien who’s never been exposed to empathy before. As you scold yourself, you gather the courage to put your arms around him as well.

His small form trembles in your embrace. This must really have upset him. Having never been exposed to children by yourself, you have no idea what to do. You’re barely keeping yourself from falling apart, how can you help this other human?

When his sobs turn to sniffles you pull back, watching him as he watches you. “Did you run so he’d chase you?”

He nods with a hiccup.

“You know, bubs, Sam is yours and you are his. That’ll never change, but you have to use your words. Because he wants to catch you, but he can’t if you both get lost in the progress.” You blink the blurry vision of him away. “And if you get too upset and can’t stop yourself from running, you have to let him catch you again, okay?”

The kid wraps you up in his arms again. You don’t know if he notices you flinch every time the wind startles the leaves around you, or when someone screams further away. You don’t know if he cares. You stay like that until he decides to let go, because you’re sure as shit not going to do it first.

You wipe his cheeks with your thumbs. “Let’s find the way out of here.”

“I can help with that.”

A looming figure stands to your left, stepping into the light. Wild hair, and an even wilder beard frame his rough face. He is dressed as if he has crawled inside the skin and feathers of an ostrich, his bare feet planted firmly in the mud.

You freeze. He takes a step toward you, and you can’t even get yourself to reach for Vincent as he runs at the stranger. Your heart is beating wildly in your chest, the only sound available to you. Not even blessed with a scream, you’re forced to watch as the man takes Vincent into his arms.

“Oh hell, girl. I can’t look that bad. What is it? Is it my hair?” His gruff words barely register.

Like a fish, your mouth moves with no words. It takes a few practices before anything other than distressed exhales leave you. “Have we met before?”

“Right, no, we haven’t. I’m Linus.” He doesn’t offer you his hand, his gaze wary as he watches for your reaction.

Linus. Linus? Where had you heard that name before. Slowly your brain takes in the fact that Vincent seems to know him, sitting in his arms with seemingly no distress. The valves keeping you stuck like a deer in the headlights relieve their pressure on you, your muscles slowly waking enough for you to sit back on your knees.

Linus? A bulb lights up.

“The Wizard’s husband?”

His eyes widen before he throws his head back on a roar of a laughter. Vincent watches with hesitant glee, giggling along unsure of what it is that is so funny. You’re not too sure either.

The slap on his thigh rings out. “As if his commitment issues would allow for that. No, girl. But I am the guy who can get you out of here. Let’s go.” He turns to the little guy in his arms, not waiting for you as he starts walking. “You’ve caused quite the stir out there, mister.”

A mumbled conversation continues between them. You manage to rise to your feet, not keen on being left behind out here. You feel like you’re intruding on a family moment, seeing the absolute joy in the stranger’s eyes as he watches Vincent tell a story with his entire body, arms waving like he’s guiding a plane.

Guilt surges through you, followed by the reality of just how unstable you are. Looking at Vincent and how he’s fixed and spry after just a few minutes with Linus, you can’t help but feel like you’ve failed. You couldn’t even be a safe adult for him and guide him out of a fucking man-made maze. You’re too caught up in your own shit to be anything for anyone.

“Linus?”

The bearded man looks over his shoulder at you.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend. My assumption was inappropriate.”

“Don’t fuss, girl. You’re not completely wrong. It’s the funniest thing someone has assumed about me in a long time.”

“What do you mean?”

He gives you a stare. “Look at me.”

He’s not the most traditionally clad man, but you’ve seen worse. Not wanting to offend him again, you keep your thoughts to yourself.

“I’m dressed like this and willingly living in a tent. This is about the most positive interaction I’ve had with one of the Valley folks in a while.”

“Are they not nice to you?”

Broad shoulders shrug, but you can see in the set of his mouth that he’s anything but indifferent. “They don’t like what they don’t understand.” He notices Vincent looking up at him with a concerned expression and wipes it away immediately by tickling him.

You smile at the squeal of laughter.

“They only like me when I pick up their trash – you wouldn’t believe the stuff I find laying around. Shoes, keys, food wrapping, backpacks, knives-“

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah I know, what kind of person runs around with knives, much less loses them.”

“No, you’ve found a backpack?”

He squints at you. “Why? Missing one?”

Your nod is earnest and eager. “Terribly.” Fragile hope blooms in your chest.

Turns out your description matches one of the bag’s Linus has in his tent. “I’ll leave it for you if it has the things you say it does.”

“Thank you.” The sounds of conversation carry to you, and it’s not long before you realise that you must be at the end – or well, the beginning – of the labyrinth.

As you’re about to step out, you notice Linus has stopped and is putting Vincent down on the ground. “You’re not coming with us?”

He waves the boy off towards you. A small hand grasps yours, but you’re focused on the somber expression on the man’s face. No amount of hair could hide that.

“No, Vinny knows the deal. It’s better they don’t see me with him.” A protest sits on your lips, encouragements loaded and ready, but he cuts you off before you get a chance to use them. “Trust me. I have a backpack to find anyway.” With that he turns and leaves.

Vincent starts dragging you by the hand, evidently already used to this kind of parting from his friend. You step out of the dark and are greeted by gasps and exclamations of relief. You feel none of it, accept none of it. The beginnings of a different type of numbness sets in. You recognise it, have honed it expertly for many years. It’s a cage of glass sinking down over you, and you wait for it to block everything out – every noise, every feeling.

Shane comes up to you, more sober now than he was when you saw him last. “Well shit, Paulie. Guess you’ve really proven yourself with this one, huh? ‘Guess I don’t really have any more reasons left for acting like some overprotective douche. What I’m trying to say is that I’d be open to reintroducing you to Jas this week.”

Oh, oh let the cage fall quicker. Please, let it stop all of this, let it end it all. Because it hurts. Your eyes glide over his shoulder, meeting the sad gaze of the town’s doctor. It all spreads through you, this violent all-consuming shame.

Taking advantage of a friend, making him feel uncomfortable when he was unable to say yes or no.

Not being there for Vincent. If something had gone wrong, if Linus had been anyone else, you would have done nothing to stop it. Shane was right. You’re not safe around Jas.

Your eyes clash once more with Harvey’s.

You’re not safe around anyone.

The glass drops and the noise… stops.

“No thanks, man. Not interested.” You walk away from them all, most of them too busy fawning over the kid. You see Sam rush towards him, coming out of the maze with open arms.

The dirt path crunches under your boots. You slip the hat off your head. And you walk home

Notes:

* Yuh, trauma.
* After the chaos of last chapter, I decided to have a chapter of just one focused event.

Chapter 9: Into the mines

Summary:

You take challenging yourself to unreasonable heights.

Notes:

• Brief hints of self-harm.
• Thank you for all your comments - especially on the last chapter! I love how into the story some of you are, and I live for every single one of them. Really, they give me life and have me floating through the rest of my day.
• I especially love when I see the same usernames again, like, omg you came back? *tugs hair behind ear*

There once was an experiment where a few people were placed alone in a room for an hour with only a button for entertainment. They could press the button as much as they wished to, but they were clearly informed that they would receive an electrical shock if they did so. Some people lasted the hour, letting boredom sweep over them in waves without pressing the button. Others would fold immediately, preferring negative stimuli to no stimuli at all.

It would be interesting to see what would happen had they been asked to stay in the room for longer. How will people react when they’re isolated and bored for longer periods of time? There’s probably an experiment for that too, somewhere out there.

Though you suppose your situation is not half as bad as the test subjects, you’re starting to relate to the people who’d press the button. The farm life provides all the peace you need, that you crave as your system recovers from the overload that fall. But without the added stimuli and workload you’d gotten used to from farming, you’re slowly but surely beginning to feel… restless.

There have been no stirrings either. That source of stress was relieved the moment Linus plopped your backpack down on your veranda, leaving it to greet you one morning as you were making your way down to the animals. The little brick you can barely call a phone was completely blank. No attempt of contact had been made.

They have no idea where you are.

You’re pretty sure that was the moment the glass began to rise from around you – not all the way, but enough to let a little air in. Perhaps through unseen cracks. The Valley had been the right choice after all, at least in that regard.

The animals are settling in. Jolene, a brown cow, is already giving you milk, and the ducks are changing colours and growing rapidly. They won’t begin to lay eggs before the half year mark, but you don’t mind, loving the opportunity to tame them and get them used to being around bigger animals like Jolene.

Still, none of them require enough care to keep you going through the entire day. You miss the ache after a long day of work. Especially when the dark falls and every bit of leftover energy is used against you.

But all the running you’ve done in your life; all the panicked planning and late-night hurried packing, is like a bad habit you can’t get rid of. In a time where you can finally breathe you’re left to discover that you’ve used up all the air, and it’s choking you.

Like the people who press the button, a harmful activity draws your attention. The mildly forested area that Shane used to walk through when you and him still spoke, and he would come up to help you with the farm, calls to you. It’s a dare whispered in your ear, running down your back. A need to prove something to yourself, to fix something.

You tell yourself that you’re not allowed into town, not even to buy groceries, until you can get to it through the trees – and so that has become your mission. Your sole focus is on every step further you get in between the trees – always in full daylight and on days when the harsh wind rests its assault on the leaves around you.

Today, you tell yourself, standing with your backpack strapped to you. Today you’ll get to the other side.

Here I go.

But, per usual, here you don’t go. Your feet aren’t moving.

Come on, come on, come on. Do it. Just do it. There’s nothing in there, it’s just overgrown bushes and wild frogs. The trees surrounding the slight path aren’t even that tall, clearly no more than 10 years old.

Your boot moves a little.

Yes!

And you stumble back, heart pounding wildly.  

What a little bitch.

Inspired by what you’ve seen in movies, you raise your hand and in a flash slap yourself across the face.

“Wow, okay, very bad idea. Woof, that hurts.” You rub your cheek regretfully, but at least your focus is somewhere else now. Time to try something different – as if you’re not already on plan F by now. Leaning forward, almost as if you’re about to do a forward-facing trust fall, your legs instinctively reacts to catch you. Balance regained; you look around. You’ve taken your first real steps into the overgrowth.

And the world is still standing.

A shocked huff of a laughter escapes you. Wide-eyed, you try for another step, finding that you can. Panting and borderline hysteric, you continue like this, placing one foot in front of the other, doing your best to hold onto what is real and what is just in your head.

The trees are not big and looming, but the small mushrooms hiding are lovely and wild.

There are no voices calling to each other as they come for you, but the croaks of the frogs are musical.

Your bare feet are not sinking into the mud, but your dressed feet are finding ground made solid by the beginnings of biting weather.

You anker yourself like this to everything you can see, touch, and hear. Sometimes you notice a patch of trampled grass and feel a sense of comfort knowing that Shane has been here before. As if he’s with you in the moment, making fun of you for being scared of the weirdest stuff.

You can almost hear him now. “Right, afraid of a chicken and now just basic fucking nature. A prime example of the superior species, everyone.”

A fond smile touches your lips, but the echo of another voice rattles the glass, brushing it from your face just as quickly as it appeared.

“You can hold my hand. I won’t let go.”

You inhale deeply, feeling the hurt stretch down your chest, rushing into your veins. It is with the exhale you feel it lessen it’s hold, flying away on another small burst of wind. You pull on the mental chains holding your little cage and relish the numbness that follows as it descends on you completely once more.

Another couple of steps forward and a clearing appears.

No, not a clearing. Not technically anyway. It’s strange seeing it from another perspective, but it doesn’t take you long to recognise the wide lake to your right and the huge barn to your left. It’s Marnie and Shane’s place.

Cindersap Forest, though you have never been in the actual forest part, is a large area where the town river runs through and into the ocean. You’ve heard that the Wizard lives on the other side of the actual forest – and hidden by a few trees up ahead by the river is a green roof which covers Leah’s cabin.

You did it. You made it through. A bone-deep exhaustion follows the sudden drop of adrenaline you first now realise you’ve been running on. But it doesn’t matter what got you here, what matters is that you did it. What matters is that the damage isn’t permanent, at least not in that regard. You promise yourself that you’ll walk the path every day, explore your grounds, and eventually walk into Cindersap Forest. With the new goal in mind, you head on into town.

You’re desperate for some toilet paper.

*** 

 

With the biggest and most embarrassing packet of toilet paper under your arm and a backpack filled with unperishables, you notice by complete chance the smoke coming from across the river by the library. At first, worry grips you so hard you almost drop your things before you remember something.

Clint’s shop. It occurs to you now that you’ve never actually been. You recall the horrible state of your tools and figure that it can’t hurt to check out if that’s something he’s able to fix before spring comes around.

With a shrug you head down there, walking past a construction site with a sign for some big new supermarket on the way. You keep your head down, avoiding the looks of everyone who’s out and about, especially ignoring the fall of Evelyn’s smile as she sees you.

The small stone house is attached to a large machinery, constant smoke fighting to escape the narrow chimney reaching for the heavens. You knock on the heavy wooden door and wait for the always surprisingly high voice.

“Open.”

The wood squeaks as you enter the hot room. Clint is leaning against the counter, not sweating even with the wild flames licking up the side of his workbench not five meters away. The door slams behind you.

He stares at you.

“I have some tools I’d like to get fixed and upgraded; how much do you take for that?”

A thick hand waves you towards a book, which you immediately think of as his menu. As your eyes scan the prizes, your mouth drops open. “You take that much for an upgrade? Where are you getting the material from – George’s yard?” The most dangerous place to dig you can think of.

A shrug. “I mine it myself. And then it takes a couple of days to make it.”

You sputter.

“You can always mine the material yourself and get it at a quarter of the price.” His tone condescending.

Mine it? Yourself? You narrow your eyes at the small smirk he’s aimed at you.

Brilliant fucking idea.

After squeezing the abnormally large toilet paper packet through your front door, you stomp down to your shed, mumbling to yourself. You wrench the door open, tearing through your things as you’re looking for the tool you saw when you first came here. It had been intimidating then, but hell, if the mines were right next door why not venture down there a bit. Fuck the forest. You can do anything now.

“Aha!” You exclaim victoriously, holding the pickaxe up into the waning daylight.

It was… a piece of shit to be honest. You don’t know much about this stuff, but tools being dull and chipped is universal for not exactly great condition. The wooden shaft is barely holding the weight of the – stone? No matter which angle you look at it, you can’t discern what the head is made of. You know it’s not iron, and a small part of you fears that it may actually be just honed stone. A little more digging around and you find a lantern, fill it with very old – and likely expired – lamp oil and check that the gas burner still works. When the inside of your shed is illuminated, you almost drop it out of excitement.

What a show that would have been. Burning down your house to save a bit of money. What would the insurance people say.

You pull the construction helmet from where it hangs on a nail and start your journey. You walk the shortcut behind your house that takes you to the mountains. You try to ignore how your courage seems to slip from between your fingers like sand the closer you get to the entrance. This is what you’ve been looking for, what you’ve needed. Something to spend your days doing. A button to shock you.

And to be fair, only your animals would miss you if something went wrong.

You make yourself walk through the cave entrance, head high and ears almost twitching at every sound. There is another path on your right, but it’s been blocked off by a larger boulder. To your left is an old-fashioned minecart, in front of you an out-of-order elevator, and, just a few meters away, a ladder.

That apparently guides you straight into hell. A few steps down and you would be enveloped in darkness, the drilled hole barely big enough to squeeze into. And it seems to be the only way down.

Well, there are no signs that say you shouldn’t do this. And luckily for you, you’ve never been chased through a mine before, so you think you’re good on that front.

In that moment it doesn’t matter that you’re already tired from an emotionally exhausting day. It doesn’t matter that you haven’t planned anything, researched anything, or told anyone where you’re going. A small part of you recognises that it’s part of why you’re doing it.

With the pickaxe slung over your back, you begin your descend.

***

The spray from the shower shocks your system – eyes flying open and your chest heaving on a gasp as you get used to the cold water. Your eyes track the dirt as it runs from you and down the drain, the black whirls like shadows. You start on your hair, arms so heavy you have to sit down to rest your elbows on your knees as you work the shampoo into your roots. A hiss escapes you when the soap runs over some of the rawer places, the red visible now that the worst of the black dirt has been washed away.

This is exactly what you’ve needed. The marks decorate your body, protesting at every movement and making sure that your focus is on them and almost nothing else. You breathe through only the physical hurt now, a pain you have total control over, and it feels euphoric.

Getting yourself into bed is like sinking into weightless space, your muscles finally unclenching. The warmth of your bed lulls you, embracing you. Your eyes focus at the alarm on your nightstand, watching the clock.

1:50 AM.

You blink, slowly, feeling the pull of weariness into the dark, dreamless nothing. When you open your eyes again, the clock blinks back.

6:00 AM.

The awareness that you made it through the night with no nightmares pull at the sides of your lips. This is it. This is what will cure you. You’ll work the sickness from your body and mind.

You follow this regiment as closely as you can, as if it had been ordered by the doctors themselves. You take care of your animals, not caring if a few heavy blinks leave you sitting among them for a couple of hours longer than intended. You then get up, heading down to Clint to show your catch from the day before. You’ve found mostly copper, and so Clint prepares to make something out of it, telling you that the harder minerals will have to wait until you’ve upgraded your pickaxe and gone further down the mines.

And the mines. You head to the mines soon after, climbing down the ladder blindly, barely turning on your lantern when you hit solid ground. You’ve almost worked through the first layer as best you can when you accidentally happen upon another ladder going even further down. It happened when you swung your tool at the side of the cave and instead nicked the edge of a larger boulder, revealing some wood. After half an hour of work, you see the new ladder in almost perfect condition.

“I wonder how that happened.” You think aloud. Perhaps there had been an accident.

Or maybe it had been blocked on purpose.

It doesn’t take you long to decide to go down there. Protests made to help you survive are merely annoying buzzing in the background, weak touches on your shoulder that you brush off. The danger is carrying all the appeal.

You connect your last lantern to your backpack, so it lights up by your side before you begin your climb down. The walls of the cave don’t touch you here, much wider than the first hole, which provides some relief causing you to move less careful than you probably should be.

Your foot blindly touches the floor of the tunnel, giving you the confidence to plop down the rest of the way. You turn around, facing the new area before you go to click off the lantern connected to you.

Ding.

Somewhere to your left a bulb lights up, followed by mechanic whirring. Your hands drop from what they were doing, and you make your way towards it. There are a couple of steps leading up to an old metal door, the light above it shins brilliantly, exposing at least the first ten meters around you. Another whirring comes and with the drop of your heart you realise what it is.

The elevator.

It’s working?

No, you remember the out-of-order sign posted above. Unless someone has fixed in the time you’ve been down here.

The doors pull apart slowly, revealing an empty lit up space. Not a total idiot, you don’t step inside to have a look around. You glance up at the ceiling and then lean your body over and into the carriage. The panel on the side has a bunch of numbers that are blacked out for some reason. The only ones lit up are 2, 1, and 0.

Huh.

Why would it only work for the first three levels?

Another thought hits you, sending your heartbeat flying.

If someone fixed it, why is it down here and empty? Why isn’t it going back up?

You stretch an arm into the carriage, press the 1 and then pull out immediately, waiting to see what it will do.

The doors close and the struggle of the metal behind it tells you it’s moving. You listen for the sound of it going up and up until it stops, either too far away to be heard or having reached its destination.

You adjust the straps of your backpack, trying to shake off the nerves. Just as you begin to turn, the elevator starts up again. Every strand of hair on your body stands like you’ve been electrocuted. Jaw shut so tightly it could snap, you slowly turn to face the machine. It grinds and crunches, but eventually it stops.

Ding.

And the doors glide open. You take a step back pulling out a small hunting knife, waiting for what it will reveal with rapt attention.

It’s empty.

You take a step closer, glancing back up at the ceiling, at the walls, at the panel. All is as it was. No dirt either, you notice. Not even from where your soiled finger pressed against the shinning button. You could’ve sworn you’d at least left a print.

Right, you’re not messing around with a devil elevator. You send it back up again, this time to 0 and when it doesn’t come back you sigh.

You’re just going to get what you came here for. After another couple of hours’ work, you’ll have enough material for Clint to get started on the rest of your tools.

A squish sounds somewhere behind you.

You stop breathing to listen intently. When it doesn’t come again you relax you shoulders slightly. It was probably just a spill somewhere - it’s common knowledge that water can get into caves like these. With your lantern held in front of you and the tool at your side, you move further into the depths of the cave. You notice a gleaming rock quickly and place your lantern on another nearby stone to hack at the other. You haul the pickaxe back and swing it over your shoulder, just before it falls you hear a faint sound, but it’s quickly drowned out by the impact of stone against stone. A few nuggets fall off and you retrieve them, distracted and swinging again within a few heartbeats. By your fifth or tenth swing, you hear it again, this time before you get to swing. And this time much closer.

Turning towards your lantern on the rock about a meter away, you see a flash of movement. With a gasp you stumble back, almost falling from the weight of the tool as it drops off where it rested on your shoulder.

What the fuck is that.

Wide-eyed and panting, you watch for the movement again, a sick part of you wanting to confirm that it’s not just you being crazy again. That it’s real.

What crawls into the light shouldn’t be real though. A dark green mass drags its shape across the stone floor. Slowly. Towards you. Under the light you see fluttering around the top part of it. After a moment of stillness, you realise that it was squinting. It opens its large humanoid eyes and fixate on the lantern on the rock. The wet sound of the abnormally large eyeballs moving in the sockets make you sick to your stomach. Without warning it launches its body at the light, literally consuming it whole. It strains and then you watch as the lantern breaks, almost explodes as if under a huge amount of pressure. The sickening sound of destroyed glass and hissing fire fills the space. The place goes dark.

Gathering your wits you turn and run, glad now for the light above the Elevator from Hell. You grab for the ladder, hauling your weight up when you notice that the top is completely dark. There is no little ring of light from where you’d stashed your other lantern like there was when you came down. Has someone moved the boulder back over the hole?

This has to be some sick prank.

Horror fills you as you listen to the wet sound as it jumps and lands somewhere you can’t see.

Three options:

1) Going back up the ladder and hoping that there is nothing over the hole, so you don’t have to go back down and get eaten by a slime-monster.

2) Fighting said slime monster even though you have no clue what can kill such a thing.

3) Take the elevator.

The elevator which is no longer on your floor. Conflicted, your head swings between the options. Hell, you’re not going to be one of those people in horror movies who die because they hesitate for too long.

You jump from the ladder, the weight of your pack sending bolts of pain up your knees as it tries to drag you down. Sprinting for the elevator, you slam on a button you are sure wasn’t there before. The machine starts and you wait. Though it would have kept your panic down to stay facing the doors, you pull an Orpheus and look. You can’t hear it anymore over the mechanic sounds, but you sense it. In the darkness, the stirrings and the movement pull at the air on your body. You can sense it blinking its big eyes up at you – knowing somehow every loose stone that happens to get caught in it will disintegrate.

The large squish sound comes again, heard over the elevator, and you watch it enter the ring of light. Ten meters away.

Ding.

The doors pull themselves apart and without a backwards glance you step inside, not caring if you fall all the way to the bottom or if an even worse monster is waiting in there for you. The monster realises what’s going on, hurrying its pursuit of you. It jumps manically – a feral beast almost panting for you as it gets closer and closer. 10 meters, 9, 8-

You slam your hand on the button that says 0.

7, 6 –

The doors don’t close.

5, 4 –

You look down at the panel and see that the numbers have rearranged themselves with 0 now all the way at the bottom. You squat down and stab your finger into it, and it brightens up further. You look up to see how far the slime has come.

It’s right there. It knows how close it is. Its eyes wide with hunger, it ripples as it takes its final jump. The doors close in its face.

You’re encapsulated in what seems like another reality. A clean, bright place with… elevator music. Yes, there’s no mistaking the soft jingle like tones coming from somewhere, even though there are no speakers. You right yourself, shaking like a leaf, and watch as the numbers go down on a screen above the door. You grip the pickaxe hard, refusing to let it go until you’ve made it out. You realise you’ve dropped your knife down there.

When the doors open you barely look around, heading straight for the mouth of the cave and into the pouring rain. And the grip of someone in the shadows.

Notes:

• The fic I’m following just ended on a cliff-hanger and it inspired me.
• Same time next week? <33

Chapter 10: Six of Hearts

Summary:

Shane has gone missing.

Notes:

• Brief mentions of suicide, self-harm, overdosing.
• Onwards!

The rain drops hard around you, stinging your skin wherever it lands. Somewhere far out you think you hear the thunder, but it may as well be the winds ripping at everything they can, flinging branches, leaves, and your hair all around. No one can hear you scream out here. Really not the best weather for fighting off whoever has their hands on you.

You gasp and struggle, throwing your body back against the person cursing in your ear. Wringing your body, you drop down into dead-weight, feeling the grip of the person loosen slightly. You fling yourself to the side, letting the water run into your eyes knowing that it would be worse if you wiped them with your filthy hands. You face your attacker.

Your mouth goes slack. “Linus?”

“Hell, girl, you fight like you mean it.”

You drop your pickaxe, wanting to weep, wanting the day to be over. “Why are you attacking me?”

He looks at you like you’ve insulted his mother, grandmother, and his hamster. “Attack you? Girl, you were running at the water like a possessed baboon, I was trying to keep you from drowning.” He protests in his gruff voice, yelling over the wind.

You glance to the side and realise that he’s right. You’re both standing not more than a couple of meters from the water. You must’ve been out of your mind with panic, something he notices.

“What the hell were you doing in the mines? You have no business going down there by yourself, they’re way too dangerous.”

“Then why aren’t there any signs saying so!” You scream, beyond frustrated.

He screams right back. “Because context clues should be enough for any sane person to guess that!”

There are no words left inside you. You sink down into the wet grass, letting your head fall into your hands as your shoulders begin to shake. Even the whipping rain is unable to hide your tears. You feel a warm arm around you, but you keep your face in your hands.

This isn’t fair. None of it is fair.

The sobs break from your chest, competing with the howling wind. Your arms clutch close to your body, shaking uncontrollably until it becomes so unbearable you start hitting the ground. Linus’ locks your arms across your front, stopping you before you get a chance to hurt yourself. But you want to hurt yourself. You want to stop all of this. Your glass cage had so many cracks in it you couldn’t see past them, and this last thing has made it all collapse to the ground. You can’t make it stop, this flood of hurt and anger and envy. This feeling that your life has never and will never be yours.

It's not fair.

“I want to go home,” you wail. The arms around you tighten as Linus pulls your head against his chest. Your words are laced with grief, coming from a voice you haven’t owned for many, many years.

You can’t go home, not the home you’re talking about. It doesn’t exist anymore. A place you’re loved and safe, a place you know and that knows you. It’s all gone, you know this yet crave it so deeply. “Please.”

He shushes gently in your ear, rocking your body back and forth, not stopping. Even as your sobs sink into something like hiccups, even as your shaking ceases and you begin to hug him back. It’s not until you physically pull away from him that he lowers his arms from around you.

He rummages around in your backpack, making occasional disapproving noises before he eventually finds what he’s looking for. He turns your face to him and starts dapping and whipping away the dirt and grime collected there with a cloth. You close your eyes and let him, enjoying the feel of his hand warming the side of your face.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your throat raw.

He shushes you gently again and you swallow around the lump that threatens to bring it all back. When he eventually finishes, your eyes blink open again to see him leveling you with a firm look. “Who told you it was a good idea to go into the mines?”

You try to look away but the grip he has on your face is unyielding.

“Who, love?”

“He just wanted to tease. I don’t think he actually meant for me to do it. I’m an adult, I did it on my own.”

“You best let me be the judge of that. Who.”

Your gaze lowers. “Clint helped me a bit.”

Linus doesn’t look shocked. His expression gives nothing away about what he’s thinking. He simply pulls you up, strapping your pickaxe to your back so you don’t have to carry it in your arms, and start walking you back to the house. You try to tell him that he doesn’t have to, but he chooses those moments to act like he’s too old to hear a word you’re saying.

At the house he takes the tool from you and locks it in the shed, then follows you inside. He relieves you of your backpack and makes you sit in one of the chairs as he unlaces your shoes.

“Do you want to stay here, Linus?” Get out of the rain for a bit.

He shakes his head, rising to his feet. “No thanks, love. This is too claustrophobic for me. But you come visit any time you need.” He points a finger at you. “And no more going into the mines.”

“But-“

“No more.”

You nod and he leaves, letting the door rattle behind him.

By the time you’ve washed up and crawled under the covers, you’re dead to the world.

***

It’s early afternoon when you heave yourself out of bed and get some tasteless food down your throat. Only sheer will and responsibility has you putting on your shoes and making your way down to the barn, but it helps you immediately. This cruel, temporary numbness after an emotional breakdown is soothed by the happy quacks surrounding you. Harold sits in your lap without fear while the other three ducks who collectively share two braincells run around between the hooves of Jolene, who comes over to nudge you with her big nose.

You laugh and gently push her face away so you can scratch her neck. “I’ll be fine, Jolene.”

She licks the air in response, leaning into your hand.

You look down and notice one of the ducks scratching at a red mark on their throat. “Please tell me you guys don’t have mites or something.”

Oh, but they do. Hauling ass into town, you’re hoping to score some medication before the stores close for the day. You feel hungover, busy trying to disassociate from the rain soaking through your jacket and Fisherman’s beanie that you barely notice the crowd gathered in the square.

“Calm down, when did you see him last?” Mayor Lewis calls over the panicked voices. It catches your attention. You hope they’re talking about an animal, but a small part of you fears it may be Vincent who’s run off again. You step closer to hear them better over the rain, trying not to be too obvious as you lean against a fence.

“He said he was going to the bar.” Marnie’s voice carries over the small crowd – crowd was probably too generous. It was about six people.

A head of blue hair chimes in. “He was there, but he left after a couple of rounds, so he’s not drunk somewhere in a ditch.”

“Actually,” Pierre’s wife adds. “He came into the shop to buy some… some supplies. But it looked like he was heading home after.”

You slowly start recognising everyone gathered. Emily, Mayor Lewis, Marnie, Caroline, Maru, and… And Harvey. He is towering over them, not giving orders but soaking up every detail, stress lined into his face. You swallow and focus elsewhere.

“Well, does he have a place he usually goes to to… You know.” The question sets of a series of murmurs and suggestions, none of which seem right but eventually everyone agrees on heading off to all of them, splitting up for efficiency. Marnie goes home in case he turns up there, Harvey checks that everyone has his pager number before heading off to the beach with Caroline, and the rest go as far in each direction they can.

Your heart is pounding. Could Shane really be missing? And where would he go? You run through your memory, trying to think of a moment, a point in time where he might have mentioned a place he liked. He always sighed over the beach, but the risk of running into anyone would be too high if he was in a low mood. And there was no chance he would go into the mountains, having spouted his dislike for the complicated paths around the cliffs and hills more times than you can count on both hands. It really only leaves one place, and you unfortunately know exactly where.

The rain beats down harder than before when you enter the area of Cindersap forest, not exactly something you appreciate when you still feel so raw after yesterday. This whole ordeal is too stressful, but you can’t risk Shane being hurt somewhere alone. After all, he was the one who’d found you back then.

You walk down to a little wooden bridge that takes you across the river. You remember walking here once with Shane after one of his many instruction classes on how to handle the animals. He would stand by the cliff, a light breeze in his dark hair as he looked over the unending ocean. The darkness under his eyes would always deepen in these moments, and he would look so much older than you believed he was. There is no part of you that doubts that Shane feel way more than he lets on, you just wish he didn’t feel like he had to hide it.

Not that your coping mechanisms are any healthier.

You look for him by every tree and bush, even along the water to make sure he hasn’t fallen in anywhere. Worry gnaws at your tired bones, keeping you going even when you feel stupid for being so sure he’d be down here. It’s not like you know him any better than his family, or the people he’s spent years living alongside of.

Although. That black shoe looks vaguely familiar. You pick up the drenched item and march on. The wind coming in from over the ocean, hitting the cliff and washing over you, almost sends you stumbling back. To your right you notice an empty bear can. Picking it up, you head that way, finding a sickly form behind a bush.

Oh Shane…

He’s lying face down in the mud, various bottles of liquor spread around him as well as multiple six-packs. You have to get him to Harvey. Rushing forward you stoop down to check his pulse, but before you can manage it a large arm waves you off, swinging a bottle at your head, mumbling something.

“What the hell, Shane. Get up, we’re getting you some help.”

He continues his angry unintelligible mumblings.

With a skeptical glance at the glass bottle he has clenched in his fist, you bend down to hear him better.

“-I’m too small and stupid to… to take control of my life…”

“Shane, that’s not true. It may feel like it, but it’s not. Come with me, please.” You rub a hand over his back, if not to soothe then to keep him conscious and grounded. You don’t know how much damage he’s done with an intake this high.

He continues as if he didn’t hear you. “Why should I even go on? Tell me… T… Tell me why I shouldn’t roll off this cliff right now.”

It devastates you to see him like this. To see how truly lost he thinks he is. You have no experience, no idea what to say to convince someone to stay who doesn’t really want to stay. But this – this asking for help, this asking for a reason should be reason enough. Arguing with you instead of doing it, needing the alcohol to even get here. There is hope, you decide. There has to be.

“Shane, listen to me.” You bend down, placing your lips right next to his ear, making sure he hears every word. The soaked dirt is a cold embrace around your knees. “I’m not exactly the right person to give you a positive view on the world or reasons to stay. I’ve spent the past week passively trying to do the exact opposite. I just know that there is a little girl back there who you mean the world to, and I would hate to see what losing you would do to her.” You stroke his hair. “But, the decision is yours. Just know that I’m here for you, like you have been for me in more ways than you could ever know.”

He’s so silent that you fear he’s gone unconscious. Your hand drifts down to his neck looking for a pulse when he, in the most tired tone you’ve ever heard from him, slurs, “You…you should take me to the hospital.”

***

 

The white walls are almost blinding, the sharp lighting not helping the headache you feel building. You’ve abandoned the pretense of looking through magazines immediately, content with staring into space as you knee bounces uncontrollably. A warm hand is placed over your fidgeting ones, stilling your stressed movements completely. You give Maru a shaky smile but quickly look away again. You don’t exactly feel strong enough to keep solid eye-contact going right now.

“Harvey will be out any minute now.” Another stress factor, which Maru seems to read easily. “Did you guys have a fight or something? You’ve both been moping around.”

“Not now, Maru.” Your voice is hoarse and tired. You wouldn’t be surprised if you got sick from spending all of this time out in the cold rain.

“It’s fine if you two are fighting, but we’re friends too, you know. I’ve missed you.”

More guilt piles onto your growing mountain, but you have no words or apologies for her. You’ve missed seeing her too, but it’s for the best.

She sighs. “If you’d just talk to him, honey. I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew what I’d done.” You can’t help letting the bitter words leave you in a rush.

Her hands squeeze yours. “There’s not much Harvey wouldn’t forgive.”

You pull your hands out from under hers, turning your head away from the hurt look in her eyes. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

The door to the patients’ room opens and a very tired looking Harvey comes out. The sadness in his eyes deepen when they connect with yours, but you stand with Maru anyway, desperate to hear the news.

Please, please, please. You beg internally. To whom, you don’t know.

Harvey shuffles over, using the hand sanitizer on the counter. “He’s going to be alright.”

Maru jumps up to give Harvey a hug while you fall back into your chair. You register that she’s asking questions about the procedures, which Harvey answers in a lowered voice, relief clear in his words, but you don’t hear much. There’s a buzzing in your ears and everything is kind of going blurry.

“Head between your legs, sweetheart.”

You follow the instructions, bending over in the chair until the spots disappear, until you feel the soothing strokes down your back. You lift your head and see Harvey crouched in front of you, patience in every movement, in every muscle. If you hadn’t already wept everything out yesterday you’d probably be sobbing right now.

“I’m going to get some tea for everyone.” And with that Maru leaves you to the wolves. This is not the time to have this conversation, but you feel it coming anyway. It’s as if they all know how low your guards are right now, can smell the blood in the water, and are ready to pounce.

Harvey doesn’t say a word though, following your lead. But he does still and remove his hand from you, as if he’s been burnt. He probably went to soothe you, slipping the doctor hat on instinctively and then remembered what you’d done.

The words and thoughts all mingle and mix until you can only get two words out. “I’m sorry.”

He tenses up. “Sorry?”

You hang your head and wait for the onslaught that’s sure to follow. What a shitty way to try and make up for what you’ve done.

“What are you sorry for?” He demands.

God, of course he wants a further explanation from you. A reasoning. Something other than your pathetic apology. The words leave you as if they burn on the way out. “For that morning. You were unconscious. I’ll never forgive myself, and I can never make it right for you. But I’ll do whatever you want to make it easier to bear to be around me.”

His silence makes it worse. You try to contain the shaking, but really, there’s no way you’re going to be able to contain shit until you’ve slept for at least 48 hours. You really want this day, this week, this year, to be over.

“You have nothing to apologise for.”

Your head snaps back up. You even sit upright, just because of the ridiculousness of the statement. “What?”

“Sweetheart, I was the one who- who took advantage. You needed someplace to sleep and though I was unconscious I made it an unsafe place for you. I took liberties.”

The frown on your face is going to leave permanent marks, you’re that confused on how he could ever interpret the situation like that. “Harvey, I was the one who could’ve stopped it and didn’t. I got caught up in it. I heard you when you woke up, you sounded so- well, horrified.”

His mouth is agape, staring at you like you’ve grown two heads. You’re sure your expression mirrors his. “How could you even think that? I’m much bigger than you, I’m your doctor, you needed my place to sleep in, I was in a position of power. And I-“, he colours. “I took pleasure in it.” He says the word like it’ll bite him.

“But you can’t help that when you’re asleep. I was awake and… It’s so sick of me to have enjoyed it, I-“

He gets up from his crouched position and starts pacing the waiting room.

“Harvey-“

“All this time. You’ve avoided me all this time because you thought you did something to me that I didn’t want?”

“It was clear in your voice when you woke-“

“Because I thought I had assaulted you!”

You both stare at each other, letting the new perspective settle and click in you both. A giggle bursts from you. Horrified, you go to cover your mouth with your hands but it’s too late. A full-fledged laughter forces its way out of you, shoulders shaking and tears springing to your eyes helplessly.

Harvey, just as momentarily insane, joins in, falling into the seat next to you. All this time. All this guilt. Well, not even half of it has gone away, but you can almost see it – the mountain top of it clears on a wind, blowing away the crushing snow.

The laughter eventually ends, the giggles subside, leaving you both in contemplative silence. What now?

“I’ve missed you,” he confesses on a whisper.

You nod.

“Can we go back to how we were?”

Any other day you’d have been strong enough to resist, to do what’s best for both of you. But you’re hurt and you’re tired and you’re selfish.

“Friends, Doc?”

His gaze flickers from you to your outstretched hand. Carefully, his bigger hand takes yours, long fingers curling around it, spreading a low almost humming electricity. His eyes go back to yours and you hold your breath at the slight dilation you catch in them.

“Friends.”

Notes:

• Yaaayy we survived a long period of just angst – breathe a sigh of momentary relief and go hug your loved ones.
• Let’s see if I even remember how to write happy stuff.
• All my love to Linus.

Chapter 11: Festival of Ice

Summary:

How can one feel cold with a brand-new scarf.

 You’d like to say that everything went right after you made up with Harvey. That your struggles lessened with every lunch and shared smile. That seeing Penny trying to rationalise with Maru as she complains about Elliot and Leah is enough to make you feel somewhat normal again. But none of that is true. Yes, you feel lighter, and the days are easier to get through, but they are also so much harder. You have people on every corner making sure that you’re not doing stupid things, whether they know that’s what they’re doing or not. Because being invited out to dinner at night or to hang out at the bar means you can’t be out doing things that potentially gets you an inexplicable scrape. And there’s no way you can walk around the mountains near the cave without Linus appearing over your shoulder, wanting to show you some berries he’s found. Your plans for lunch have resumed, and so you can’t be so far away from everything that you’re unable to return in time, or even sleep through the midday after morning chores.

And though your day is filled with these moments, that’s all they are, moments. The spontaneity of it all keeps you from doing anything even on the nights where you don’t have fast plans, but you still have to fill it all somehow. The hours in between drag by, and you can’t help but turn towards that button occasionally; remembering the shock of it, craving the stimuli. A part of you even becomes curious of the monster. You’ve been trying to figure out how to ask about the skeletons from Spirit’s Eve, but you’re not sure you want to hear the answers.

The nights are the hardest. The unending flood of memories and twisted nightmares make it impossible for you to find peace for long.

Despite the lack of sleep, you make an effort to actively participate in the event of the town. Today is supposed to be some sort of ice themed festival, fitting now that the snow is finally sticking. You bundle up in your coat and beanie, along with the green gloves and matching scarf Evelyn knit for you. She almost slapped you when you suggested paying for it.

“Seeing you smile again is payment enough.” She’d responded before she waddled away.

Taking the path down your grounds to Cindersap forest has become much easier. It helps that you can follow the sounds of conversation and children shrieking whenever you get too caught up in a memory. The snow on the ground casts a light up under the trees, making sure the shadows have no place to hide. The path clears and you see the big area filled with activity.

There are three different contests during the festival: one for snowmen, for ice sculptures, and for fishing. Leah is by the ice, shaping a large mermaid, her edges smooth and animated. Robin is hacking away as well, but while Leah’s style is more fluid, Robin’s is structured and focused on the inscribed details. Their professions are clearly reflected in their work.

You wave at Maru as she rolls the very large bottom of her snowman. You notice Abby and her father, Pierre, building a very misshapen snowman together, neither party looking like they’re enjoying themselves. As your eyes run over the other snowmen something hits you square in the chest. Vincent falls into a giggle, pointing at you while Sam with a sheepish expression tries to apologise. The words die on his lips, because you’re bending down with a menacing look in your eye. The brothers share a look and the wisely decide to haul ass. You raise your arm and fling the ball, hitting the older square in the back. He stumbles dramatically and falls to the ground, sticking out his tongue. Vincent falls to his brother’s side and yells at the skies in grief.

You’re about to turn this into a Lionheart reenactment, turning away to gather more snow when you feel a sharp sting on the back of your head, the cold not registering at first. Slowly, you face your now worst enemy.

“Really? You’d shoot a man in the back?” You call over the snowball fight that’s beginning to go completely off the rails. You think you even see Marnie tackling Mayor Lewis but confirming that would require taking your focus off the man currently aiming another snowball at you.

“Honour without power is useless, Paulie.”

“What does that even mean?”

Shane shrugs, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

You go to aim when a deviant snowball hits your hand, dooming your own ball to a pathetic splat on the ground. Shane throws his head back in a laugh, a gloved hand raised to cover his eyes. You enjoy the high-pitched sound for a beat, but then that’s enough mercy for him. You watch the ball fly and land directly on his mouth. He stops laughing, going still. He holds your gaze in steady eye contact as he calmly brushes it off. Too calmly. You watch his every move with rapt attention, never letting your big smirk fall from your face. Everyone knows you don’t let the enemy see if they’ve intimidated you. That bravado holds for about five more seconds, because the moment the last snow is off his face he takes off in a sprint towards you. You scream and turn to run, but before you’ve made it far you find yourself flying towards the ground, tackled into the snow and getting a face full of it. You turn over and find him smiling victoriously down at you, a mass of white in hand ready for his revenge. In a moment of panic, you stick your hand directly into his unguarded armpit. It miraculously works. His body contorts and he falls to the side paralysed by the tickling. Gaining the high ground, you pull at his collar and stuff the surrounding snow down his jacket. He yells out, bucking to get you off.

Shit, this is like going to the rodeo. 

In an attempt to disarm him, you try to tickle him again, but he sees it coming this time, slapping at your hands before they get too close. In an offended huff you start slapping his hands back and before you know it, it has gone from a snowball fight into a slap-fight. And a rather pathetic one at that. You would describe it as two grandma’s fighting, but honestly, you’ve seen the inside of an elder-care center, and it gets much more violent than this.

“Stop it.” He grumbles.

“You stop it first.”

“Hey! When someone says stop, you have to stop.”

You both freeze at the new voice. Synchronised, your heads turn towards the newcomer, finding Jas directing a very serious look at both of you. “Penny says so.”

Well, none of you can fight that argument. You crawl off the demon-spawn and help him get to his feet. Brushing off the snow, you share an uncertain look. Last time something involved Jas, you were rude and ungrateful. You wouldn’t be surprised if Shane took Jas and went somewhere else, to someone else, someone who’s more reliable and acts less like a ticking time-bomb.

One side of his mouth lifts. “Jas, there’s someone I’d like you to formally meet.” He introduces you and she curtsies.

He frowns down at her. “What the f-frick was that?”

Great save.

She looks up at him just as confused. “You said formally.”

You bite your lip to hide your smile, but dip down into a curtsy as well. The girl’s face lights up and she clasps her hands together before she seems to remember that you’re still somewhat of a stranger and looks away with a blush, shifting to hide behind her godfather.

“Lovely to meet you again, Jas. Did you build a snowman yet?”

She nods into Shane’s coat.

He chuckles. “Alright, I think that’s enough for today. Jas, why don’t we go look at your creature.”

Throwing a quick wave over his shoulder, he lets her drag him to one of the smaller figures.

You look around the area, self-consciously brushing at imaginary snow on your jacket. What now?

Wandering around, you find yourself drawn to the raspy chuckles and huffs by the river. Willy has his back turned to the rest of the event, enjoying the waters with Demetrius by his side. You shuffle up to the older men, feeling out of your element with them.

“Whatcha hiding for, farmer-girl? Bout time you showed up for some fishin’ lessons.”

You put your hands up defensively. “Oh, no, Willy, there’s no need-“

He pushes a fishing rod into your hands. “’Course there’s need! Plenty of it even. Everyone needs to know how to fish. Now come on, show me your stance.”

You obey him with a sigh. “It’s not like I’m going to be ready in time for the competition.”

The older men share a hearty chuckle before Willy turns back to you. “You’re right about that. But give me the next hour until it starts, and you’ll only look half as stupid up there.”

He adjusts your body, taking you through the motions and dismissing every protest you throw at him. What in the world do they put in the water here in the Valley to make everyone so overbearing and pushy? It doesn’t matter, because no matter how many times you insist that you’re not going to be in the fishing competition, you still find yourself with your own little hole in the ice as Mayor Lewis counts down not an hour later. “Begin!”

Looking around to see how everyone else is doing, you scramble with your own rod trying to remember what Willy has been drilling into your head. The hook gets caught on the ice more than once, and you start sweating when you hear another roar from the crowd behind you, where you assume someone has caught at least a million fish. You’re looking around trying to see if anyone is laughing at you, when you clash with your favourite brown eyes in the Valley. Harvey is tucked into his blue winter coat, blowing at his hands but taking a moment to send you a smile over them. You shake your head self-deprecatingly, ready to give up just as he shoots you an overly enthusiastic thumb’s up.  

Your eyeroll is softened by your indulgent smile, and you try swinging the line one more time. Just one more time can’t hurt. You promise yourself a hot drink as soon as you’ve done this, feeling like you’ve given it more than a fair try.

With a shocked squeal you watch as the hook drops into the water amongst the panicked swimming of the fish beneath you. You lock eyes with Harvey again, and he looks genuinely as excited as you are.

It’s then you realise you have absolutely no memory of how you’re supposed to adjust the line or what you should look out for when it comes to reeling the thing in. Another roar comes from somewhere else, but you ignore it, totally focused on your own little hole. You wait, and you wait, and you wait. Lewis starts counting down from 1 minute, and you’re freaking out. It’s as if all of a sudden, you want to catch a fish more than anything. It’s the most important thing in the world. You curse yourself for not having the courage to pick a hole further out on the ice, opting instead for one that allows you to stand on land. There are way fewer fish in this area.

There’s a tug. With eyes probably bulging out of your head, you wait, unsure if you really felt it or just imagined it. It tugs again. You spring into action, turning the little wheel on the side as fast as you can hopefully without ripping through the face off the poor thing.

Ten seconds left.

You reel like a maniac, fighting against the weight of it. Shit, it must be massive to be this hard to get out.

Five, four, three, two…

You heave the fish out, water splashing everywhere. It fights on the hook and you let out a mighty battle cry. When the water clears you look at your hunt.

It’s a bluegill. Practically one of the smallest fish you’ve ever seen, able to fit in the palm of your hand. Its size does nothing to dim your excitement. You turn in time to see Harvey running at you. You shift the fish to the same hand holding the rod and jump into Harvey’s open arms. Swinging you both around, he cheers with you as if you’ve won the damn thing, which you sure as shit know you haven’t. Mayor Lewis reveals with a quick count that you’re in complete last place, but who cares. You show the fish off to Willy, who looks like a proud grandfather, ruffling your hair with fishy hands and promises to stuff it so you can hang it somewhere in your house. 

“You looked so cool and collected, I didn’t realise there was a fish on the hook until you started tugging for real.” You and Harvey are walking back from the event towards the clinic. He smiles down at you, eyes so bright you forget that he’s even said anything.

You clear your throat. “Really? It felt like my eyes were about to roll out of my skull.”

“If that’s your dramatic face, watch out you don’t get recruited for poker-nights.”

The light smack against his jacket makes him laugh again, and he reaches down to take the gloved perpetrator. Holding it between his two warm hands, he lifts it and bends at his neck to meet it for a gentle yet quick kiss, before letting it go again. You tilt your head back to look at the stars, pretending you haven’t just been stunned into silence.

You arrive at the clinic too soon, standing under the streetlight laughing about events of the day, not wanting it to end quite yet. Soon enough you notice the heat of him against you, realising that you’ve drifted until you’re more or less leaning against each other. The tip of Harvey’s nose as well as his cheeks are red from the cold, but as his gaze keeps flicking down you notice the colouring spread. The glint in his eyes is addictive and you find yourselves caught in a bubble. It’s by accident that you glance up at the clock, your mouth falling open.

“Harvey,” you interrupt his story. “We’ve been standing here for an hour.”

His mouth drops too. “Certainly not, how is that possible?”

You point at the clock and he follows your finger, throwing his head back on a laugh when he realises you’re right. “It’s almost two AM,” he whispers, appearing suddenly self-conscious of the noise you’ve been making while fooling around.

“I know,” you mock whisper back.

He brushes a hand down his face, giving you a look you can’t quite read. You just know that he seems happy. In your company. A fact that will shock you forever. “I have to be up in less than six hours.”

“And I have animals to feed in less than four.” He shakes his head at you as if in wonder. Not able to bear the silence, you stick out a fist. “See you tomorrow, doc.”

Not taking his eyes off of yours, he raises his fist and gives you a soft bump, leaving his hand pressed against yours. You’re feeling a confusing mix of being thankful for the glove separating you yet cursing it at the same time. “Sweet dreams, sweetheart.” His voice gravelly and relaxed.

Forcing yourself to leave is no small feat, but you muster up the strength to do it. You hear the jingle of his keys and the eventual closing of the door. Last minute, you decide to head up through the mountain path instead of going directly home, feeling drawn to the dark large house falling apart by the fountain.

It’s too bad, really, that it’s been left to itself. You’re sure everyone would love some more activities to do or places to be, especially the kids but also the older people. You remember being able to run to the community center of your neighbourhood as a child when things were getting bad at home, or the fridge was so empty it practically took nourishment from your body every time you opened it. That place was your haven. It would be so nice if the people around here could experience the same thing. Of course, it wouldn’t be the exact same thing. Out here there are plenty of spaces to hide without fearing getting killed by some unhoused people drugged to the point of violence, but still, you believe your point stands.

As you walk around taking measure of the damages and possible options for repair, you hear a small squeak. Memories from the mines assault you and you fall back, staring holes into the supposedly abandoned building. The noise comes again.

Is that a…

You lean over and through one of the broken windows, reaching in and slowly pulling out a small shaking kitten. “Poor baby.” You coo and tuck it into your jacket, letting it absorb your body heat. You glance in and around, seeing if there seems to be any more. Cats don’t usually breed when it gets colder, so giving birth in winter seems impossible to you. But you suppose every living thing can get a bit irrational when they’re getting down and dirty.

“Where’s your mummy?”

It meows in response, its eyes already beginning to droop.

“Right, let’s get you home. I’m sure I have some food that doesn’t kill you.” You look up at the skies. “Please let me have some food that doesn’t kill you.”

You crack open a can of mackerel packed in water and mush it onto a plate next to a bowl of water. The kitten comes running. It’s very skinny, but not as short as you’d imagine a kitten only a few weeks old would be, so you can’t get a clear picture of its age. Gender is also anyone’s guess – you don’t exactly see anything, but you’ve also heard that male kittens don’t show their genitalia until they’re a couple of months old. For now, you call it Baby. Its orange fur still a little wet from the quick bath you gave it when you hauled it inside, determined not to spread flees. The ducks have just gotten over their skin issues and you are not in the mood to go through all of that again.

Baby chomps down on the food in such a hearty manner you’re worried its going to choke. “Breathe.” You nudge it with your finger, but it doesn’t lift its face from the food. “Hey, breathe.” You pick it up and don’t put it back down until it meows at you. It dives straight back into the food. “Whatever, kill yourself, it’s your choice.” You give it at dismissive wave and get ready for bed.

Pulling the covers over your head, you listen to as the cat seemingly inhales the water bowl.

I can predict heavy vomiting in my future.

You sigh and try to relax, creating calming scenarios in your head to hopefully get through the night. You’re a little more tired today than you’ve been the past week, but it’s still not the same emptiness you’re craving. Even as you’re falling asleep, you find your heartbeat quickening and the shadows beginning their stirrings in your chest.

Small taps bring your attention to the floor. Baby, very proud of itself, launches itself up onto the bed. It gives you a few suspicious glances before it tramples over you, looking for the perfect soft spot to sleep. It kneads at your stomach, turns in a circle, and plops down – its purrs vibrating through you. You feel your heartbeat dropping as well as your eyelids, sleep draping itself over you. And you let it.

Notes:

• This chapter was a little shorter, but I felt it was an important bridge for the next chapters.
• It’s also exams season and I’m realising this was definitely the wrong major, but it’s too late to change it now – anyways, that’s why I just had fun with this one. Hope you did too!
• See you next week!

Chapter 12: Birthdays

Summary:

Winter is filled with the birthdays of your friends.

Notes:

* Thank you all so much for the continuing sweet reception of this fic. Even if I don’t answer every comment (because I’m as awkward as you’d expect a hobby writer to be) I hold them close.
* I’m also moving back home after being abroad for a while and saying goodbye to all of my friends. I need some silly.

“’Eeyy!” The table erupts in cheer. You smile to yourself as you serve the beer, watching the men down them so quickly they’re ready with their new orders before the last one has even touched the table. Sebastian sits in the middle of the group, a paper crown on his head and an aloof expression on his face as people grab at him from all sides. It seems that one cannot be congratulated properly if one is not fondled as the wishes are received.

He looks sideways up at you from his place at the table and you give him a pitying look which he acknowledges with a nod. “Alright, another round it is.” This elicits another cheer and you practically run behind the bar to put it in, wanting some space from the ruckus.

Gus leans against the bar, cleaning the glasses as he sighs wistfully towards the group. “Ah, to be young.”

“You can still buy that red Cadillac, that aught to make you feel spry again.”

He shakes his head. “You can’t tell Emily anything.”

“You really can’t.” You agree and head around to the other tables, not wanting to neglect anyone despite how much attention the birthday group is calling to themselves. You find Robin and Demetrious with their eyes fixed sharply on the scene behind them.

“You know, I’ve heard that delayed cord cutting is all the fashion nowadays, but don’t you think this is a little extreme?”

Robin tabs at her glass without a word.

Your eyes flick down and back to her. “Robin, that glass is completely full.”

Shocked she turns, looking at the glass accusatorily. “Shit.”

A baffled laugh escapes you. “Have you just been staring at him since you came?”

Demetrius’ answers for his wife. “She- we felt that he would be safer if we kept an eye on him.”

Robin whips back around to participate in the conversation. “You know, a group of boys is more likely to die from stupidity than anything else.”

“Then it’s good that there are no boys at that table. They’re all adults, some of them even too old to be sitting over there – Yo, Pierre! Does Caroline know what you’re up to?” The very tired husband calls to the other table, getting the shopkeepers attention. Pierre’s face morphs from frat boy into one of shame. He slides out of his chair, walking over to the adults’ table, as you’ve mentally named this area, sulking the entire way.

Demetrius slaps him on the back comfortingly and you take the opportunity to glide away. You force yourself to socialise with three more tables before turning towards the corner, fighting a smile as you see your friends huddled together. Harvey sees you coming instantly, throwing a hand up in an eager wave. You’re all flushed and giddy by the time you make it there, trying to hide it with a cough.

“Can I get you guys anything else?”

Maru is sucking at the straw of her drink, shooting daggers with her eyes at the other side of the bar. You turn to look when she clamps a hand down on your wrist, bringing your focus back to her. Her eyes can barely stay on yours, and a mischievous smirk lights up your face.

“Maru my dear.” You practically purr.

“Hmm?”

“Are you drunk?”

“Yes,” she drags the ‘s’ out into a hissing sound.

You turn to Harvey, sharing your bemusement with him. He just looks at Maru with all the patience you expect an older brother would. “Perhaps a glass of water to finish off the night?”

His head moves back and forth slowly. “I must admit, I was wild in medical school, but it’s been a while since I’ve seen anyone get hammered on three drinks.”

“Yeah? How wild?”

The edge of his moustache curls and his dimple deepens. His deep brown eyes capture yours, only letting go to fall on your parted lips for a second. “Wild enough.”

You swallow. “So, two coffees?”

He nods and you hurry back to the bar, aware of the burning gaze on your back. This side of Harvey comes out when you least expect it – he’s still bashful and flustered, but he powers through it, not backing down when you tease him. With interactions like those you feel like you’re both dancing on a string 20 meters above the ground. No safety net.

You come up behind the birthday boy who’s slapping at the hands of his best friend.

“C’mon!” Sam whines.

“You’re like a child who blows out other people’s birthday candles.”

“You didn’t even want to wear it!”

“No,” Sebastian admits. “But I still won’t be giving it to you.”

“Sadist.”

Sebastian lifts his eyebrows slightly and looks away, a smirk on his lips as he hums thoughtfully into his soda. Not protesting, you note.

“Alright, boys, break it up. Seb, some more peanuts?”

“Please,” his deep voice going up with enthusiasm.

Sam leans on his arms on the bar, clearly up to no good. “Farmer-girl.”

You hum as you unclip the packet of peanuts and start pouring them into a bowl.

“How old are you?”

You shake your head and push the bowl into eager hands. “Older than you.”

“Yeah, but only by a couple of years, right?”

“In Sam years that’s about two decades.” Sebastian chimes in, throwing a peanut in the air and catching it effortlessly with his mouth even with the jab in his side.

You start gathering glasses for the rowdy table. “Why, Sam?”

He stops glaring at his friend to return the mega-watt smile to you. “How about you and I give it a go?”

If it wasn’t for his clearly intoxicated state, you would have clapped him on the side of his head. If he’s bored he should get a puppy, or a kitten like you did, not hit on every woman in the area. Instead of smacking sense into him, you smile back and lean over the bar, getting in his space. “What would we do?”

His eyes snap up from where they had been resting on your chest, swallowing. “I could teach you to skateboard.”

Bless his heart.

“Shouldn’t you learn how to do it yourself before you try teaching others?”

Good-natured Sam laughs and punches his friend on the arm. Any other guy would’ve probably taken offense to the dig, especially in front of a woman. You take the opportunity to look at him more closely. He’s handsome and high-spirited, and it’s a damn shame that you feel no attraction to him whatsoever. You just hope that he won’t attempt to surf on his good looks forever, but rather figure out what he wants to do while it’s still cute.

“How are the coffees coming along?” Surprised, you turn to see Harvey settling in right next to Sam, the centimeters he has on the younger man suddenly very clear. He’s all smiles, even a bit flushed though you know he hasn’t had any alcohol tonight.

You lift your brows. “I’ll go put it on right now.” You turn your back to the men to tend to the machine – by the time you have two mugs ready to go, there’s only one of them left. And the toothy smile he’s giving is so innocent you pause.

“What?” You demand, suspicion narrowing your eyes.

“Nothing.” His reply comes too quick.

You catch the eye of Sam back at his table, but he quickly looks away, pretending to be engrossed in whatever exaggerated tale is spouted. Harvey maintains the relaxed composure when your gaze flickers back to him.

Deciding to let it go, you place the mugs in front of him. “Alright. Let me know when you want to settle the bill. I have to get some drinks in those men before the wander back up here again.” You watch for it, but there is no reaction as he gratefully takes the coffee and ventures back to Maru, who’s about to fall out of their booth. He hurriedly sets the mugs down and comes to her rescue, pushing her back into her seat, looking over his shoulder as he does it. You follow his line of sight as you fill another glass, and quickly have to bite your lip to not burst out laughing. Demetrius is staring at Maru like his eyes are about to pop out of his head, dragging Robin behind him as she tries to hold onto his collar.

Yup, that’s the end of Maru’s night.

The genius’ parents wave to everyone before they leave, Maru’s limp body thrown over the shoulder of her father. You’re serving another round of beer, but your eyes stray from the task, locking instead on the twinkling gaze of the now lone man before he turns back to the cup in front of him.

“Oh, oh, OH!” They all cry almost synchronised, followed by the piercing crash of a glass hitting the floor.

Shit.

Gus rushes out from behind the bar, duster and dustpan in one hand and mop kit in the other. He bends down as if to remove the glass you’re sure is covering your work slippers when another voice stops him. “Let me.”

Harvey bends and scoops you into his arms, bringing you to a stool – all of it serenaded by drunken cheers. Concentration edged into his features, he removes your black slippers with care and shakes them before setting them aside.

“Gus, please, I can do that.” You call, one hand on the shoulder of the man bent down in front of you. You can feel the muscles move with him under your palm.

Gus just waves you off. You’re about to protest again when the soft brush of a hand makes you choke on the words. Harvey caresses your bare foot, sock momentarily confiscated.

“Is that really necessary?” You’re proud of the steadiness of your voice.

“Glass can sit in the material and cut you while you’re walking, and you wouldn’t know until you’ve come home with an infected wound.” He looks up from his task, the stubborn set of his jaw making you roll your eyes but otherwise halting your objections.

“You’re an infected wound,” you pout.

His eyes narrow, but he can’t hide the smirk curving his lip when he turns back to your foot. It’s the last foot’s turn for an examination, and just as he’s about to finish you feel his hand stop its movement, settling around your ankle.

“What?” You lean over to look, slightly worried he may have been right.

His fingers frame a torn area on your shin that hasn’t quite healed despite it being several weeks since your last trip down to the mines.

You shrug, but he’s not looking. “It’s a scrape.”

He pulls at the leg of your trousers, and you jerk out of his grasp. Too late, as evident by the displeased set in his mouth. “It’s a scrape,” you repeat.

He nods, though you’re unsure whether he believes you or not. It doesn’t really matter if he does because you’re a grown woman. It could have come from working on the farm for all he knows. There’s no way he suspects that you’ve been into the mines. Only Linus is aware of your borderline self-destructive trips, and you despite your cravings for it, you haven’t ventured down there since.

“I’m fine, doc.”

“Harvey.” He corrects, his tone light as he rises.

You breathe a sigh of relief, taking the offered truce eagerly. “Harvey.” You echo, sharing a smile.

Banging on the table, you’re called to collect another round of orders. You hurriedly slip back into your shoes and make your way over there, determined to make at least that part of Sebastian’s special night bearable.

***

It’s barely a week later when another birthday looms over you. You’re on the computer in the library, Emily hovering over your shoulder as you’re frantically scrolling through yet another online retailer. 

“If you pay double on that one, you can get overnight shipping.”

You sigh. “I’m not going to pay a 10 thousand coins for a pickle teddy-bear.”

“I thought there were no bad ideas?”

“When they cost 10k there are.”

She leans over and types something into the search bar, mumbling under her breath.

Your shoulders slump as she hits ‘Enter’. “You literally just searched ‘moustache’”.

“Okay, you’re not allowed to speak again until you can provide solutions instead of problems.”

You get up and let her sit in the chair, pacing back and forth. You’ve been at it for days, trying to find something suitable for Harvey. There are so many things you could give him, but you’re worried about it not being enough or about it sending the wrong message. It would be easier if you knew exactly what the wrong message is because either end of the spectrum is not doing it for you.

“Here!” She exclaims and you hurry back to the screen. “A moustache comb you can engrave.”

“Poor guy,” a voice comments drily from your left.

You whip around and point a finger at him. “Judgement free panic-zone, Shane.”

Emily snorts sarcastically. “Since when?”

He pushes off the wall and walks over to you both, looking over the open tabs you have. His eyebrows fly to his hairline. “Who suggested the porno?” Though he’s already grinning down at Emily.

“A man has needs.”

He huffs a laugh. “Then buy a set of lingerie, wear it for him, and call it a day.”

They both look to you.

“Fuck you guys.”

They cackle and turn their focus back to the computer, Shane occasionally making suggestions and comments that Emily eagerly follows as they snicker to each other. You’ve long since abandoned them, scanning the aisles for books that could provide any sort of inspiration.

“So is this just a gift for a friend?” Shane calls without turning.

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

His big shoulders bounce once. “Dunno. Maybe because you guys look at each other how I look at pepper poppers.”

You pretend to be above dignifying the taunt with a response, mostly to cover the fact that your heart is pounding out of your chest from the observation. It’s been almost a month since you and Harvey became friends again, and you and him have grown closer than you thought possible. He backs off when he gets too close to a question about your past, always sets up a new meeting at the end of each one, and gives you little things he finds on his walks that he knows you’ll enjoy. It’s mostly the winter flowers that grow underneath the snow, which you keep in a growing bundle in your freezer. You mend his clothes for him, bring him coffee, and force him out of the clinic if no one has seen signs of life in a couple of days. It’s a balanced friendship that has become so incredibly important to you, and you can’t help but be constantly aware of how fragile it is.

Harvey’s tender heart has a tendency to assume that he’s unwanted, especially in group settings or just out in the world in general. You as a rule push everyone away. Not the greatest mix, yet you both find a way to battle through the faults to meet in the middle, scarred yet eager to hold the other’s hand anyway.

The before uncontrollable attraction has taken a new form. It sleeps soundly in the back room, its snoring heard but as not as disturbing as if it had been awake. The scare from this fall has taken care of any impulses you both may have had. Or so you tell yourself.

“I just want to get it right,” you whisper.

Shane’s head turns towards you, a furrow in his brow and a confused slant of his mouth his only comment before he turns back to the computer. You note that the physical scars and marks from last month’s medical intervention are completely gone now.

You pull out another book, it’s title calling to you. Studying the cover, a light bulb goes off above your head.

With a gasp you rush to the computer and type it in, barely hearing the murmurs of agreement from your sides. It’s not much, but at least you know he’d like it. You add it to the cart.

***

You enter the pub for the third time that week, only this time it’s as a customer. Still, your eyes can’t help but scan the area for anyone in need of assistance, and your eyes unsurprisingly catch on Harvey’s form. Trapped in a sea mingling bodies, the tall man with a purple party hat and a panicked expression is easily spotted. You go to shrug your coat off when a hand clamps down on your wrist. You flip around ready to pull away, when you find a red cheeked man grinning down at you. 

“Look who we have here. Slummin’ it with us toni’te, little miss?” Willy’s cheeks and nose are red with more than merriment. Over his shoulder you catch sight of Elliot making a beeline for the two of you.

“I’m afraid so. But you’re going to have to go easy on me, Willy. It’s been a while.”

He laughs heartily but is stopped by the hand on his shoulder. “I sense a need for a drink in our friend, Captain. Come! I shall provide the first one.”

You chuckle as Elliot sweeps you along to the bar, ordering for you with a sweet smile that would probably charm any bartender – well, any bartender except for Gus apparently.

“No, I can’t guess, tell me what happened next.” You look to the side to see Sam with his back to you and Sebastian at his side, the dark-haired friend wearing an indulgent smirk.

Sam lays his hands on the bar, poised for the drama he’s about to spill. “Hold onto your 2005’s haircut, buddy. She asked me if I wanted to French and I was like, baby girl, I do not speak that language.” He laughs into his drink as he takes another sip.  “Such a weird fucking thing to assume I could.”

Sebastian looks down, wiping his hands over his face.

Sam catches him. “What?”

His friend leans over and whispers in his ear, whereafter Sam’s head promptly makes contact with the wood beneath his hands. You catch his next words muffled by the surface, “I have made a terrible mistake.”

He receives comforting pats from all around when your focus is brought back to Elliot, who hands you a glass of wine.

“Not beer?”

He scoffs. “The day I pay for beer is the day there are no more grapes left on this little Earth.” You clink your glasses, and he guides you around to mingle, something he lectures you on the importance of so many times that you wonder how many glasses the artist has already had. But your eye keeps drifting to Harvey. Every time he’s a new place; in a booth before it gets cramped by well-wishes until he eventually manages to slide away, then by the pool table before a cue is thrust into his hands and he’s forced into a round that he does not come close to wining, and at last you catch him sliding into the storage room. Excusing yourself from under the arm of Willy, you grab another glass of wine from behind the bar, shooting a smile at Gus, before disappearing through the same door.

You see Harvey jump, startled by your quick entry. His shoulders relax as you close the door behind you two, dampening the noise of the party. You hand him one of the glasses, which he gratefully takes. “Happy birthday,” you whisper.

He blinks a slow blink, his eyes tired, but the smile curving his lips takes away the doubt of how welcome you are in his hiding place. “Thank you.” You watch as he leans against one of the walls, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, occasionally enjoying a sip of the wine. You sit in it, the silence, waiting for him to come to you.

Eventually, he does. “I must seem so ungrateful.”

“You don’t.”

His eyes flash open at the simplicity of your reply.

“You just don’t like being the center of attention.”

He huffs. “An old man like me should be able to endure it for one night of the year.”

 “I suppose being up this late is not something you’ve done in a loooong time.” You stretch the word, joining in on the teasing.

“Don’t mistake me, child.” You squawk in outrage at the name, but he continues. “The late nights don’t bother me.”

“Oh, you can go all night?” You question, laughter on your voice.

His smile is wicked as he aims it down at you. “With pleasure.”

Your smile drops and you turn back to your wine, both of you taking a sip together. The quiet between you gets interrupted by the activities outside, each bump and yell bringing Harvey’s shoulders closer to his ears until you crack.

“Wait here.” You down your wine and leave the glass on one of the barrels before you duck out, letting the door slide shut behind you. The target is the jukebox sitting idle, conversation more than filling up the space it would usually need to fill. Stuffing a coin into it, you select just the right song, then lean back against the wall next to the storage room and watch chaos unfold.

The first three notes are received with cheer and jumping as people flock to the middle of the floor. You notice Pierre twerking on his wife before you glide sideways back into the storage room, finding Harvey’s amazed gaze on you.

You hold out a hand to him. His glinting eyes search yours for a beat before he chugs back the rest of his wine, letting his hand lower into yours as he allows you drag him out. You have the sense to grab his hat and slap it onto Elliot as you pass the man on your way out. When the door to the pub slams behind you, you both run for the back of the building, laughter bubbling in your chests.

Suddenly the ground disappears from beneath you as you’re swept into his strong arms. He swings you around once before carefully setting you back on the ground, keeping his hands on your hips as his bright smile almost blinds you. Your chest aches and your stomach flutters as you look up at him, both of you breathing heavily. He switches his grip to either side of your head and lands a victorious kiss on your forehead.

“My saviour.”

You giggle and take his hand, leading through the square. He inhales more than once, enjoying the crisp night air. You notice the state of him. “Shit, Harvey, we forgot your jacket.”

He looks down at himself as if he’s first noticed it now. “Doesn’t matter. The sweater is enough until we get to the clinic.”

“We’re going to the clinic?”

“Yeah, I promised to show you what all of that equipment was for.”

He practically bounces up the stairs, excitement radiating off him in waves. You step in behind him as he holds the door open for you before he runs over to turn on a little lamp in the corner. Apparently it’s not a night for overhead lights.

Leaning over, he turns on all of the machines, the headset squishing his hair and the arms of his glasses. You hover by the door, unsure. You feel like you’re overstepping by wading into this world that he clearly lives in on his own. Turning and flicking things until he’s satisfied, he eventually waves you over. The room feels larger somehow as you cross it. He leads you into the chair and places the headphones over your ears after a few minor adjustments. You wait. The click of a button is muted behind the headphones, and you watch the lamp warm the side of his face as he leans into what you realise is a microphone.

 He says some numbers and words until you comprehend that it’s the phonetic alphabet. You watch in awe, watch him hold his breath, watch him adjust the nubs and repeat himself into the mic. The speech is so practiced, it flows from him with ease. He’s done this a lot. It seems so professional.

There’s an answer. You jump as the voice comes directly into your headphones and Harvey swoops down to place his ear next to them. The heat of him right against you as he takes in and somehow understands what is being said. The mic clicks again and he answers the man on the radio before promptly removing the headset from you and guiding you to the window. Holding you by the shoulders, he moves you this way and that and then points, suddenly, into the night sky. At first you don’t see anything other than the brilliant stars clinging to the unending blanket. Then, a star blinks. You move closer to the glass, nose almost pressed against it. It blinks again. This time it’s clearer that the light is not the same white as the other stars – it’s red. It’s a plane.

“Were you talking to him?” You ask, excitement hard to cover in your voice. Harvey nods, the curl leaning over his forehead bouncing with him. You turn back to the glass and for some stupid reason you feel like waving.

Harvey doesn’t laugh when you tell him this. “I did that in the beginning – sometimes I still do.”

You turn and find him leaning close behind you against the window. “Can everyone with a radio do that?”

He shakes his head. “Only a few planes allow it. But I love to hear the make of the plane. Or hear the pilot’s voice as he flies over us. I feel like I’m contributing, somehow, by giving him a status of the area.” His gaze turns over your shoulder to watch as the plane flies out of view.

You move out from between him and the glass, looking at his apartment with new eyes. The model planes that hang from the ceiling, the pictures of him with a few pilots, the equipment taking up so much space in his studio apartment. Something he told you months ago flashes in your mind, a memory waking up. The gift in your pocket burns.

“Harvey?”

He turns from the window and faces you fully, the moonlight embracing him through the glass.

“I have a, well, I have a gift. For you.” You pull the small package out of your coat pocket and thrust it in his direction.

The only way you can describe the manner of his movements is ‘disbelief’. His gestures slow and almost sceptical as he undoes the bow, which he pockets. His fingers dance under the wrapping Emily helped you with, the tape releasing its hold with a small gasp, leaving no trace of destruction or wear behind. The air holds still in your lungs, the only sound between you is of the wrapping as he sets it aside. He opens the lid of the small brown box and looks inside, not moving, not showing anything on his face.

Please like it.

He pulls out a small but heavy metal piece, running his fingers over the carved details.

You can’t help but try to explain yourself, piercing the stillness between you. “I realise now that the engraving is a bit cringy and, um, above all, just plain incorrect. But I thought of you and it’s easy to disinfect so it could go in your office. I- I know you don’t have any down there.” The word vomit would just not stop. You swallow around the nervousness. “It’s named that because-“

“It’s my birth date.” Looking up from your hands you see a large smile on his face that immediately calms your pounding heart.

“Yes,” you breathe the word in relief.

“My birthday and ‘Dr. Handsome’?”

“I thought it would be funny.” You murmur.

He investigates it some more, leaving you to hide your wringing hands behind your back. “I-,” turning from the object, he finishes his sentence while looking into your eyes, tone so soft you could melt into it. “I love it.”

The answering smile you give him softens his own even further, but he sees the nervousness still residing in the edges of your lips. “What?”

“You wanted to be a pilot, didn’t you? That was your dream before becoming a doctor.”

Dropping his shoulders, he nods.

“But you didn’t, because of your eyesight?”

“Among other things.”

“Like, your fear of heights?” You remember him mentioning this on the beach with the moonlight jellies. So long ago now. Offering his fear up, trading it for your own, both of you vowing to keep the other’s close.

Another nod.

“I’m sorry. Is the gift a bad reminder of that?”

His gaze returns to the little metal plane in his hand, a smile grazing his lips. “No, it’s perfect. I still love planes, obviously.”

“But, Harvey, all of these things… Doesn’t the fact that you can’t have it hurt?”

The clink of the plane against the wooden table as it’s sat down calls out in the dark apartment. “No,” he answers simply, his eyes finding yours. Your heart speeds up again, but you can’t explain why – what it is that you see in those dark browns that sends it running. “If this is it. If this is as close I’ll ever be, then, I’m happy.” His lips part but he bites down on them quickly, visibly changing his mind. “It’s enough.”

The floorboards creak as he moves towards you. He pulls your arms from behind your back, taking your now red hands into his own. Eyes cast down he watches his fingers trace your knuckles.

“Thank you,” he whispers. He isn’t just talking about the gift.

“It’s my pleasure.” Neither are you.

Notes:

You finally realised what Harvey’s dream was before becoming a doctor. Our little medicine man. Poor guy. But I suppose he has some new dreams now?

Chapter 13: The Mistletoe

Summary:

Exchanging gifts and reality checks.

“Oh wow, that’s-“

“An attempt!” Emily jumps in before Haley can finish her dry comment. Undeterred she raises her eyebrows at you, smirks, and twirls around to continue her talk with Alex, golden hair flowing behind her.

You’re all gathered in the square for yet another winter festival. You feel as though all everyone does all winter is celebrate birthdays, plan events, and go to said events. It’s making you itchy, all this cheer and endless expected merriment. Taking in the enormous fir tree occupying the middle of the square, you can’t even comprehend all of ornaments skillfully placed on every branch – no string light out of place or ball mismatched. The garlands sweep around the tree in a wonderous climb to the top, and if you could see the top you’re sure the star there is just as purposely chosen as the rest of the decorations adorning the decapitated tree.

Beneath it, of course, are a bunch of presents. In the Valley they’ve figured that it’s more economic to have a gift-giving game, where you get a randomly assigned name and have to buy something for that person only. You can of course buy a personal present for someone else as well, but it’s not expected. Mayor Lewis gave you a long lecture about how it teaches kids not to be greedy – or at least, you assume that was the point of his speech. At some point your eyes glazed over and you slipped into more interesting thoughts, like calculating how much Jolene would have to poop to create fertilizer for the entire spring season. It ended with a note being thrusted not very stealthily into your hand and Lewis skedaddling like a first-time drug-dealer.

This gift you’ve bought locally, and because you didn’t want people to know it’s for a present, you had to wrap it yourself. Cue Haley’s interesting reaction to the wrapping job you’ve presented. Emily takes the package from you, handling it like a bomb.

“It’s not going to fall apart, Emily.”

You think.

She gives you a tight-lipped smile and tries to pretend she’s not mortally afraid of it as she sets it down.

You settle your fists on your hips. “Really?”

“I think we should have a wrap party at my place next week. I think it’s time for the kids to learn too.” She says kindly.

Vincent bounces up to you both and hands Emily an immaculately wrapped box before he hops off again.

The silence is loaded.

Emily opens her mouth.

“Don’t.”

She closes it, nodding.

An arm lands across her shoulders suddenly. Without even a flinch she smilingly greets Maru. Who’s smiling mischievously at you.

“What?” You snap.

She rolls her shoulders in a feigned casual gesture. “I helped decorate the place and just wanted to know if you could recognise my artistic mark.”

You turn and look around, suspicious to your core and bordering on alarmed.

She laughs at your reaction. “What? Do you think I have a killer robot stashed somewhere?”

“I wouldn’t put it past you.”

Looping her arm with yours, she starts to lead you away from the presents and towards the tables being topped with food. “Nah, nah, it’s much better than that.”

You try to level her with a scolding stare. “Are you going to tell me what it is?”

She does, in fact, not care at all about your withering glare and decides to keep you right there on the edge, telling you that you’ll know when you experience it. With disgruntled mumbling you settle into your chair, leaning back to watch the spectacle around you.

Evelyn leans across the table, a hand reaching out to get your attention. “What’s the matter, dear?”

You give a quick sideways look at the other people at the table before taking a deep breath. “Nothing, Evelyn. I just have a hard time with holidays, that’s all.”

She laughs merrily. “Oh, my George is the same way. Wasn’t always, but life turned out to be harder than we could imagine as youngsters. Now he likes to grumble over his second slice of pie and pretend apathy is the reason for him aggressively ripping the wrapping paper off his gift.”

Just as predicted, you both catch George staring at Gus as he arranges a couple of pies here and there. Evelyn tries to get you to share a chuckle with her, but all you manage is a half smile. She eventually turns away to be charmed by Elliot and you’re left to shift around in your chair until it becomes unbearable. Finally, the bell is rung, and you grab your plate, going to another table to blindly toss some food onto it just to get moving.

Heat licks up the side of you and a small bit of urgency and restlessness goes away. With a deep inhale of natural manly scent and more than a hint of coffee, a part of you calms.  “Hello, Doctor Becker.”

“How are you, sweetheart?” He drawls.

“Better now that you’re here.” You look up in time to catch a blush warming his face. You move onto another table, reaching for a piece of bread when teasing “oohs” break out around you. Harvey, who’s followed you, is looking around wide-eyed at the sudden attention you’re both receiving.

“What?” He asks, slightly panicked.

Maru coughs indelicately, earning your focus. She points somewhere above your heads and you both crane your necks to see what the fuss is about.

“Is that a-“ Harvey cuts himself off with a shocked gasp that morphs into a cough.

Slowly lowering your head, you level your most frightening stare at Maru. “A mistletoe.” You finish for him. No doubt Maru’s secret decoration.

Maru merely sticks out her tongue at you.

“Go on, farmer-girl. Give the old man some sugar.” Alex calls, laughing in a way that makes the muscles in your jaw clench.

Calls that you must admit are sweeter and less taunting follow, but Harvey puts a stop to it quickly. “If I need sugar so bad, I guess I’ll have to take all of Evelyn’s cookies.” He reaches out and stacks five before the encouragements turn into screeches and the sound of falling chairs as everyone gets up to nab a cookie while there are still some left. Harvey passes one of his along to you before you both go to your respective tables.

You move carefully, looking for more mistletoes everywhere. Having spend half a year in this place, you’ve gotten to know the scientist well enough to know that there are definitely more of those plants, and likely hidden in spaces you specifically would normally occupy during these events.

Happy cheers break out over by the cookie table once more. You look over your shoulder and catch the culprit wearing a shocked expression, frozen, while Leah yanks a cookie off her plate and bounces towards her own seat. Maru wipes at her mouth, her fingers coming away with a red colour, as she watches the sculptor defend her prize from the others.

Her plan backfired. Or did it? Looking at her fumbling around, you’re not sure which result would have been more pleasing to Maru.

“Harvey is such a sweet guy.” The words from down the table catch your attention. Evelyn is looking adoringly up at Elliot, who nods in agreement.

“A right honourable lad, Lily-girl. He wouldn’t dare make a girl – pardon me – a woman uncomfortable for the sake of a joke.”

A single degrading laugh is barked from the table closest to yours. “Honour. Sure. Or scared shitless. I don’t think the guy has ever actually kissed a girl before.” With an arm around Haley, Alex appears to be in his element. Though no one except Clint shows evidence of enjoying his mean streak.

“You’re lucky to have a man like Doctor Becker as a role-model, young man.” Elliot tries to maintain a cool tone, but you notice Evelyn laying a gentle hand over his fisted ones beneath the table.

“Why? So I can get stuck in the friend-zone and work in a dead-end job?”

“Because living off your grandparents with no job or degree is way better, right, Alex?” You had no intention of butting in on the rising conflict, yet you suddenly find yourself in the middle of a sentence with no other choice but to finish it. You hold onto the reins of control in the face of Alex’s anger, keeping an aloof exterior. He’s a big dude. And though you can feel the shadows creep up around your ankles from under the table, you know that protecting Harvey from talk like this will always be worth the consequences, whatever they may be.

“I’m sure your parents are just beaming with pride. Their daughter, shoveling shit in the middle of nowhere.”

He might as well have kicked you in the stomach. Shocked, the few people watching the exchange and not joining in the merriment are looking closely at your face for a reaction. Despite knowing nothing of your past, hitting the ‘disappointed parent’ button will 9 out of 10 times result in a bullseye no matter who you’re talking to. From the smirk on the jock’s face, you sense that’s what he’s hoping for.

Knowing you have to put a stop to this before you fall apart, you let the next words flow from you in the gentlest tone you own. “And what would yours say if they saw how you’re acting right now?”

Like Pavlopetri, his face sinks, enveloped in hurt, his jaw ticking as he locks his gaze on his plate. Haley looks sadly up at him as he retrieves his arm from around her, but that’s the end of that. Elliot squeezes your arm and goes right back to tickling Evelyn with his words, calling attention from everyone with a wonderfully made-up story. After about ten minutes you feel that you can finally stand up without making it look like you’re storming off, and head towards the side of the pub that’s out of sight from the gathering.

Exhaling, you melt into the bricks at your back, enjoying the cool stone against your heated body.

Footsteps in the snow march to your heartbeat. Lazily letting your head fall to the side, you watch as Harvey peeks around the corner.

“Stalking is a very serious offense. I could have you hanged.”

He snorts, taking the space in front of you. “Unless I’m a 320-year-old highlander, I don’t think that’s an appropriate sentence.”

“Decapitated?”

“Well, I do like cake.”

You find the strength to lift the corner of your lips, but not long enough to avoid the concerned frown marking your friend. With a finger, you reach up to smooth it out.

“Are you alright?.”

You shrug, eyes fastened on the knot of his tie visible over his coat.

Slowly, before you very eyes, a mistletoe descends between you. You follow line of it, finding it attached to a string wrapped around a stick. All of it leading down to the shit-eating grin Maru’s wearing.

“You’re a pervert.” You deadpan.

“I’ve gotten seven couples to kiss today, I’m going for the world record.”

“Are you including your own in this?”

Her colour deepens but she lowers the stick. “Whatever. Are you guys coming?”

You scoff. “What? Back to that hellhole? No thanks.”

They both blink at you. “Wow, that’s very negative. Are you okay?” Maru pushes at her glasses.

You look away, biting your cheek and digging your fingers into the side of your arms as they’re crossed across your chest. Are you okay? You have no idea. Something is building again. You’ve tried so hard to be good, but it always comes down to this. You can’t rest in the normal. There’s nothing for you out there, eating food and sitting around a ridiculous tree. Not without ruining it for everyone else. They should be out there enjoying the festivities and not dealing with your mood swings. Above all, you just want to go back into the mines – it’s the only way to get the poison out.

Stepping forward to leave, you’re blocked by an arm coming out in front of you.

“Get away, doc.”

His arm drops immediately. “Why are you so…frustrated?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“We do. We agreed to be friends, and friends don’t let friends go sulk somewhere.” Maru cuts in, her voice rising with passion before it’s lowered again with a look from Harvey. 

You sigh, shoulders falling forward, almost as if you’re trying to physically crawl inside of yourself. Fuck it. “It feels like I’m living a lie. Like the bomb has gone off but everyone is standing around smiling, watching the mushroom cloud’s descent upon us like it’s going to bring candy instead of death and destruction. I’m ruined. I can’t enjoy moments like these, I’m not built for it. I’m too pessimistic.” The word vomit is met with thoughtful silence.

“Or undeserving, perhaps?”

You look up, shocked.

“Harvey!” Maru exclaims.

He steps closer to you, determination seeping through every pore. “You believe that you’re tainted. Filled with poison before they even cut the cord. Am I wrong?”

You stick out your chin and narrow your eyes.

The big man shakes his head, a smile ghosting his face. “Thought so. You’re the most wonderful woman I’ve ever met. You’re what takes my head and my- my longing out of the skies because I already feel like I’m flying in your company. You haven’t tricked me, or- or fooled me, into believing you’re something you’re not. I see you. I know the real you. Not your past. You.”

“You think you’re way more insightful than you are, doc.” The words venom before you can stop them, dipped in self-hatred and dripping in sarcasm. He blinks and regrets fills you just as painfully.

“You know, you only call me ‘doc’ when you’re being insincere.”

Not the reply you were expecting. “Everyone calls you doc.” It sounds like an accusation.

He shakes his head slowly, his eyes not leaving yours. “As an endearment. You use it to create distance. It’s funny, I know you’re not lying when you call me Harvey. It’s like you’re trying to protect us both from whatever you’re about to say.”

“Screw you, doc.” You say, gently. Whispering it, letting it drift between you.

He takes a step closer. “I hope you’ll mean that sincerely some day.”

You shy away, hiding the turn of your lips. Evidently he knows when to break out the comedic relief. Maru’s gasp morphs into a stifled giggle.

Harvey holds your chin, turning your eyes back to him. “I know, okay? I know you’ve had a hard life. I know it’s still hard and you will expect it to be so even after it eventually stops being so. But we’re still here. I’m not leaving. You’re stuck with me, sweetheart. From the moment you took my hand on that bridge. And we won’t stop pestering you until you finally believe that you deserve –.” He sighs deeply, as if words have suddenly failed him. “Everything. Everything kind and good that life can offer you.” His words whispered reverently in the little space between you.

“Damn, where is the mistletoe when you need it?” Maru’s voice acts like a bucket of cold water.

You notice tears lining her eyes, and you open your arms. All three of you fall into an embrace, clutching each other tightly. You’re comforted by Harvey’s big hand cradling the back of your head and Maru’s cold nose on your shoulder.

Muttered conversation somewhere doesn’t register until you notice the familiar gruff voice. “I think they’re back here.”

You turn your head a little to see Emily accompanied by Shane, taking in the admittedly weird as hell scene in front of them.

“What the fuck did Evelyn put in those cookies?” Shane murmurs.

“Wait, wait, wait, we want to be included in the group hug too!” Emily grips Shane’s elbow in an unbudging claw and drags him into the madness along with her. Emily finds a spot at your back, almost choking you with an arm. And after some very awkward hovering that causes a few giggles, Shane finds his spot behind Emily.

“Is this a cult thing?” Emily elbows Shane, and you try to hide your snicker in Harvey’s coat.

Eventually you all start pulling away. You wipe at your nose. “I’m sorry, guys.”

“What do you need to make sure this doesn’t get so bad again?” Maru asks, her hand continuing its comforting glide up and down your arm.

You shake your head. “I don’t- I don’t know. I think I need something else to do. I’m going mad. Gus can’t even give me more shifts at the pub. The nights are unending. Even with Baby, there’s just not enough to fill all this space.” Waving your hand you try to communicate whatever abstract space you’re talking about.

Emily chimes in. “Who’s Baby?”

“Oh, this cat I found.”

“The cat distribution system is real.” Maru whispers conspiratorially

Blue hair bounces excitedly. “Can we see her?”  

Shane rolls his eyes. “You don’t know if it’s a her. A grown man can be called baby too.”

“Watch out I don’t call you baby.”

“Do it and see what happens.”

Emily puts her hands on her hips, smirking at Shane. “Wow, so you can’t be called baby without getting aggressive?”

He shrugs. “Who’s aggressive? The only violent thing will be how hard I absolutely will fall in love with you.”

“It really doesn’t take more than that?”

The smile he aims down at her is suggestive, his words almost a purr. “Try it and let’s find out.”

“Alright.” Harvey puts his hands in the air with a bemused look. “Let’s go back to the festival before Lewis comes after us.”

Your friends turn around, their bickering trailing them until they’re out of earshot, leaving you and Harvey behind. You don’t want to leave.

“Who did you get for gift exchange?” It seems he doesn’t either.

Wordlessly, you pull the note out of your inner pocket and wait until you get the expected burst of laughter.

“What did you get him?” As his eyes sparkle down at you, you find it hard to concentrate on giving him the answer. Crooking a finger at him, he obediently bends down so you can place your lips next to his ear, whispering your glorious prank, your breath brushing over the shell of his ear. When he pulls back, it’s only by a fraction. He turns his head and your lips glide over his cheek.

Totally by accident though.

Air hisses through his clenched teeth, and you find that one of your hands is clamped on his jacket, holding on for dear life as the air rushes down the side of your neck. Every huff from him follows the same trail, turning your mind to mush. A yearning burrows into your bones, your neck straining against the need to let your lips meet, just for a moment. Of course, a moment is subjective, so it wouldn’t be your fault if it stretched into seconds, hours, days.

A centimeter. That’s all it took. You turn your head a centimeter and through his parted lips a sound escapes him. A sound that hovers on the brink of madness and you fear you’re right there with him. Flickering your eyes to meet his gaze, your chest heaves on the burning aimed down at you. Slowly, thoroughly, your hand slides from its death grip at his side, up his chest and to his shoulder. It’s insane, really, how it only takes a second for a spark to become a wildfire.

“Harvey.” His eyes can barely stay on yours as you speak. “We agreed to be friends.”

Words meant to cool does nothing but fan the flames. As if admitting to feeling the same pull pushes him deeper into the haze. It feels dangerous. Your hand reaches up to card through the loose curls on his head, forcing a shuddering breath from his parted lips. On the second pass you use your nails, too caught up in the moment. His eyes fall closed briefly as a sound, thick and hungry, is stolen from him. An attempt to cover it with a cough is made, but it sounds more like a growl.

“Sweetheart,” he pants. “What do you want?”

Want. Want. Yes, you want. His reactions feed you, heat coiling deep inside. You want- his mouth. Or maybe. Maybe you want more.  “It’s the damn mistletoe.”

A huff of pained laughter escapes him. He pulls back a little, just enough to look at you, just enough to slide his hand up further to settle at your throat, his thumb pressing up under your jaw to lift your head back. “Mistletoe?” He whispers over your skin, his lips tracing the line of your jaw. Your fingers instinctively clench in his hair, ripping a groan from him as he flexes the fingers around your throat. A noise escapes you at the pressure. Stilling, he drags in a slow, measured breath. “No one is safe from them.”

“It wouldn’t be our fault.” You whisper.

He nods against the side of your neck, inhaling, blatantly dragging the scent of you into his lungs. A shaky hand lands on your hip, squeezing before a frustrated groan leaves him. “Winter. Layers.” The words a curse on his lips. You pant a laugh, reaching up to cradle the side of his head with your other hand. He leans into the gesture, rubbing his skin against yours.

Right there on the knife’s edge you both hover precariously, hoping, wishing, it would cut you. Because, if there was a time for the deities to hear you, now would be it. You ask for them to save you from yourself – to safe Harvey from you. Instead, his thumb slides up to bask in the softness of your lower lip. You ask them for strength to pull away, instead the tip of your tongue touches his thumb, and his eyes widen. His chest heaves and after the slow pace you have been stuck in, it’s overwhelming when he suddenly pushes you both against the wall. The impact would have startled you more if his hand hadn’t been ready to catch the back of your head.

“What do you want,” he rumbles, his lips hovering above yours. “Tell me what you want.”

“Just once, Harvey.”

He angles your head. “Just once?”

Yes, please, you beg internally. He’s going to do it. He’s going to kiss you. If the touches had been less innocent, perhaps you would have been able to see it coming, step away before it was too late. But there’s no going back for you now. You need this, need it like your next breath can only come from him. The cloud has warped itself around you, leaving only Harvey’s hooded eyes visible.

“Dangerous,” he murmurs, the warning spoken to you as if underwater.

You smirk, brushing your lips against the side of his mouth, your eyes falling closed. “Can’t be more dangerous than the mines.” The words laced with teasing.

The pause is so pointed it carves through the mist of need. Pulling back a little, your eyes flutter open to find Harvey blinking, a furrow already in place as he tries to make sense of your words.

“What?” You ask, concern shoving you towards the surface.

Still panting and wonderfully flushed, he asks, “have you been in the mines?”

Whatever he reads in your expression causes him to slowly pull his hands away, and you miss the heat of him instantly. Even worse when he steps back, no longer shielding you from the wind.

“Do you seriously want to talk about that now?” You ask incredulously.

He completely ignores you. “Do you have any idea how dangerous those mines are?”

If only he fucking knew. “I have some idea.”

“Is that where those cuts came from?”

You feel your face pull into a grimace of absolute bafflement. “What?”

He points at your leg like it’s on trial. “The cuts. The cuts from Sebastian’s party, remember? The ones you tried to hide when I was checking for broken glass.”

“Okay. Back off, doc.”

Just like that, his brown depths go from frantic to… agitated, but it’s still a huge improvement. He drags a hand through his hair, moving away so he can pace back and forth while you watch him, arms crossed and biting your cheek. Eventually he turns back to you, noting your squared chin and firmly planted stance, but you don’t really care. He can get fucked.

“I’m sorry.”

Oh damn it. His soft voice melts your resolve and with an exhale you feel the defense drain from you. It’s a wonder how the snow beneath you isn’t tainted with the words unsaid slipping away.

“I just,” he scratches at his neck, looking for words. “Let’s just say I had a few odd jobs before I came here. It’s really a story for another time, but the highlights are that in this land, the mines hold… something. Something sinister and dangerous and hungry. I’ve seen what happens to people down there. Please,” he takes one of your hands in his, the plea clear in his eyes, so fervent that your mouth falls open. “If you must go down there, tell me beforehand.”

Not at all the request you had anticipated. You had imagined he would forbid you from ever going back down there, that he would force someone to come with you, or that he would make you choose altogether. This- this understanding. The lack of wanting to change you, to hold you back. It does something soft to you. You wiggle your hands out of his, ignoring the momentary hurt in his eyes as you plant both hands on each side of his head behind his ears. You pull him down and kiss him on the cheek.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” He searches your eyes.

“I promise I’ll tell you if I ever go down there again, Harvey.”

A shaky exhale escapes him, and he supports his forehead against yours. “Thank you. For giving an old man some peace of mind.”

You snicker. “I make sure to provide the highest quality of end-of-life care.”

He hums and you watch as his eyes fall closed, enjoying his nearness in a different way than before. Which you realise you probably have to address now.

“Harvey?”

“Yes?”

“About what happened – what was about to happen.”

He nods against you, as if he can predict what you’re about to say. “It was the mistletoe.”

An uneasy feeling sweeps through you, but you nod anyway. “Right. Yeah. Damn mistletoe.”

After another minute he pulls away and takes your hand, guiding you both back in time to hear the shocked yell of Clint as he opens his present from you. You hide your laugh against Harvey’s arm, and he tries to hide his in your hair. When you pull back, you catch Shane looking at you both. You let Harvey’s hand go.

***

The moonlight washes your veranda as you climb its steps. Moving to the corner, you lift one of the planks and find the many plastic bags wrapped around the brick of a cellular device you own, checking it anxiously.

Nothing.

It’s been half a year. It’s a wonder you’ve gone this long without discovery. Perhaps she lost her way of getting in touch with you. Worry gnaws at you. Should you try to contact her?

A stick snaps somewhere behind you, and you twist around, remaining in your crouched position. Shane is walking towards you with his hands in the air and a rough expression on his face – nothing unusual until you spot the large brown leather backpack strapped to him.

Discreetly, you move the wood back into place. “I should warn you; I have a guard dog.”

He stops, looking fatigued by the interaction with you already. “Are you talking about the fucking cat?”

“Don’t let the name fool you, she’s vicious.”

“I’m sure,” he replies, his tone dry as he quickly eats up the distance between you. He stops at the foot of the steps, looking up at you as you rise from your crouch.

You cross your arms. “I feel like you don’t believe me.”

The bag makes a thud on the wood. “The stick of which you measure animal aggression has been proven to be quite short.”

A snort breaks from you. “You’ve been hanging with Elliot too much. And that bird is a killer.”

He nods, a mock seriousness in his face. “Ah yes, the small chicken that terrorises me with cuddles. My home isn’t safe anymore. I’m shaking in my boots.”

You flip him off, to which he simply raises his eyebrows before continuing his struggle with the old zippers on his backpack.

“What are you doing?”

“Do you ever shut up?”

You watch him pull out a stack of DVDs, about to tell him you don’t have a TV when he produces a portable DVD player.

Right.

Most of the DVDs are seasons of TV-shows, but some of them are exercise videos. Eventually he stops with the discs, dumping a few light dumbbells as well as workout bands.

“You know just what women want.”

He doesn’t react, doesn’t even look at you, until he has finished pulling the last of the contents of the bag. He scratches the side of his chin before he starts pointing at the stuff, spouting off instructions. “The player doesn’t work unless it’s constantly sucking on an outlet, so keep it plugged if you want to use it. I find that the workout DVDs are good distractions, but I also like watching TV while exercising. Do two hours before bed, take a hot bath and wear little clothes to bed. Your core temperature will drop and simulate falling asleep – it’ll trick your caveman brain into actually knocking you out.” He holds up a little white plug. “A nightlight. It glows red so it doesn’t fuck with your sleep.” It, too, is placed on the veranda.

Blinking down at him, you have no idea what to say. You try a few times, opening and closing your mouth, waiting for the words to come to you, but they’re hiding somewhere. Somewhere in your chest where emotions fight and squirm in the too little space. In the end you can only think of one word. “Why?”

A hand rushes through his short dark hair. “You said you needed something to get you through the night.” He explains as you bend down, siffling through the things. Some of the shows are from when you were a kid, bringing a nostalgic smile to your face that seems to soften his features when aimed up at him.

“How did you think of all of this?” Wonder dancing on your voice.

“I’m an alcoholic going cold-turkey, Paulie, I’m the person to give you tips on this. Something the Good Doctor can’t.” 

A thought nags at you, knocking incessantly at the back of your mind. “Do you have something against him?”

He clams back up again. “I think you’re two very different people.”

Anger flashes through you fast and hot. “Quit talking like a politician. If you’re going to be an asshole, at least be an honest one.”

“Fine!” He throws his hands up. “Honest asshole it is. He’s a good guy, but you’re going to get bored of him, and then be filled with some fucking imaginary guilt because you put all the blame on yourself, when the fucking truth is that he’s not good enough for you. He sits around and does fuck all, and face it, pet, you’re not made for that life.”

Needing you both to be on even level, you take the steps down to stand on the ground in front of him. “First of all, him and I are just friends. Even if we weren’t, that decision is ours and no one else’s, got it? Second of all, what the hell do you know about the kind of life I’m made for? The kind of life I want?” He opens his mouth, but you charge forward not giving him the chance. “And third; you don’t know shit about him – because you don’t take the time to know him. He doesn’t have a fuck-ton of obvious issues like you and me, but he still deals with shit that we have no clue about.” You stab a hand through your hair. “I don’t even know why we’re having this discussion! I can’t even stay around long enough for any of this to matter.”

Chests heaving, both of you are looking in different directions, contemplating what the other has said. You walk back up the steps when his voice stops you. “What the fuck do you mean you’re not staying?”

Sighing, you look to the dark heavens. You’re getting pretty tired of men butting in on your life, acting like they know better. “I don’t. I don’t mean anything, Shane. Thank you for the stuff.” You open the door and Baby immediately runs out, rubbing up against your legs, hissing at Shane. Your little protecter.

Shane says your name, letting it flow to you on the cold wind. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You manage a small nod, letting a smile you don’t mean fall over your shoulder before you muscle the gifts inside, shutting the door behind you.

Despite not feeling like it, you cue up an exercise DVD and not two hours later you’re sinking into unconsciousness to a purring lullaby. 

Notes:

Phew- Uploading this with 3 minutes to go until midnight. Keeping to the schedule!

Chapter 14: Trip through the forest

Summary:

You’ve run through the woods before – this time is different.

Notes:

Possible trigger warning: graphic descriptions of harm such as impalement and manipulation of open wounds. It will be in the parts that are written in cursive.

“You can do it.”

You huff. “Of course I can do it.” Yet you stay rooted to the spot, chewing at your cheek and clenching your fists. All signs of someone in full control and at ease, clearly.

A warm hand takes one of yours, concerningly easily unwraps the tight fist, and weaves its fingers with your own. Harvey plants a kiss on the back of your hand, meant to soothe, the hair of his moustache tickling.

These touches have become increasingly normal between the two of you. As the snow began to melt away, so did any hesitancy at physical touch. You’re not exactly sure when it happened, but you first noticed it on the beach as everyone sat around the large bonfire. Harvey had gone up to get you both a hot drink and when he returned you leaned into him, and his arm fell around your shoulders. When you realised what you had both just done you looked up at him, only to find him laughing and participating in a very lively discussion. This very shy man was completely unperturbed by your very cozy position. And so were you, for the most part. The only part that bothered you was the fact that it felt so familiar, natural even. When you leaned in closer he only tightened his arm around you. After that, you let it all happen as it wanted to happen. Penny and Maru, the most platonic people on the planet, touch each other like that all the time, so you figured it couldn’t hurt. Right?

“Do you need me to lead?”

“No!” You practically yell. At his shocked appearance you force yourself to breathe deeply. “No, thank you. I- I’ll lead.” You swallow around your words, feeling them choke you.

Standing in the clearing in front of the Cindersap forest, you can see the lake to your right. Anxiety twists through you, ripping at your skin and holding you by the back of your neck. The group of trees on Firelight Farm is a tiny backyard compared to this unending wilderness, trees like fortresses and overgrowth like snakes curling around your ankles.

“What you must think of me,” you whisper.

“I think,” he starts. “That you’re doing something even though it scares you. I think you’re brave.”

“Don’t patronise me.”

He huffs a laugh. “I think we both know that I don’t think I’m better than anyone.”

Remembering yourself, you stroke your thumb into the space between your palms, letting the nail trace your apology through an uncertain pattern. “Okay, let’s do this.”

He lets you take a couple of steps, not following until you pull at your arms like a leash. You wish you had worn more layers, though the heat of the sun follows you even under the shade of the trees, it would help to have some more padding against the assault of sensations. Every scrape of a branch against your arm, a stick on your shin, a leaf brushing through your hair – it all brings visions of that night with it. Gasping, panting on the ground, not able to see what blood was yours and what was- someone else’s.

“I’m envious of birds.”

The scene clears from your eyes as you try to process what he just said. “Because they can fly?”

A shocked huff leaves him. “Well, yeah, but that’s not what I meant. They have these naturally beautiful voices, listen.” You both pause, holding your breaths as you wait. From somewhere further in the woods, a bird lets a melody flow between the old trees. Not long after, another bird answers the call with its own song. Listening to the melody a couple of times, you decide to purse your lips and mimic the tune, your whistle sharp at first but softening into something you’re pleased with by the end.

You start when you turn to find Harvey looking flabbergasted down at you. “That was amazing.”

Brushing at your hair self-consciously, you shrug and begin to walk again, dragging the doctor behind you.

He doesn’t drop the subject. “Did you do that a lot growing up?”

Breathing deeply, you ground yourself in the earthy notes around you. It rained early this morning, something you can still smell. “I- uh- I was in the community choir growing up. They wanted most of the music to come from us- think a cappella.” Your free hand waves around you in nervous gestures. You catch it and force it back down to your side. “Anyways, whistling was a big part of that. My family really liked it when I did it, as well as singing, so they would make me perform at almost every gathering.” Your voice steadily warms as you sink into the memory. “There was this one time where- this is really dumb- anyways, my uncle was playing the guitar, attempting to strum this wonderful melody that we all loved. Except, his fingers were too thick for it, and he would hit all of the wrong cords. Completely butchered my mother’s favourite song. Eventually he gave up and looked so dejected, with his guitar almost slumping as much as he did, that my father sort of nudged me over to him. My uncle looked at me in his little chair and said, ‘little bird, would you sing it for me?’. That’s what they would say every time. And I did. I hummed and whistled and sang until it was over, and my uncle looked so relieved.” You giggle, both at the absurd memory and the fact that you were ramblingly recalling it to Harvey, who looked to be basking happily in the details as if he had actually been there.

“You were the medicine for any ill mood?”

You nod, first enthusiastically, until it develops into something somber. “Yes, yes I was. My father knew I had the talents to relieve anyone of any sort of mood he didn’t agree with.” Regret at oversharing fills you immediately, and you look around desperate for something to pull you both out of the murky waters you have just dumped you both in. “Look!”

Letting go of his hand you run to the bed of small yellow flowers, crouching down beside them to comb your hand through the stalks like strands of hair.

“Is that your favourite colour?”

Looking over your shoulder, you see him standing a few paces back, hands in his pockets as he observes you. “Yellow? Not really. I’m partial to green.” But these days a reddish sort of brown is fighting for that honour.

Harvey nods seriously then sets to work, searching the ground for something. He eventually moves to a spot and gets more intent in his hunt. You watch him, more than a little curious at what he’s up to, but not wanting to ruin the suspense for either of you by asking. You’re content with just watching the contrast of the scene and him – in his dress slacks and shirt, his glasses slid down to the middle of his nose – the picture of office and city life up against the wild nature around him. Safety and chaos.

With a little “a-ha!” he reaches down and plugs something from the ground, rising to present it to you. You meet him halfway, captivated by his shy smile. In his hand he cradles a four-leaf clover. “To help your luck,” he explains, scratching at his neck.

You blink away the overwhelming emotion, taking the offering. With a small, slightly amused voice you say, “this is just two molested clovers wrapped around each other.”

“I feel like- I mean, this could be us. You always say you’re really unlucky and to be honest, so am I. But together,” his voice trails off. With a self-conscious gesture at the plant, he rips the ground out from underneath you. “We make our own luck.”

It’s so incredibly adorable, you’re momentarily paralysed by it. You throw up a wall. “Smooth, doc.”

He narrows his eyes, biting at the inside of his cheek to stop a smile. “Seems like the clover came at a good time.”

“What do you mean?”

He takes a step forward, causing you to take one back, the glint in his eyes arising suspicion in yours. He stops, but you continue a couple of steps back until you’re out of reach, your gaze not leaving his. “With such a smart mouth, you’re going to need it.” 

You grin at the implied threat, hastily retreating once more. Harvey follows, quickly eating up two large paces before visibly stopping himself, his eyes falling shut. When they open again, there’s something else lurking. He wipes a hand over his mouth in agitation before a forced easy smile is placed there. You cock your head.

Oh.

“Were you about to chase me, Harvey?”

His chest expands and he forces out a huff of laughter. “What? No, no, of course not.”

He was. The thought should have filled you with dread and terror, yet you’re standing here feeling anything but. There’s nervousness, sure, but there’s something much more important that ups the pace of your pulse – anticipation. It holds all the weight. There are no flashlights knifing through the shadows of the trees and no consequence filling you with paralysing fear. No, here you’re not afraid of getting caught. It’s Harvey. Harvey without his tie, his shirt unbuttoned at the top, his hair unruly, and his cheeks flushed as he fights to keep a friendly and open composure.

You want to change that.

You let one leg step out behind you, watching him watching you, his eyes tracking the movement. “Good. It’s not like you’d be able to catch me.”

His eyes snap back to yours. “Oh?” He feigns polite curiosity. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, your little doctor.

You nod slowly. “You’re too old to keep up with me.”

Something in his eyes darkens slightly as the side of his lips curve. Sensing the game, he starts to move towards you, almost rocking side to side with how leisurely he advances. “Come here.”

You mirror him. “No.”

“Don’t start something if you don’t want me to finish it – tree root.”

You look behind you to step over it, discovering that Harvey doesn’t carry on until your eyes are back on him. “What if I want you to finish it?”

His eyes flutter, and he halts again, taking in your words, your smile, searching your eyes. The only memories haunting you right now are the ones from the mistletoe - where he didn’t acknowledge what was going on between you. The urge to push him builds tenfold.

He seems to go in the opposite direction, mentally. “Not a good idea. It’s your first time through the forest, we don’t want you to accidentally get a negative experience.” He holds out a hand, a peace offering, as he attempts to soothe what’s stirring in his eyes. “Come here, let’s leave while we’re ahead. See if we can’t hound Leah for a cup of coffee.”

Your eyes go from his hand to his eyes, determination settling in your chest. You shake your head. He drops his hand, silent, waiting. The focus in his gaze gaining in intensity.

“It seems to me like you’re scared, doc.”

He tries to suppress his smile. “Always. But of what this time, exactly?”

“Scared of losing. It’ll be pretty emasculating if you can’t catch a little woman.”

“So I’m risking being seen as old and feminine?”

You make an agreeing sound.

He nods, contemplating this, looking around the forest as he fidgets with his sleeves, rolling them up. “I guess I’ll just have to not lose.” He faces you. “Run.”  

Your mouth drops open before you hurriedly shut it again. “What?”

Excitement vibrating off him, bouncing off your own frequencies, he rasps, “you get a ten second head start. And then I’m coming for you.”

“Are you serious?”

“Ten, nine, eight –“

You turn and run like hell.

***

Can you hear them? Yes, yes you can. You can hear them screaming, howling for you under the moonlight. Their jaws unhinging, snapping at your heels. The ground is unforgiving beneath your naked feet and with your impaired sight, every step is pain and struggle. Earlier on the trail you had attempted to clear your eyes, wiping desperately, only to rub it all in further.

It’s in your hair, sitting in heavy dried clumps. You’re panting, heaving in air, tasting it when you attempt to soothe your dry lips. You gag on it.

A low hanging branch holds your weight as you brave the hill, loose roots and stones sliding under your toenails. Despite the darkness you can see the fresh blood pooling every time you look down. Flashlights piercing through the night follow you steadily, as if they can see you, hear you, smell you, despite how loud they’re being themselves. But your breath comes so heavy, your heart pounding so loudly in your ears, you fear they can hear it too.

You reach the top of the hill, unguarded you hurl your body forward, desperate to get to the road up ahead. A vicious pain tears through you. A guttural scream rips from your throat before your hands mute it, letting only hitched, strained air through your nose. Afraid, so terribly afraid, you glance down. Something is sticking up through your foot.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK.

The chant doesn’t stop. Not when the tears halt or you get your breathing under control. Not when you stuff your mouth with ripped cloth and bite down on a stick. Not as you lift your foot, feeling the object slide along the muscle and bone. The chant is the only thing you allow yourself to scream internally, clinging to those words. If you think about anything else, you might not be strong enough to place the open, barely wrapped flesh back on the forest floor – or start hopping along down the hill with that same foot.

With spots dancing along your vision, you have no way of knowing where the flashlights are and how to orient yourself accordingly. Blind, mutilated, and freezing, you continue towards the echo of the cars driving at high speeds. The sound gets progressively louder, as does the hopeful voice stirring – still alive, despite everything. If just any car sees you, you’ll be gone, saved, you’ll be-

No.

The realisation hits you like a train, stopping you in your tracks. Even the unseen monster hovering in the darkness behind you can’t force you to move. If a car sees you, they’ll want to take you to the hospital. Where they’ll be waiting for you the second your name or your information is registered. In that moment, hopelessness consumes you completely. You blindly find a trunk to lean against as your body heaves on every sob, trying to keep silent. You’re going to have to find your way on your own. It’s either that or getting caught. Your foot throbs horribly and the feeling of all of the dirt cumulating in the raw flesh makes you dizzy, but you have no other choice but to force yourself through it. The alternative is much worse.

You keep on the path towards the main road. Every car however spaced out is precious – a compass in the merciless wasteland you’ve found yourself in. Eventually, you make it. The treeline stops and you hit the ditch. When you feel the rumble of another car, you stay down and wait for it to pass, hoping you’re out of sight. Once it does pass, you spring into action. The hard asphalt is almost worse under your sore feet, but you take the steps with purpose anyway. If you can just get to the other side, perhaps you can walk along the road and eventually hit a town somewhere far away. But how are you ever going to get help from the doctors? The report of you has to be spread everywhere. The moment your description fits somewhere in the system, they’ll find you.

You shake your head and keep moving. You can’t think like that. You can’t give up. If you give up, you’ll be dead. Or wish you were.

“Little bird.” A voice calls in a singsong.

No. You thought you’d lost them.

“Come on, no one’s in trouble. We just want to help you. You clearly need help.”

They’re lying, they’re lying, they’re lying-

And closing in. You can hear them, from all sides, saying whatever they can to get you to come out. To end the hunt. Across the road, behind you, on your side. How? You try to hop faster, but you’re shaking from the strain of it all, your legs barely able to keep you up, your feet sliding along the ground now instead of lifting. You feel the stones catching in your wound.

“We can’t let you go, little bird. You know we can’t. She’s dead because of you. You killed her.”

You stumble. Hands flailing in front of you to catch you, they end up bracing against a big, sleek rock. It cuts all the way up your wrist to your forearm. Your shriek is explosive, only cut off by the snapping of a stick right behind you.

“She’s over here!”

***

 

-Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.

 You keep track of the countdown in your head, sprinting for all you’re worth, jumping over roots and rocks, wanting to stay one step ahead of the doctor. To keep some advantage when you know he’s been living here for years, has walked through these very woods every chance he could get. Keeping a firm idea of where the lake is compared to you is imperative. It has to stay on the same side. You can’t risk getting it mixed up and tackling Harvey instead of running away from him.

It's probably a little late to realise you haven’t established a rule for how you can win the game, only how you can lose.

Your shoes absorb most of the shock as you jump down from a larger rock, enough so that you can keep running without stumbling or making any unnecessary noise. Except for the giggling you can’t seem to get control over. The adrenaline is just what you’ve been looking for. You run to the right until you catch a glimpse of the lake, the sun sparkling against the surface of the water, before you dive back into the cover of the trees. You’d forgotten how much you love running. It scratches an itch inside you, a need to purge yourself, that you’ve been longing for. That you’ve been fighting against. Having it now without needing to hurt anyone or yourself is freeing.

Heavy footsteps sound behind you and a lightning of thrill hits you. Your arms pump faster at your sides. When you feel he’s close, can hear his breathing, you swerve to the right again. Out of the corner of your eye you see his hand closing on air. A wild laugh bursts from you, its echo hanging under the treetops. His own joins in, dancing with yours, the warmth of it moving in your chest.

You’ve run for less than a minute, but it feels eternal as he chases you through the woods. Small flowers pushing up beside you on the path, birthed again in the early spring light. The lightness pleasantly cooling over your warming skin. It’s strange, this game. You’re not even sure why you’re so excited, how you’re so excited. Running while a part of you also wants to be caught – a concept so foreign you can hardly believe it. Every time the thought of him panting and intent on catching you sweeps through you, a heady sensation blooms in your chest, drifting down into your abdomen. It’s a sweet rush of heat – not unfamiliar with him but decidedly unwise. But then again, a lot of the things you’ve been doing since arriving in the Valley have been unwise.

Despite Harvey spending his days in the office, you’ve noticed him on the path at ungodly hours of the night and sometimes even morning. So you know you’ll probably run out of fire before he does, despite your determination to do otherwise. Even now the crunch of leaves and plants under his shoes grows ever closer and closer as your eyes scan your surroundings, trying to find another way to slip through his fingers. Unfortunately, you see the thinning of growth on the floor and you know, instinctively, that you’re reaching the end of this part of the forest. No longer will you be able to block him by zigzagging amongst the trees, yet you push for it anyway. And so does he. The treeline opens around you.

“Got you.”

Two big arms wrap around you from behind, lifting you off your feet. A shriek is ripped from you, morphing into a laugh as you struggle with your arms pinned to your sides. He doesn’t release you, his deep chuckle vibrating against your back as you calm down, going limp in his arms. You surrender.

His heart is racing just as much as yours. You feel it pumping against your back as well as the familiar wild heat of him. His panting breath a steady caressing down your neck as he allows your feet back on the ground, not yet releasing his hold on you. Your head falls back against his chest just as his own drops into the area between your neck and shoulder, hitching breaths of you into his struggling lungs. His stubble and moustache rasp against your skin, causing your toes to curl in your shoes. You swallow around the sound that’s building in your throat. For a moment, you fight against the urge to back up further into him, to seek the sounds that have visited you in your dreams since you heard them the first time.

What’s in front of you finally registers in your hazy mind, piercing your spiraling thoughts. “What the fuck is that?”

His head lifts, though a bit unwillingly, from its spot on your exposed neck, taking in the strange view. In front of you there’s a hill leading up to a long, medieval looking tower built of stones.

“Oh.” The word is not one of surprise, rather like it was something he’d forgotten to mention in passing.

“Oh, by the way, you left your breast-tape at my place.”

Decidedly not the appropriate “oh” for this situation.

“Did you know about this?” You turn in his arms, looking accusatorily up at him.

Pulling one of the arms from around you, he reaches up to scratch at his neck, mumbling something so ridiculous the only response you can muster is, “What?”

“It’s the Wizard’s tower.” He repeats.

“So I did hear you right the first time. I was kind of hoping I hadn’t.” You turn back to marvel at the structure. “It’s really tall.”

“His basement supposedly takes up the entire hill”

“How the hell did he get permission to build this?”

You feel him shrug. “The Wizard is before my time. And he hasn’t invited that kind of conversation.”

“Do you see him around town?”

“Well, he comes to the clinic once a year for his check-ups, but that’s it. Wait, no, I sometimes see him talking to Linus at the gatherings as well.”

You’re both moving towards the bottom of the hill, warily watching the looming building. “I didn’t think Linus came to most of the gatherings. I’ve only seen him at Spirit’s Eve.”

“No, no, he’s attends every single one. He just… he prefers to stay on the sidelines.” He looks down at you, leaning a little to side to find your face where you’re cuddled under his large arm. “When did you see him on Spirit’s Eve?”

The memories of the night surge through you, flooding your chest with shame that you haven’t recovered from.

“Sweetheart?”

You sigh through your nose. “He helped Vincent and me get out of the labyrinth. He told me not to tell anyone.”

An unsure silence settles over both of you, Harvey shifting as he tries to decide whether he should push or not. “What happened in that maze?”

You turn back to the tower, cocking your head theatrically to the side. “It’s a little creepy.”

He sighs, seeing right through your deflection. “Yes,” he says anyway. “Reminds me of Lewis’ Golden Statue of himself.”

You pull away from him abruptly. “What. The fuck?” Wide-eyed, he looks down at you as if you’ve just announced that you’re going to blow in T-minus 6. As he should. “I’ve lived here for over six months and only now you’re telling me that Lewis has a fucking statue of himself?”

“In gold,” he adds, always so very helpful.

“In gold.” Dazed, you turn back to the tower, seeing it in a whole new light. “I suppose the tower isn’t that dramatic after all. Quite appropriate for a man known as ‘the Wizard’.” You look back up at Harvey, who’s biting his lip, looking to be on the verge of a meltdown – likely a reflection of your own state. “A golden statue, however....”

The giggles begin to bubble in his chest as you continue your mini rant.

“A golden fucking statue, in the honour of a small-town mayor – did he get this done after doing something heroic?” Harvey’s hand is clamped over his mouth, trying to contain the laughter shaking his entire body. “I’m assuming he saved at least a million orphans and was afterwards kissed by Yoba personally?” You’re disappointed but not surprised when the occupied, very serious doctor clutches his stomach while shaking his head. It seems to stress him even more when you fall silent, gazing at the tower like it holds the date of the Judgement Day. “How can he even afford that?”

Lifting his glasses so he can wipe a tear away, a high-pitched noise escapes him, sending him into another bout of insanity.

“I don’t know what I find more ridiculous; that the townspeople got together to give Lewis this statue of himself, or that he had to scrape and save for it all by his weird self.”

Harvey finally dries his eyes, taking your hand as he leads you closer to the tower so you can take it all in. “There was actually a short investigation on it. Gus accused him of using the taxes on it, instead of rebuilding some of the infrastructure around the Valley.”

That’s a serious allegation. One you file away for another time, when you’re not standing in front of something from the history and story books come alive. But there’s something about it… Something about the way the stones settle on top of the other perfectly, even as they thin towards the top. About the way no plants dare start their ascend on it. Every stone is polished, showing no signs of wear from the weather or age – despite what Harvey said about it having stood there for years and years. Even a relatively new build would be properly broken in after the winter you’ve had. Not to mention that it’s right up against the thicker, wilder woods, that doesn’t really have a name as far as you know.

You stop, effectively halting Harvey as well. “Actually,” you start, you smile dripping with false ease that you hope he can’t spot. “I’m in the mood for that coffee now.”

The eager smile he gives you almost takes your breath away as you both practically bounce back towards the forest entrance. “You know – I can’t remember the last time I ran through the woods like that.” His eyes are filled with light, bright with exercise and feeling.

“No,” you agree, taking his arm as he guides you back through the woods. “Me neither.”

Notes:

Healing I guess. Now we can move on to the next trauma.

Chapter 15: War in the Valley

Summary:

Kent returns to Stardew Valley, and you get called to JojaMart for a meeting.

Despite the lightness of the spring heat, you’re still wiping sweat from your forehead by the end of your workday. The fields are – in your opinion – immaculate. Getting your tools upgraded – at a price you suspect Linus had something to do with – really was the move, allowing you to accomplish so much more in a much shorter time. You’ve sown the crops for this season; flowers, vegetables, and fruits taking up neatly marked spaces. There’s even an area for the things you anticipate growing quicker than the rest and will therefore need turnover much sooner. It’s those smaller batches especially that will allow you more income than what the ducks and Jolene have provided you with over the winter. The extra work has also kept you extra busy, and you barely remember to check your mailbox before heading inside to grab a shower, already more than late for dinner with your friends.

You’re toeing off your shoes, shuffling through the papers when a blue envelope catches your attention. Dropping the rest on the table, you sink into a chair and pull out a knife, slicing along the spine. The paper is expensive, smooth, and cuts easily. The folded letter inside is hard with a glossy appearance that tempts you to test if it’s waterproof.

The sender is stamped in an egomaniacal manner all the way across the top of the first page, but then again, you’d expect nothing less from Joja Corporation – or in this case, your local JojaMart. They had opened sometime during late winter, steadily taking over most of the local sales that Pierre otherwise would have monopoly over. They’re currently expanding to animal centered sales, which Marnie has openly expressed her concern for on Fridays at the pub. You get it. After seeing the years added to Pierre’s face from the stress and possibility of going under, you’d be worried about the same happening to you too.

It’s not as if it the local happenings in the business world doesn’t concern you at all. You’re steadily entering that world yourself and have in the past few weeks entertained a possible deal with Pierre.

Baby comes up to you, miraculously not staining its white fur as it rubs up against your leg.

“They want to meet with me, Baby.”

It meows hesitantly.

You nod, folding the letter back into the envelope, watching it slide across the table. “They call it a ‘business proposition’, but who knows what that means these days.” You scoop up the cat as its doubtful song serenades you on the way to the bathroom. “Yes, yes, I will be bringing a knife in case they choose to harvest my organs. Don’t you worry.”

For some reason you don’t tell your friends about the meeting. One day you simply walk across the bridge and into JojaMart, not having anything prepared but a quick ‘fuck-you’. The store is huge. The blue modern building an eye-sore against the cozy small-town aesthetic. Its wast rows of produce and products is beyond imagination. After so long in a small town, it’s almost a religious experience as you walk down each aisle, taking in the unending options with a sense of nostalgia, and killing time as you wait for the big man to come out and greet you from wherever he’s hiding. Allowing you time to peruse is probably part of his sale’s pitch. Hell, it wouldn’t surprise you if he was salivating over the security cameras right now, hoping you’re realising the honour of being called into this place for a meeting.

“Hello, ma’am. You must be the owner of Firelight Farm!” A tall man in a dark suit and red bowtie comes strolling towards you. His small round glasses and slicked back hair paired with his sleezy smile spoils everything there is to know about the man rapidly eating up the distance between you, hand outstretched.

You give him a firm shake, flexing your thumb just in case he tries any power-moves on you. He doesn’t. “Morris.”

With an arm he points to two large doors. “If you’re ready, allow me to lead you to my office.”

***

Hauling the large gift basket through town, you’re almost in too much of a daze to notice the crowd gathered around a tall head of spikey blond hair.

Huh. Sam’s got a haircut. A shame, you really liked the length on him, but whatever. You continue your journey home, sure you’ll hear all about what happened from all sides later, when a voice calls to you.

Damn it. Sighing, you shift the heavy basket to your other hip, turning to the person running towards you and waving like a maniac. It was…Sam.

But.

What?

You look back and forth between the two figures. How the hell…

Sam reaches you, happiness lighting up every pore, making the puppy-dog energy even more pungent as he practically vibrates next to you. “Have you met my dad yet? He just came home from deployment!”

Oh. To be honest, you thought Sam’s father had died or left the family. No one really mentions him and when they do it’s always with this sad air that doesn’t invite further questioning. “That’s great, Sam. No, I haven’t, I’ve been working most of the day.”

That apparently settles it for Sam, who, with a long-fingered grip around your arm, drags you to towards his maker, eager to connect the two worlds even more. Nervousness inevitably starts to stir in your bones. His dad is a military man. You’re not sure how many bases there are around here, but as you near him you’re becoming surer and surer of his age. If he’s been in the military all his life then there’s a chance he knows…

Sam claps his dad on the shoulder, announcing your arrival, already introducing you before he’s turned around fully. His head hesitantly swings towards you both as he disengages from whatever conversation he’d been occupied by. His eyes only mildly scolding as they land on Sam, growing into a sort of tenderness only a dad could precure, before they slide to you.

Holy fuck.

“The farmer-girl I’ve told you about!” Sam finishes, shoving you forward slightly, taking the basket from your arms with a grunt.

The large man blinks. You see the process, unable to do anything to stop it, even if you hadn’t been frozen by fear. The earnestness as it trails into confusion. With another blink it morphs into the worst look you’ve encountered out here in the Valley so far – recognition. His lips part, ready to be assured of the connection he’s made. Which cannot happen.

Therefore, like a dumbass, you do the only thing you can think of to silence him in front of the crowd. The last thing he’d expect. You stick a out hand between you. “Mr. Neilson, nice to meet you.”

Confusion once again takes over in his gaze, but ever the military man he’s able to adapt quickly. Acting now and asking questions later. And you can see it clearly in his eyes that he intents to get answers. But for now, he doesn’t blow your cover. And you hope to whatever else is out there that he doesn’t contact your shared acquaintance until he’s had a chat with you privately. Your clover burns in your pocket, hopefully working its magic.

“Firelight Farm, was it?” The question a threat on his lips.

Sam’s arm lands across your shoulders. “Sure is! You should see it now, dad. She’s really spruced up the place.”

His dad’s eyes don’t leave yours. “Maybe I will come around this week.”

You keep your poker face in check under the scrutinising glare. “Any time, sir.”

Letting go of his hand, you take the opportunity to make a quick get-away. You almost stumble into your house, perspiration down your back as you practically throw the basket from you. Baby hisses as it jumps out of the way, narrowly avoiding getting landed on as you fall to your knees, digging out the floorboards beneath the bed to drag out a black duffel bag. You throw some extra stuff into it from the other hiding places around the house. There’s no other option; you have to go. You must leave. If Kent Neilson really does remember you, then you’re as good as caught. No way he’ll believe you over a friend and former colleague. And you don’t expect him to. 

You’re stuck with me, sweetheart.

The words a caress down your back, stilling your frantic movements. You sigh, slumping forward as you stare at the wall and take a moment to think. Not that long ago you wouldn’t have hesitated to run, but now you have something to fight for. You have hope – a truly dangerous thing. A naïve thing. You grip at your hair, weighing your options. If Kent is worth his salt he’ll assume that you’ve left by now, perhaps calling your acquaintances already. Or maybe he’ll keep an eye on you, dialing the moment he doubts of your whereabouts. No matter what, you can’t help but feel like you owe your friends at least the chance of figuring out a plan with you. But how can they, when they know nothing about what happened? They’ll call the cops on you before you’ve finished the entire story. As they should.

Still.

The rough skin adorning gentle hands invade your mind. The stroke of red above an embarrassed smile. Heated brown staring down at you.

You have to give it a chance.

Hurrying into town, you decide to skip past the clinic, heading straight towards what you know will be an almost empty pub. The hinges obey you, the door flying open in your grip, and you find Emily with her back to you sat on one of the barstools.

“I need some advice.” The words burst from you before you have chance to doubt them.

Unhurried, Emily turns in the chair, her hands held up like you’re about to shoot. After a moment you realise why: every single finger is stuffed into an olive, and her sheepish smile reveals at least five more.

“And clearly I’ve come to the right place.” Your dry words scolding enough for her to creep back to an empty bowl and let the olives fall from between her lips, all while keeping eye contact with you. She doesn’t remove the olives on her fingers, which earns a pointed look from you.

“Please. It took so long.”

A sigh breaks from you. “Getting bored, Emily?”

She nods emphatically. “Very.”

The door closes behind you as you move further into the pub.

“I heard you had a meeting with Morris, is that what you want to talk about?”

You almost tell her. Your lips form around the words ready to spill your life. Ready to open up. But how could you? When she gives you such an easy exit, right there for the taking. An unpleasant topic, but rather more bearable than your intended one.

You nod, settling onto a stool next to her. You almost grab an olive from the bowl out of habit. With a grimace you push it away from you.

“Look, I get it if you need a way to stay afloat now that they’ve come to town. But I’m sure if we just band together they’ll go bankrupt in no time. If you need money, we can help you.”

“How did you even know about the meeting?” It’s weird trying to ignore the olives on her hands.

“Pam spotted you following Morris. She’s working there now, you know. And she couldn’t keep it to herself past her lunch break.”

Of course.

Emily smiles unapologetically, almost gleeful at the proof of lack of privacy. “Life in a small town.” Your gaze sliding to the scratching you’re doing on the bar, you feel her own considering the side of your face. “Have you decided what you’re going to do?”

Running a hand over your face, you consider your next words carefully. “He offered to buy the produce at a good rate, but that’s not really what I’m interested in.” You tap your finger on the worn wood. “He said he’d buy the farm on a moment’s notice. Something about being able to utilise the land far better than I can alone. Which I’m sure is his preferred plan.” Going into business together is likely just a consolation prize – getting one step closer to bumping Pierre out of the race.

“What would you do then? Without the farm. You know Gus can’t give you more hours.”

The earnest wonder and concern in her eyes function as a cold bucket of water. You huff a laugh and smile, shaking your head at yourself. “Right, yeah, I would have too much time on my hands.  I guess I just got caught up in it all.”

You move to get up when her hand grips your wrist, semi-heated fruits against your skin. “Are you seriously considering working for this guy?”

“Let’s see how it all plays out. If Pierre’s closes, then perhaps I’ll have no other choice.”

Unsatisfied with your answer, she reluctantly lets you go.  “Maybe ask Jolene, she seems wise.”

And just like that, you recognise the bubbly woman in front of you again. The smile that falls on your face is almost natural. “I might just.”

***

The stress of the day is starting to take a toll on you, so when you go to the clinic to annoy your doctor and you don’t find him anywhere, you’re tempted to put your hand through a wall. Instead, you walk next door, hoping you’re still welcome there.

“Pierre?” From the open expression he gives you from the register, you assume the news haven’t reached him yet. “Have you seen Harvey?”

If conflicted was a person it would be Pierre. Yet after a moment he points to the back door leading into his house from the shop. As your hand grips the handle, a rhythmic base pulses through you. Frowning, you crack open the door just to be immediately assaulted by pop music. You sneak inside and find the most surrealistic picture of your life. A lot of the moms or middle-aged women of the town are dancing around, weights and neon sweatbands seemingly the uniform. Caroline is at the front, guiding the army through the practiced movements, when her head turns towards you.

“Come on in, honey! We’re just finishing up.”

Just like that, your presence is alerted to everyone. Not that anyone appears to mind. Or so you thought, until someone in the back stumbles and falls on their ass. Everyone gasps and stops whatever they’re doing, rushing to their aid. Something about the obscured shape on the floor rings a few bells and you step closer.

“Thank you, thank you, ladies. Yes, I’m quite alright. Just clumsy, is all.” An embarrassed voice mumbles.

A smile which can only be described as gleeful comes to dwell on your lips.

It can’t be.

Oh, but it is. The tall man lifts himself upright, his hair as startled as its host. He comes up to you scratching his neck, embarrassed as hell, and the floor tilts beneath you. For while you’d seen Harvey in his running clothes - loose shorts and a hoody - it was mostly always hidden in the darkness due to the hours he found time to exercise. What you haven’t seen is him in his aerobics clothes – and my oh my, that is a gift in and of itself. A compression shirt tight over his pectorals, lining up his chest in a way that makes you weak in the knees. The contrast of the shirt against his loose dark sweatpants is enough to make you wipe discreetly at your chin in case you’d started drooling. Add that to the adorable neon headband pushing his curls out of his eyes, and now you’ve completely forgotten what you came here to do.

“How much did you see?”

Not enough. “Nothing, really. How long have you been doing this?”

He bites his lip, hesitating. His eyes are bright with endorphins and his skin flushed from a mix of chagrin and exercise. He shifts in place, practically squirming as he tries to judge your reaction to what he’s about to say, which disturbs the air around you. A whiff of him strolls to you and it’s a miracle your eyelids don’t drop. While it’s tinted with sweat, it’s also a musk that your cavewoman brain senses a sign of a healthy man nearby. The scent crawls down into your lungs, dripping molten through you. Awareness singes along your skin as you try to focus on his words.

“The nearest gym is fifty kilometers away. And I actually really enjoy the company of the women here. They’re so enthusiastic.” His sheepish smile sends an ache through your chest. “And, well, they gave me this funky headband.”

You manage to inhale a deep breath in attempt to calm yourself. “You, Harvey Becker, are the most adorable man alive.”

He gets visibly taller and mumbles something under his breath which you don’t care to catch, your focus preoccupied with the single drop of sweat tracing a line down his neck.

“Would you like to come over to mine for some lemonade?” You ask, like you’re a whore from the 60’s.

The walk to your house is quiet. Contemplative. As you fight an internal battle the reason behind it likely has no clue of. Fugitive glances his way confirm it. This is simply yet another walk to your house, a place he’s been about a hundred times before, following a path you both know every stone of. So why does it feel so different? This time you’re seeing it with new lenses. Without meaning to, you’ve begun looking at every plant like it’s the last time you’ll see them. You’re holding Harvey’s arm, watching your skin against his, as if it’s the last time you’ll do it. And you’re letting yourself be curious about things you’ve been putting a lock on for so long. Because this is the last time. How could it be anything else?

So maybe. Maybe you’ll allow yourself to give in. To let fear fall away and greed steer your actions. If this is the last time you’ll have Harvey in your home… you’re going to make it count.

Your hands shake a little as you unlock the door, which Harvey watches without comment.

Slipping off your shoes and waving him towards the dining table, the look you give him is heavy. Something sparks in his eyes and his focus on you becomes more curious. Questioning if what he’s sensing might be right.

You turn your back on him and walk to the fridge. After a few seconds of watching you, you hear his heavy footsteps as he moves further into the house. It’s really just a studio with a little corner carved out for the kitchen, keeping it out of sight from the dining area. And what you’ve previously ignored whenever you have guests over has suddenly become the focal point of your entire place. The bed. Standing in the corner, it calls to you now.

One time. First and last time.

Walking out with two glasses and a brave smile, it takes you a moment to realise that Harvey hasn’t sat down yet. He’s standing with his back to you, looking over the contents of your dining table – fingering a blue envelope while his face seems to be aimed at the large basket still taking up more than half of the space.

“Tell me it isn’t true.” His voice startlingly upset.

Chin jutted out, you walk over and place the glasses on the table.

“What?” You force yourself to look at his wide eyes.

“Are you joining Joja Corp.?”

“I had a meeting with them.”

He gapes at you. “You know what they’re doing to this town. To us. They don’t care about anyone or anything but profit. Is this really who you want to be associated with?” He waves at the absurdly large basket.

You bite at the inside of your cheek. “Seem to be a lot like me.”

“Stop. Don’t lie, not now.”

A humourless laugh joins the tense air between you. “And why shouldn’t I? Who gives a fuck either way.”

“Because you get sad every time you do. Like you expect me to actually believe you.”

He didn’t realise that was the most frustrating thing about him – this inability to hide when you’re with him. Something you’ve cultivated over years and years out of necessity and survival completely stripped from you under his optimistic worldview. You relent, letting a bit of truth out. “It would be a good way of getting money fast.”

He scoffs. “You’re not that desperate for it. You live comfortably here, don’t you?”

Frustration builds. “Money is protection, Havey. Don’t you get it? Without it, I’m at the mercy of other people. What if-“. You leash the words before they run away from you. Inhaling and exhaling deeply, you feel the coolness spreading through your veins. From the anger and sadness swirling in his eye, it seems that he can sense this. “The plan was always to sell this place at some point. They’ve given me an opportunity to do so.”

His eyes switch back and forth between your own, looking for a lie that isn’t there. You made sure it wasn’t. So when he doesn’t find it, he turns and walks out, head hanging, leaving the door wide open behind him.

You huff a laugh. Of course. Harvey isn’t the type to slam doors. The laugh evolves, bubbles in your chest, spilling over. Before long you sink to you knees, head in your hands as tears dot the white fur curling up against you.

No more than a couple of hours later, you’ve pulled yourself together long enough to start packing. Memories and worries rush around in your head, voices and sounds from years back stepping out from around you where they’ve been hiding in the shadows. You’re so locked in your own world you don’t hear it when your door is pushed open. No instinctive warning sounds go off. When arms lock around you, you’re at a disadvantage, struggling without a plan and working solely on instinct.

“It’s us, it’s us,” is repeated over and over softly in your ear. Your struggles cease and you let Maru and Penny hold you tightly. Let them comfort you, let their warmth seep through your tired bones.

“I can’t stay,” you whisper.

Maru lays a hand on the side of your face, pulling you into her chest. “You’re a bad bitch. You can do anything.”

“Does this have something to do with Joja? Or Kent?” Penny’s gently spoken observation shouldn’t have surprised you as much as it did. She had been there while you greeted Kent earlier. And you’ve heard the drunken yelling from Pam late at night. Darkness recognises darkness, you suppose.

“He knows something about me. If he tells anyone, you’re all going to hate me. And if he tells someone else that I’m here, I’ll be so fucked.” The confession is spoken with a rock on your chest, a boulder, a ruin. But when it leaves you half of them come tumbling down, smashing into rubble and dust.

The silent communication only years of knowing each other can provide is so pointed you can sense it even though you aren’t looking at them. You let them sort it out, though. Let them figure out if they want to stay for this or let you go.

“How many times do I have to say it? We’re your friends. We’re here for you. Harvey will come around, but in the meantime, anyone who fucks with you fucks with us. You’re not alone.” Maru’s words are firm, unbreakable.

Eye cast down, you murmur the question carefully. “Did he… talk to you?”

Penny strokes your arm. “Nothing like you’re imagining. He’d never say a bad word about you.”

Maru snorts. “Though you are the only person who’s managed to consistently get into a fight with him – more than everyone in the entire Valley put together.” You’re shaken as Maru speaks with her entire body, waving her arms enough for it to feel like resting your head against a bus window. When you don’t respond, she finds another course to tease you with. “This is kind of fun. We haven’t sat on a floor and cried about a man in a while.”

Guilt gnaws at you. “How’s it going with Elliot?” Pulling back so you can look at them both, you watch as Penny empathetically hugs her knees, not taking her worried eyes off Maru – who honestly looks ready to start a fight.

A hand is slammed down on the wooden floor. “Honestly! Men! He keeps insisting there’s nothing between him and Leah, but I see them together all buddy-buddy.”

“Didn’t he recently present you with a bouquet?”

Maru just waves Penny off and continues, but you’re too caught on the last thing Penny said to get into it. “Sorry, what is so special about a bouquet?”

Gasps ring out around you.

“Alright, a bit dramatic.”

Maru clasps your arm. “That’s right! You didn’t grow up here!”

“It’s a Valley tradition. You give a bouquet to someone when you want to state that you have serious dating intentions. It’s a whole thing.” Penny’s smile is bright, betraying how much she actually enjoys the “whole thing”.

A sense of horror dawns on you. “But… but I’ve given people flowers before.”

They shake their heads emphatically. “You have to get it wrapped all special and stuff. It’s not just a couple of flowers.”

You nod, catching up. “So, Elliot wants to date you seriously?”

“Yes!” Maru throws her arms in the air and falls backwards, staring up at the ceiling. “But how can I date someone I don’t trust?”

The excuse sounds empty to you. All the arguments you’ve witnessed between them since you arrived, the intense focus Maru’s had on Leah, and the whole Winter Festival mistletoe backfire – you’re not so sure jealousy is all that there is to these overwhelming feelings Maru’s having. But it’s not your place to point it out. Instead, you stroke her ankle and offer sympathies, confident she’ll figure it out on her own. Hopefully before too many people get hurt in the process.

Chapter 16: Flower Formal – Part 1

Summary:

The Flower Festival is the highlight of spring – divided into the Flower Dance and the Flower Formal. And you’re ready to show your moves.

Notes:

• I was a little sad that there wasn’t a lot of opportunities to get dressed up and sparkling – so I added them. Gotta remember that I’m a god in this fic and my word is law. If I want an event for dress-up, then dammit, I can make it.

A finger hooked on the line, you follow the string decorated with colourful flags towards the wonderful music taking you back to the renaissance. Flutes and stringed instruments calling you forth. The white skirt flows around your knees, the flowers and grass tickling your feet over your laced slippers. You give a light touch to the wildflowers braided into your hair, hoping the journey down to this part of the forest hasn’t knocked them loose already and destroyed Penny’s hard work.

You arrive at the opening to the field and stop to take it all in. The amazing production of flowers worked into all sorts of shapes and sizes, tamed yet wild, is clearly the work of Evelyn. The same woman stands proud by one of the larger beds, lovingly fussing over some daisies. The real feast begins tomorrow night, when they crown the Flower Royals to rule over the rest of spring. Therefore, for today, Gus must be satisfied with taking care of a few snacks and a couple of punch bowls. Something he does gingerly, sending warning looks at Sam who hovers around the table imitating a stubborn wasp.

Closing your eyes you breathe in the fresh air, trying to lighten the weight in your chest. It doesn’t help when a small voice by your side hesitantly speaks up. “Can I tempt the little lady with any Flower Dance themed items?” Pierre looks at you, sadness drooping practically everything but his glasses.

“Pierre.” You’ve been meaning to talk to him all week. But between taking care of everything, avoiding Kent, and practicing with Maru and Penny, you’ve simply run out of time. “I was hoping to speak with you for a moment.”

The melancholy expectant tilt of his mouth encourages you to get to the point as quickly as possible. “I’m sure you’ve heard, but I wanted to tell you that I had a meeting with Joja Corp. about a week ago. But,” you rush when he starts fidgeting with the flowerpots on his booth. “I’m not taking the deal. I would actually like to go into business with you, if you’d have me.”

You’d think you’d offered the man the cure to cancer. He jumps up from behind the booth, wrapping his arms around you. Seeing it coming, you have enough time to brace yourself and breathe through the initial panic. When he pulls back there are tears lining his eyes.

“Oh, Pierre,” you sigh mournfully. “I’m sorry I made you worry.”

He shakes his head vehemently. “No! No, it’s okay. Water under the bridge. I’m just so glad you made the right choice. Oh! I’m sure we’ll beat that JojaMart now. No one can resist your fresh produce and I certainly can’t resist your reasonable prices.” He clasps his hands together. “I wish I had some champagne.”

You offer him your hand. “Let’s shake on it, then. Make it official.”

He doesn’t take your hand. The man instead chooses to disappear behind the counter, diving down after something like a hawk, coming back up only once he’s caught his prey. “For you,” he thrusts the item into your hands. It’s a… bracelet?

“It’s an anklet.”

Close enough. The jewellery is a thin iron chain holding two charms – a type of local shell you recognise from the beach and a very small almost black pearl. “It’s beautiful. But I can pay for it, Pierre.”

He’s already shaking his head before you’ve finished speaking. “Go out and ask a lucky someone to dance with you, and it will be more than repaid.” The man has hearts in his eyes, and you intentionally refuse to follow his eyeline. The weightlessness was temporary, as it so often is.

“Okay, Cupid. I better go and make that happen.” You rush away before he can take matters into his own hands. You stop by the table, fighting with the lock. The nice thing about tiny chains is that they’re light and elegant – the bad thing is that they demand hands that are able to pinch and handle a much tinier clasp. Annoyance pulls your shoulders to your ears and you turn your back to the crowd to feel less exposed as you continue your battle of wills against an inanimate object… and losing… again.

“C’mon, baby, work for mommy. Show mommy that you can be a good little girl.” You mumble to the metal as your fingers shake on the clasp. Irritation swirls in your chest like angry eels, fighting to burst from your lips in curses. And frankly, you’re fighting against the want to throw the damn thing into the treeline.

A hand touches your elbow, and you spin around. “May I?”

Wordlessly, you hand Harvey the thing. You watch as his long fingers manipulates the clasp without thought. It shocks you when he goes down on one knee, waiting for you to point to the correct ankle. You raise the right foot, meeting him halfway while steadying yourself on his broad shoulder. He’s also wearing the traditional dance clothes of the festival – blue for the leaders while you as a follower are wearing white.  The brush of his hands against your ankle sends vibrations of electricity up through your leg. It’s been a week since you’ve been so close, the longest you’ve been separated since fall. Though you’ve talked through with Maru multiple times what you’d say once you saw him again, you find that words have left you. Rehearsed apologies and explanations far out of reach.

He rises, analysing your hands with an intensity you know means he’s currently wearing his doctor hat. Probably the easiest way back into his good graces. Through his nurturer side door. “What happened?” He meets your eye before he remembers himself, looking back down at your hands. “Sorry. I won’t ask.”

If his tone had been anything but earnest, you’d have gotten defensive. Locked down. But the way he says it so casually, as if it was a part of you he’s accepted. That this mystery would be unending and that was okay. Well- it softens your resolve. “I broke them. My fingers. So I have a hard time with small stuff like that.” You wave at the chain.

“What? All fingers? How?”

Ignoring the question, you force yourself to give as much as you can. “It wasn’t big breaks, but minor fractures all around eventually affects the steadiness, as you know. Good thing I didn’t have my heart set on a career in crocheting.” The laugh you shove out is awkward and stilted.

Thankfully, he ignores it. “What did you want to be?”

“What?” You watch him with wide eyes, realising his gaze is back on yours. The guard completely gone; the wall fallen. Troy has been breached. The curve of his lip fills you with relief and you scramble for words that’ll keep it there. “Oh, um, a painter. I think.”

“You think?” He turns and begins to walk along the edge of the clearing.

You follow him, reaching out to take his arm out of habit before you shove your hands back, toying with them behind your back. It’s still so unsure what you’re allowed to do now. It seems that every conversation changes the dynamic between you. Not that you care right now. For now, you’re content watching the sunlight dance in his auburn hair. When your eyes fall on him you finally understand the phrase “resting your eyes” on someone. Because when you lay your eyes on that sheepish grin and the tender coffee and whiskey hues aimed at you, your mind finally rests. Life and the worries accompanying it fade into the background, and there’s nothing but a calm melody gliding through your thoughts and into your chest, dancing to your calmed heartbeat.

“My parents were very clear on what they expected from me, and I didn’t really question it. But sure, I had moments where I tried a few things, painting being one of them, though nothing came of it. Life had other plans.” You finish with a shrug. The bitterness of the memories barely scraping against you in the company of your doctor.

Harvey scratches at his neck and stops, looking over the field as people begin to gather in couples. “Do you still dance? I know it might be daunting if you don’t know the steps, but really, it’s actually rather simple. And I’m not that bad at leading, so-“

“Harvey.” You find it in your heart to have mercy on the poor man, before the red consumes him totally and you’re left with nothing but a melted tomato on the ground. “I’d love to dance.”

The nervous chuckle that leaves him is the last of the nerves you see for the rest of the dance. When his hand reaches out in offer and you slide your own palm against his, he enters another one of his elements. Not that you would in a million years have guessed that dancing would be one of them. Of course, this is quite different from clubbing. This is practiced. Each step agreed upon beforehand along with the expectations.

Now that you’re thinking about it, it’s perfect for him.

He moves you to take the spot in front of him next to the other followers as he lines up with the leaders. Though you’ve been practicing all week, you can’t help a bout of nervousness that runs through you now that you’re actually doing it. The whole town is watching. And then Harvey does the unimaginable.

He winks.

A snort threatens to burst from you before you smother it to death with your hand. That cheeky little shit. You narrow your eyes at him, which he takes in proud stride because now a different tune signals the beginning of the dance. Harvey reaches out to you, and you meet him halfway, hoping you at least give the illusion of grace rather than the panic welling up. You care what he thinks, but you’d also hope that the townsfolk take the gesture of you learning the dance for what it is – a promise. An intention to… stay.

You don’t know when, if it happened gradually or instantaneously, but you’ve decided to stay. To fight for this place. For as long as this place will have you, you will work for it to be your home. You understand now why your grandpa could never get himself to sell the farm, even after he became too sick to take care of it. This place, the people in it, is something worth holding on to.

The dance is as if lifted out of a period movie. There are parts where you have a few steps with the person diagonally across from you or next to you, before you’re thankfully back with your own partner again. Though you have to admit, dancing with Sebastian was a surprisingly pleasant experience.

It also gives you ample opportunity to, as they say, “lavish upon one’s partner”. Harvey as he moves is a sight to behold. The confidence in his shoulders and the teasing in his eyes enough to fan the embers. Each brush of hands as you meet again becomes more and more eager, reaching out instead of falling in.

Really it was just a matter of time.

Days of these light touches, bringing you closer, the dangerous energy shimmering ever clearer between you. It was over before it begun, this fight. This play of pretend you’ve directed for yourselves. You can see it in his eyes, the realisation of it clearing in his gaze. You’re both climbing, fervently reaching the culmination of tension building all these months. His hands as they steer you linger possessively on every curve and centimeter of skin they find before moving on to the next step. There’s little chance anyone but you two know what’s going on, the hyperawareness feeding the fire, your teeth almost clattering with it. In response to his touches, you reward him – punish him – with your own. Nails scraping along the inside of his arm when you go to take his hand again. Heated glances you know the meticulous doctor can’t miss. An eagerness as you lean into his own touches. An almost silent groan rumbles in his chest, a sound only you’re privy to since your back is pressed against his chest as he leads you both down the line in a perfectly respectful manner.

Whoever made such a big deal about dancing and propriety in the olden days was on to something. Movements and brief touches are all but explicit foreplay in front of everyone. Forced to stay in the tension, never letting up, it’s torture. It’s bliss. As your chest fills with it and drips down through your abdomen, you relish in the heat. Bathe in the flames. When his fingers dig into your sides, pushing your backside against his pelvis, you fight to keep your eyes open, and your mouth closed. You hope the panting can be blamed on the dancing. To Harvey’s credit, he doesn’t let you stumble once. Doesn’t take his eye off the sequence for a second too long, if at all. He manages to brush fire over you skin while keeping up professional appearances. One day you’d like to test how well he’s able to focus under a different kind of pressure.

Delicious thoughts like these tempt you in a way that almost cripples you. You narrowly avoid going the wrong way when Harvey smoothly pushes you the other. Despite the tension, you’re able to share a smirk. Laugh at yourselves. You’re getting weak-kneed at a family function, for crying out loud. At least your mistakes, if there are any, can be blamed on lack of experience. Harvey would bring even more attention on you if he couldn’t catch himself. You bite your lip at the thought, hoping to conceal the conspiratory smile. His eyes catch on the movement, hunger spreading the black in them.

Finally you’re back in your original places and the song ceases, giving space for a round of applause from both watchers and participants. Harvey doesn’t take his eyes off of you. You take his hand and start to pull him, wanting to take him out of the sight of everyone, wanting- wanting something. Anything. He sees this and his eyes flare, his fingers flexing in yours as he takes a determined step towards you, his lips parting on words you’re suddenly desperate to hear.

“You did so well! You’re welcome, Harvey, for creating such a masterpiece for you. Diamond from a lump of coal, I’ll tell you that much.” Maru has an arm looped in between each of yours, effectively blocking in every sense of the word.

Harvey brushes a hand over his face but manages to fix his expression into something more polite than it was during her first six words to you. “Thank you, Maru.”

She bows. “You’re welcome, good sir. I sacrificed quite a few priced toes, but it was worth it. You’re hot on the dance floor, girl.”

You shake your head in amusement. “Thank you, Maru.”

“Nothing else from you two? By all means, I can’t hear those words enough. Now, let’s go and watch the count.”

That manages to pull your gaze away from where it rested with Harvey’s over the head of your shorter friend. “I thought that was tomorrow?”

Her bob moves with her head. “The reagents are tomorrow night. Think of this as the mini leagues. The couple will announce the official royals tomorrow.”

Alright. You go back to the silent communication you were doing with Harvey, trying to figure out a way to sneak off. With a little nod towards the stage, you agree to do it once the winners have been announced. To talk… or more. Impatience eats at you. Coming down from whatever that was on the dancefloor is proving to be basically impossible. No matter how you move you can still feel his strong hands on you. Feel how they pressed into your softness and muscles. The hardness against you an imprint that still makes your breath hitch in your chest.

Marnie works efficiently at the little table while Lewis stands with a little microphone and makes nonsense announcements. At least, they sound like nonsense to you, but you’re focused on the fact that Harvey is creeping closer from around Maru, his energy being pulled into you. You discreetly clench your thighs, trying to relieve the building pressure. 

Soon.

Lewis notes the nod from Marnie and goes on an entire spiel about what spring symbolises, as well as the significance of crowning people who in the olden days were – spiritual leaders? You stopped listening once the fantasy of Harvey with his head thrown back and a blush down his chest fills your mind. The picture occupies your senses so thoroughly, when someone claps you just start clapping along with them.

Maru elbows you, earning herself an offended frown. “Get up there. They said your name.”

“But- don’t you have to put your hat in the ring or something? I didn’t put my hat in the ring. My hat never even left my head.”  

She smirks up at you.

“I’m telling your dad what you did to the fish.” You whisper in her ear as you pass by her on your way to the small stage. ‘Stage’ is charitable – ‘deck’ is probably more accurate. People make a path for you and Lewis with one hand extended helps you up the one step. Marnie rushes forward with the tiara and the ribbon, reaching up to place them delicately on you.

“And who’s the partner of this pretty princess today, Marnie dear?”

Marnie almost swoons at the name. She rights herself and points at the name on the tally-card. Lewis clears his throat and booms over the crowd loud enough for the microphone to release a high-pitched noise. “Harvey! My good boy, get up here. To think us old men still have it in us.”

Not that Harvey and Lewis are in any way similar in age, but no one corrects him. You’re too busy watching Harvey blushing his way to the “stage” and then trying not to laugh when he has to bend down for Marnie to put the little crown on his head as well.

“Round of applause for your flower Princess and Prince! Tomorrow, you two will, as tradition states, announce the Flower Royals of the season. Now, everyone, go on and enjoy the festivities!”

You both descend the “stage”, you with cautious glances thrown around and him with a humility that wins the heart of the mothers. “What are we supposed to do for the rest of this gathering, though?” The whisper comes from between your clenched, smiling teeth.

He leans down, answer brushing over the shell of your ear. “People will place flowers on us until the last line dance tonight- same moves don’t worry- And then those flowers will be used to make a crown for the Royals.”

You turn your head slightly, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. “So, no sneaking off today?”

A shake of his head is your only answer. Whatever else you see in his eyes is only adding to the regret you’re feeling, though the flame is becoming manageable. Standing close to Lewis will do that to a woman.

The day passes as Harvey promised it would. Every instance of almost private conversation is foiled by a chain of flowers being placed around your neck. Or a bouquet stuffed into the pockets of his blue slacks. By someone pulling either of you away for a quick waltz across the field into the arms of a friend, where you’re stuck until the next time you’re kidnapped. By nightfall, after you’ve danced the last line dance together and the flowers have been ceremoniously removed from you and placed in a large basket, you’re exhausted and defeated. The attentions from the crowd having long since doused the fires.

You watch them carry the large basket away and pull the decorations down with a bittersweet feeling in your chest. Despite the disappointment of not getting a moment to hash things out with Harvey, you’ve enjoyed yourself today. Danced with friends and been careless. You’ve felt young again.

Someone clears their throat behind you. Turning around, the tired smile drops from your face. “’Little bird’ was it?”

You swallow. “Don’t call me that.”

Kent shifts closer, his narrowed eyes trained on your expression. “I’ve watched you.”

“I don’t care.”

His eye twitches. “And you’re a completely different person.”

“People change.”

“Do they?”

You keep an eye out for the people across the field, making sure you two aren’t accidentally left alone.

“Last I heard, your rights were signed over because of a series of mental breakdowns.”

Your heart is beating so fast you can feel it in your throat. You say nothing, watching him, waiting for him to show you everything he knows before you give anything yourself.

But of course, being a military man, Kent sees through this scheme rather quickly. “Tell me why I shouldn’t call the police. Or better yet, your guardian.”

Despite the fear choking you, you raise your chin and narrow your eyes. You aren’t going to beg a man for anything, not ever again. “Because it’s none of your damn business.”

“You’re dangerous.” He steps forward quickly, pointing a finger at you. You don’t move. “If you break down here you could hurt my family. My sons seem to care for you, and right now I wouldn’t trust you with a rock with googly eyes. That makes it my business.”

“I’ve never hurt anyone.” You protest through gritted teeth.

He scoffs. “The police report says differently.”

“From the investigation conveniently carried out by the same person who reported on all of those supposed break downs of mine?”

Kent’s eyes flare as they flicker between each of yours. “With this attitude you’d better hope that calling your guardian is all I do.”

“I’d rather you kill me right here.” The words are shot with not enough anger behind them to make them hit. They fall into the water and create gentle waves of earnestness.

He shakes his head in disbelief, calming down by the tide of your message. “If you tell me the truth, I’ll reconsider.”

You huff a laugh. Right. “Because you military men are known for having the backs of anyone who points a finger at your fellow man?”

“I might.”

“Or you might twist my words against me. Or lure me into a false sense of security just to rip the carpet out from underneath me. As you’ve done before.” You take a step back, ready for this conversation to be over. “I’m going to keep living my life here, for as long as I can. You can look at the version you remember and the version you saw today and figure out for yourself what might be the cause of this completely different person, as you said. One thing I can tell you, is that you’re not catching me off-guard again. None of you.” His piercing stare never leaves you as you force yourself to turn your back on him, leaving the field on the tail of the remaining townspeople.

Fuck that guy.

Notes:

A day late with this one.
I've started at another job and it will make it hard to get anything out on a weekly basis. So for anyone not notified when a new chapter is posted - new chapters can from now on be posted within 2 weeks time instead of 1. Thank you all for the positivity and the understanding xx

Chapter 17: Flower Formal – Part 2

Summary:

It’s time for the final part of the Flower Festival – the Flower Formal.

Notes:

Missed you guys. Onwards.

“Can I pee?” Penny shifts from one foot to the other, pleading to Haley who stands with only half an eye coated in mascara, the pen poised ready to apply the perfect amount for the rest of it. The dilemma is clear – wait too long and it may dry, not applying as expected causing her to either improvise or clean the eye off completely. She could go an entirely different direction and sheath her wand, trying to divide the newly moisturised stick’s gift evenly despite starting off in the wrong place. It would risk getting mascara everywhere or worse – clumping. All of which could potentially throw Haley off her game for the rest of the match. Everyone holds their breath as she grapples with these choices. If she refuses, she might lose the favour of the rest of the women getting ready.

“Yeah, but hurry.” The room breathes. Penny rushes past her and slams the door. Everyone continues what they were doing while Haley taps her foot by the door. When it opens again, she rushes in and attempts to scrape off some of the product from the wand. You miss the rest because you’re struggling with your hair while trying desperately not to sweat.

The house is alive with merry chatter and wonderfully nostalgic music. At different parts, different women break out into song and passionately dance – as the spirits possess them to do. You lose yourself in a few as well, wielding your comb appropriately as you dance on the backs of couches. But you quickly reclaim your spot on the floor around the coffee table, not willing to risk losing it to a straying makeup bag or curling iron. You’re sure this is heaven.

“Wait, can I pee really quickly?” Another girl decides to test Haley’s patience. Having already redone an eye, it’s not looking good. The hoard would be more understanding this time, but Haley bows down and waits once more. Fascinating. You don’t know what has inspired this change in the golden-haired woman, but you’re in favour of it.

You turn your attention back to the items you have laid out. You asked to borrow them for the look, but you honestly have no clue how to do it. When you’ve worn makeup, it’s always been something very conservative. And since arriving here you haven’t done any at all. But a colourful eye and a nice lip would really go well with your satin slip dress, so you were willing to try. But with the objects in front of you, you’re having a hard time finding the courage and the vision to start. Abby pushes one of the girls until the entire table scootches and she can occupy the space next to you. Her makeup is wonderfully done, working well with her dark theme. You’re in awe.

“What’s up?”

Hands splayed out you gesture at the things. “I never learned how.”

She considers your confession. “What do you want done? I’ll help.”

You watch for any sarcasm or ridicule, finding none. “Thank you.” Together you map out a plan and soon enough she sets to work. You’re in perfect position to see the bathroom, where another person comes up right as Haley works something into her face.

“Haley, can I-“

She faces the girl with a huff. “If you want to pee, come in and close the door. Or don’t! I don’t care. I’ll be staying right here.” And she meant it. Haley got a lot closer with every woman at the gathering that night.

It had been Emily’s idea for all of the women to get ready at their house. You, Maru, and Penny had been in the middle of a discussion about where the best place to get ready would be. Maru’s was out, because walking in the mountains would surely ruin your outfits or require you to bring two pairs of shoes. Penny’s was quickly eliminated as well, and your farm had the same problem of soggy muddy paths. Emily and Haley live right by the square. Penny almost exclaimed at the suggestion. In public. That’s saying something. Slowly, the word spread, and it was decided that everyone would get ready at their house.

It is also where Harvey will be picking you up. You’re sure that fact contributes to your nerves along with hoping, needing the makeup to be perfect. And what you discover in the mirror is perfect. The shades brushed out to frame your eyes and compliment your features in a way you hadn’t thought of. Your lips striking but not unnatural. Abby pats you on the arm and you leave to get dressed, being almost out of time when you finally reveal yourself to the group. Everyone ooh’s and aah’s over each other’s final looks, so when the doorbell eventually rings, your confidence is properly stroked.

Maru opens the door like a magician with the sheet, revealing two shocked faces. Harvey stands on the doorstep. In a suit. A real suit. Black with a tie to match your dress. He clearly attempted to tame his hair, but it did little good. It was a nice effort though, which you’re sure will be undone by the end of the night from all the dancing. You can’t read his face as he takes you in. The softening of his features at odds with the look in his eye. The clenched fist around the flowers in conflict with the gentle way he brushes a finger over the single flower you coordinated to stay in your hair by your ear.

 “Beautiful,” he murmurs, a mild pink brushing over his cheeks.

“You too,” you whisper.

His smile, this smile right here, is one of your favourites. You want to take a picture, but you know the moment you turn away it will be gone. So you enjoy it, bask in the glow from it. “Thank you,” he says. He then bows and holds out a hand. “Will the princess allow me to escort her to the Flower formal?”

A side glance at Maru has her rushing to explain. “It’s tradition. You just have to accept.”

You turn back to the now sheepish smirk aimed at you, trying to smother the responding cheesy grin it tries to pull from you. “I will.” Glove against skin is another kind of torture. You can sense his warmth through it as he grips your hand, guiding it into the nook of his arm as he leads you out, but you can’t feel the texture of him. You’re missing the rough side grazing your own, the twitches you could coax with your fingernails. Simply missing everything you’ve gotten used to when holding your doctor.

The women follow behind, some rushing ahead to be at the initial greeting of the pair.

“This is so…” You begin.

“Odd?”

“Cult-ish.”

He snickers, chest shaking against the side of your hand. “It’ll be over soon. We just have to get up there, read the cards, and when they have been crowned we shall only be forced to participate in one ceremonial dance.”

“Oh, we shall, shall we?”

He flushes. “Brat.”

You giggle evilly but settle down once you notice the crowd waiting for you. Instinctively you put on the mask you’re most familiar with; adorning a demure smile with eyes cast down. The perfect little princess on the man’s arm. The realisation startles you out of it hard enough for you to actually flinch, earning a concerned look from Harvey as he helps you up onto an actual stage.

You find the letters on the podium and pick them up. It’s Harvey’s line first so you wait, looking over the decorated square. It’s amazing how easily they can turn this simple space into something unrecognisable for every event. The fairy lights crossed over with flowers weaved around them. The round tables by the stage’s right as it faces the pub, with the dancefloor to its left towards the clinic. The band seems to be stationed right around there. Poor Harvey, he won’t be able to sleep wink up there if this goes on into the early morning.

It finally comes to the part where you announce the names, and you smile secretively at the first person, watching their own smile grow. You lean into the mic. “Haley, as Flower Queen.”

Harvey leans over your side, the heat of him searing through the thin satin. “Alex, as Flower King.”

You both clap along with everyone else as the intricate crowns are placed on their heads and they take your places on the stage. Harvey holds your hand as you both descend the steps, letting the couple hold their speeches before leading the first dance, which everyone joins.

“Wait, there’s something I have to do.” You stop by one of the dancing couples, stepping in to whisper in the taller one’s ear. You watch as Maru turns towards you from where she’s grooving on the dance floor, taking in the scene with a horrified look. With a wave of your fingers and a flash of an evil smirk, you turn away from the scene. The explosion goes off behind you on the boom of Demetrius’ yelling. “MARU!” The promised payback finally served.

“Oh, I forgot to mention,” Harvey begins, without missing a beat as you both take up the now unoccupied space. Your hands are on his shoulders, his around your waist, as you move from side to side. His hands are practically burning through your dress while you mindlessly twirl the neck of his hair. “We have one last thing. In about half an hour, we have to plant some flowers in the beds by the West Park. But it’s just ceremonious dirt dumping.” You scratch as best as you can against his neck through your gloves. He responds by tightening his fingers around you, exhaling roughly. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” You stop anyway, respecting it while feeling the sting of the rejection.

His hands glide along your sides, greedily feeling the mix of your shape and the soft fabric. “We can’t- I can’t…”

“Can’t what? Throw a girl a bone?” The self-deprecating laugh wasn’t meant to come out quite as high. But for some reason you feel like confronting him about this, even though it’d be easier to hide and never speak of it again. But yesterday ruined the balance. The restraint in you. You can’t place your hands on Harvey before they soon long to trail further. You can’t calm your wild heartbeat every time he looks at you. You’ve somehow, along the way, ruined this friendship. Yet you can’t find it in yourself to regret it, even as you face the possibility of him not feeling the same way.

His jaw clenches. He reaches up and takes your hands off his shoulders, but clasps one of yours and drags you along before you have a chance to feel worse about it. He slams open the door to the clinic, not even turning on the light as he storms with you up to his apartment. He closes the door behind you, letting go of you, and… stares. His gaze bores into you, both of your chest heaving from the running, or the emotions, or a mix of both.

“You think- you want it to be that? Just that? ‘Throwing a bone’?”

You don’t back down from his challenging tone. “I don’t know, doc. This back and forth is making my fucking head spin. We have to either kill this or do something about it.”

“That’s what you want to do?”

The shrug is violent enough for your hands to make a smack sound where they land against your thighs. “What else is there to do?”

He marches past you and faces the bookshelf for a few moments before he turns towards you again. Determination seeps through every pore. Both of you are shaking with the force of the conversation. Months. Months of this building into a fight that you have no idea how it’s going to end. But with each word the more you notice his movements. With each of your shifts his agitation rises. “I don’t want that.”

“What?” Your heart sinks.

His hand makes a slashing motion through the air. “Not if we’re going to treat it like some one-and-done deal. Like this isn’t everything I’ve been craving since I saw you for the first time. If I- if it means nothing to you, then fine. That’s okay. I enjoy your friendship; this pain is mine to endure. But I will not be used to satisfy some-some… something.”

Oh.

“Harvey. Of course it’ll mean something. It’ll mean everything.” His breathing turns heavier along with yours.

The doubt swirling in his eyes breaks your heart. “If you really mean that-“

“I do,” you interrupt.

He nods, once faintly and again with more feeling. “Good. Because I care more about you than I do myself. And if you gave me just one taste- one taste wouldn’t be enough, I-.” When his eyes return to yours, the darkness in them blooms. His gaze falls on your chest as it tries to get more air in, on your shoulder, down your arm. Down the shape of your waist. He takes it all in, swallows it with his eyes. The heat in them, the desperation it builds in you, it’s an incredible unending feedback.

You wait for it. For something to interrupt the moment. For the heat in Harvey’s gaze to go away. For the words to lose their meaning or for either of you to back down. Except this time, it doesn’t look like any of those things are going to happen. No, right now you’re stuck watching his hands twitch at his sides, his eyes intent on every tilt, lean, and rock of your body. You wonder, briefly, almost giddy; if you turned around and ran, would he go after you again? Maybe for a couple of steps before he’d catch himself. Would he drag you back up here?

All of these thoughts to distract yourself from the inevitable. That the universe was giving you this. Harvey was giving you this. Placing his feelings, his wants, his carefully kept desires in front of you, awaiting your judgement. And no one was taking anything back. No one was saving you, saving him, or forcing it all back where it came from. This thing, it’s too big, too all-consuming to be shoved under the bed. It frightens you.

And as always, you look for a wall where there isn’t one.

“You cheat! You said you had never read this book.” You walk past him, feeling his body turn with you. “And yet, here it is. Annotated and all. You know, I have half a mind to –“ That’s all you get out.

A hand grabs your bicep, turning you around before you reach the shelf. You gasp, catching a glimpse of fierce determination before Harvey’s face descends, his mouth slamming onto yours.

It’s as if the world stops. The melody from the festival slows down, notes dissecting carefully around you.

His mouth, a mouth you’ve stared at so many times, is firm in it’s landing but softens as it moves against yours, coaxing you to respond. After a shocked second, you do. You move under his and his chest expands impossibly on a gasp full of repressed need. The glide of his hand where it grips you like your lives depend on it slowly, deliciously, makes its way to the side of your ribs, pulling you in further. Your chest bumps against his and you feel the answering rumble in him against your nipples. The sensation so heady you whimper into his mouth, effectively ending his patience.

He takes over the dance, his mouth commanding against yours. His other hand, pulling over milometers of skin at a time before it finally finds your chin, opens your mouth so he can get a deeper taste of you. That first swipe, the ravenous groan that follows, speeds time back up again. Light notes of whiskey mixed with mint and a taste you cannot place. It’s dark, like chocolate and coffee, making you hungry for more.

You grab for him, hands landing in his hair and pulling at the roots harder than you probably need to. Another delicious sound is ripped from him, and he tries to get you closer, his hold on your waist almost punishing in its grip. Your focus goes to the hardness of him against your stomach. Over his head you remove your gloves, letting them fall to the floor so you can scrape your nails over his neck and into his hair. His hips buck into yours in response. The movement pulls a whine from you, almost a sob, which immediately unchains a deeper part of him.

He moves you both backwards, slamming into the bookcase you had once thought would provide you an escape, which you now use as leverage to climb him. He’s apparently on board with that plan. Hands pull you up against him, gripping and spreading your cheeks sinfully as he uses them to meet the movements of his hips digging up into you. From above him, you pull his head back and feed another sound into him between harsh kisses. Desire drips through you, meeting the sensation of him grinding up against your core through trapped pieces of your dress.

You could come like this. The realisation does something primal to you – your movements gaining intensity, turning clumsy, chasing. He makes a thoughtful sound in his throat and tries to lure you into slowing down with his kisses. You appreciate the fact that he wants to take his time, but you’re so high on this feeling, so far gone and desperate for every single sound he could make. You’re having none of this ‘slowing down’. An idea comes to you on a memory of a lazy morning many months ago. Sinking your teeth into his bottom lip, you pull a little. The air from his hitched gasp washes over you.

The desired effect is quick.

Wrenching you both away from the shelves, he takes you to the sofa – the only one still unbroken. You’d meant to fix that at some point. You’re lowered onto it, his weight chasing after you. His entire body lays against your, his cock driving up between you immediately – as a reward or as a punishment, you don’t know.

Your name spills from his lips, falling against your neck where he mouths at the spot below your ear. A helpless moan leaves you in answer. He moves from your neck to your mouth. A hand is suddenly fisted in your hair, holding you captive. With his weight and his hand, there’s no way for you to really move now, forced only to accept what he will give you. When his mouth hovers above yours, it takes you embarrassingly long to realise that this was his design when you bit him.

“Why are you stopping?” You demand, unabashed.

“If we keep going like this, I’m going to fuck you on this couch. And I don’t have any protection up here. And we have to be out there for the ceremony in less than-“. He looks up somewhere in the apartment before returning to you. “Five minutes.”

You force yourself to nod. All good reasons to press pause on this. It’s good Harvey is more controlled than you. But your entire body is pulsing, pounding, straining against moving on the familiar heartbeat still snuggled in the vee of your legs. His chest is heaving against yours, as if you’ve both run a marathon.

His hips flex against yours, ripping another frustrated moan from you.

“S-sorry, sorry.” He rushes out, eyes squeezed shut as he forces in slow, steady air.

Your voice is almost a growl. “Not cool.”

Together you untangle, careful not to touch the other too much, or make too many sounds, or even look at each other the wrong way. Harvey rushes to collect your gloves from the floor, handing them to you carefully. The edges of your lips pull into a devious smirk as you watch his blush spreading, his gaze firmly locked on a wall. His hair looks even wilder than usual and his tie so uneven no one could have any doubts what you’d been up to. At least the lipstick was non-transferable, though you advice him to wash up anyway.

He nods sharply. “Right.”

This is getting dumb. “Harvey. Look at me.”

Hesitantly, he does. His pupils are blown to hell and the moment his eyes catch on you they droop slightly. Jaw clenched, his gaze sweeps over your form. When his hand flexes at his side he promptly turns his head away again. “Can’t right now, sweetheart. You go to the bathroom first and clean up. I- I’ll be ready soon, I just need a moment.”

You nod, biting your lip to keep from laughing as you walk away. Each taking turns in the bathroom, you’re only a little bit late when you slip out of the clinic, with you keeping watch as Harvey locks up behind you. “You know, I think you’re the only other person in town who actually locks their doors consistently.”

He takes your hand as he leads you to the park, coming up behind a group of people. “They would too if they had medicine and needles laying around.”

“I think my mother warned me about guys like that.”

His wolfish grin threatens to unbalance your hard-fought calm.

Lewis is so desperate to have everything done now that you’ve finally shown up, no one has time to question or consider the why’s. In a hole in the ground is a flower which soil is shaped after the pot it had been carried in. It lights up brilliantly under the moon, its white petals soaking up the light around the hanging head of it. Harvey and you are both handed a small shovel, which you use to scoop up some of the prepared dirt from a pile. Together you let some of it dribble around the hole. Applause signals the end of your duties, and you take your places to the side. Veiled in the shadows as Haley and Alex fills the hole the rest of the way, no one can see Harvey brushing his thumb down the open back of your dress. Or see him indulge in the edge of skin and satin, the contrast and similarities between both. There’s a hitch in your breath which you’re sure he can feel when his hands drops from you. You look over you shoulder at him. “How are you feeling?”

He lets out a long, controlled breath. “Calm as an active volcano.”

Another round of applause brings your focus back to the event. Gaze running over the crowd, you almost miss the small movement on your side. You head snaps down to the flower, but nothing is happening. Wasn’t the head a little further down before, though?

It stirs. The fucking flower stirs. With fresh soil and water under the blessing moonlight, it straightens. As it rises, its petals unfold, stretching almost, towards the full moon. Once it has finished its reveal, the townspeople cheer and clap. Lewis steps forward, arms out at his side as he delivers his final speech about rebirth, a new start, and spring. You honestly don’t listen, keeping your focus on the amazing flower. You’d heard of flowers blooming in the night, knew the sciences behind it, but it was a whole other thing witnessing it in person.

Blindly you reach back for Harvey, exhaling when his long fingers find yours despite the boarder of the glove separating you.

A new start indeed.

Notes:

* IT HAPPENED IT HAPPENED IT HAPPENED *throws stones through your windows to wake you up*
* That was the end of the little Flower Festival. Hope you enjoyed my interpretation of it.
* Can’t wait to see how these love-birds will inevitably overthink this little moment

Chapter 18: Finding the time

Summary:

With a farm, a doctor always on-call, and a broken heart, it’s hard to find the time to see each other.

Notes:

The last chapter was so well received, and you have all been so patient. It's been so wonderful to read all of your comments and see that you're as excited for this as I am.

Also: I've added a couple of new tags.

You burst through the door, not even turning on the light as you stumble inside. Back hitting the soft pillows, a pleased groan leaves you as you start toeing off your shoes.

“Bathroom first, ladies. No one is sleeping in their makeup on my watch.” Haley commands unironically, her crown still sitting on her head as she looks regally down her nose at you.

And completely unmoved by your narrowed eyes. “As my queen commands,” you mutter drily and limp towards the steadily crowded bathroom. Cotton pads are handed around and you take a couple with a tired but grateful smile. It wasn’t how you’d hoped your night would end, but you’re not unhappy with the result either.

After the flower had been planted and blossomed fully, you’d been moved to the dancefloor once more by different partners. The veil of formality and glamour fell and a night of wild moves, drinking, and snacking commenced. You devoured half of the nachos and are sure you’d have taken more if the other half hadn’t been sucked down by Lewis. Lady and the Tramping the stringy cheese with the mayor wasn’t exactly an appetising image, and once it was there you had abandoned the buffet for another round of dancing. It’s unclear when you and Harvey gave up hope of finding a moment to yourselves again. There was a part of you that, no matter how bone-tired you were, had hoped to stay at his for the night. As the chatter died down and the stereos were packed away – band long gone – you and Harvey met in the middle of the square. The streetlight casting a halo around him, completely at odds with the up-to-no-good smile he was adorning, he was truly a welcome sight. Before you’d exchanged more than a few shy words, Emily had begun pulling at your arms, declaring it was time for the sleepover. You’d cast an apologetic smile over your shoulder and let them take you away to the melody of his laughter.

Pulled by the unseen forces, you land facedown on your side of the air mattress. A part of you is nervous about making it through the night without nightmares, especially since Kent’s appearance in your life has seemed to rattle the cage of your demons, but you’re hoping the exhaustion and company will keep that part locked for the night.

But, as luck would have it, you do start awake in the early morning, covered in sweat and panting as if you’ve sprinted a kilometer. The dreams continue to haunt you, just in a different way. In this dream, Harvey hadn’t stopped at your neck. He’d taken your mouth good and long before his lips had traveled further, kissing and licking a path down to where you needed him the most. Brown, famished eyes looking up at you from between your legs, he’d moved to swipe his tongue against you when apparently a wire blew in your head, and you were woken up. Burying your head in your pillow, you promise yourself to find him before the day is done.

***

 

In the quiet morning glory, a cow rests in the warm hay, cuddled up with large ducks she still considers her babies. The apricot sky a wonderful view as the cow slowly blinks her eyes open, awaking to the blissful songs of birds firmly against sleeping in.

The barn gates burst open. Ducks fly and Jolene almost tips over in fright as you barrel through the graveyard of their peaceful morning. All of them scream as you start throwing the dirty bedding over your shoulder, spreading new feed long before they have a chance to settle themselves. You chase the ducks around the barn. Not on purpose. They just happen to be in the way and you’re in too much of a hurry to care, letting them stress themselves to the point of near-death as you just try to get the morning’s chores over and done with. Leaving the barndoors open, you jump the fence and hurry to check that the sprinklers didn’t spontaneously combust during the night, and that the bugs haven’t committed a coup while you were gone. When you turn, you see Jolene staring at you, entirely unamused by your franticness.

It doesn’t deter you. You inspect every single area, checking off the remaining chores along the way. There were some rocks you’d begun marking down on a map to be carried off in the near future so you can clear the next part of the land. Hopefully expand in time for your next project to be ready to be set up. For now, though, that isn’t where your focus is. When it nears noon you jump in the shower and rush into town.

The waiting room is empty, Maru either on her lunch break or not working today. If the latter’s the case, it means they have no scheduled clients. You tiptoe down the corridor, listening against the door to the examination room/office before allowing yourself to knock on the door. Your heart is beating wildly against your chest, jumping into a higher gear when his surprised but muffled voice calls out. “Come in?”

Jaw hanging and eyes almost falling out of his head, he scrambles to stand when he realises its you. His eyes raking down your form, you take the moment to celebrate internally. Never doubt the magical properties of a sundress. Remembering himself and the state of his office, his head starts swinging back and forth between his cluttered workspace and the curves of your chest before he turns to his desk. He attempts to gather the papers and put the caps back on the pens, but he ends up dropping half of the stuff he touches, stuttering apologies under his breath. Calmly, you walk towards him just as he ducks down to retrieve the stuff from the ground. You crouch down to help him. Unfortunately, you just shock him further. The flustered man springs up and promptly bangs his head against the underside of his desk, forcing him back down the ground. With his eyes and teeth clenched, you reach out to take the papers from him while he deals with- whatever is going on right now. Ignoring the shaking of your own hands, you guide him up by the elbow and into his chair. By then his look is much more embarrassed than pained.

“Sorry.”

You huff. “The tag on the dress only warned me against using high heat. Not that it would send doctors into cardiac arrest.” Now it’s your turn to shuffle the papers, though with a much less manic air about you.

Gentle fingers grab your own, turning your gaze back down to the smiling man. “I’m happy to see you.”

A sigh of relief leaves you. “You are?”

He places your hand over his chest, his eyes twinkling from more than the fluorescent lights. Pressing your hand flat down over his shirt, you feel a wild beat that matches your own. “I am.”

The plan that had been forming in your head since last night has been carelessly thrown out the window. Nothing has gone the way you expected it to, yet you find that you’re more than pleased with where you ended up anyway. His hands caress your captive one, and the happiness from his validation morphs into something different. Perhaps ‘reverts’ is the better word; for this intensity and warmth swirling in your abdomen hasn’t left you since yesterday. Since two days ago. Since the last time you were in this position.

His eyes fall to your parting lips. “You know,” you begin, startling the quiet tension building up around you. “I keep dreaming about the last time we were like this.”

Fingers tighten around your own. “You do?”

You nod. “Except,” you tilt your head playfully, moving in between his legs. As expected, one of the hands holding yours hostage leaves its post, urgently taking a spot on the back of your dress covered thigh once it’s close enough.

“Except?” He urges you to continue.

“It ended quite differently. In my dream.” You claim his shoulder with your free hand, sliding it along until it finds the side of his neck and jaw. 

He massages the back of your thigh. “Tell me. How it ends.”

You look up, pretending to think about it. “Well, obviously, we weren’t interrupted. Nope, no other clients came in that day at all. We were all alone, with all the time in the world. Though you kissed me as if the opposite were true.”

His chest raises and falls faster, attention rapt on you and your words as his hand travels higher. 

Your lips have slowly made their descend towards his. Each puff of air offered eagerly to the other as you both claim another centimeter separating you. “You take off my shirt and kiss your way down my chest. In my dream, I can almost feel your bites against my skin. The way you treat it as if it’s yours.” You don’t think he realises that he’s whined slightly when your lips lightly touch his as you speak against them. “As if I’m yours.”

A hand lands on the back of your head, pulling you through the breath of air between you and onto his lips. The one on your thigh moves up to your ass, digging into the softness purposefully. Not at all like a teenager that hopes you won’t realise what he’s doing and push him off. Harvey takes and gives with his touches, enjoying the feel and manipulating your body against his.

From above you control the tempo. You tease him by pulling back a little, enjoying the thrill of him chasing after you with a low growl. When you do it again, he abruptly stands, the chair rolling back and banging against the wall. You let him go, watching him as you back away. He herds you towards the exam table, colliding with you the moment you’ve jumped up. The hand on your ribcage slides around and cups one of your breasts while the other takes possession of your throat, moving your head as he wants it. He thumbs your nipple, and a soft whine leaves you. His lips wrench away from yours and he watches you with hooded dark eyes, his hair a mess from how you’ve held him. “S-sorry.”

You frown, panting. “Why?” The word is barked in confusion.

He too frowns, as if he’s forgotten. “I get kind of- kind of… demanding.” Your hands begin their perusal of his arms, squeezing their way up and behind to his back. His head sways down towards yours before he catches himself.

“I’m fine with demanding. I’m good with demanding.”

“Yeah?”

“Harvey?”

He swallows and nods eagerly.

You put on of your hands over the one still holding your breast, moving his fingers for him. “If there’s anything I’m not okay with, I’ll say ‘red’. Now kiss me again before I go take care of this myself.”

His pupils blow and his head swoops back down to yours. You’re ready to meet him in a kiss, but his lips dodge yours, landing instead on your neck. You gasp out a moan, pulling him in further as he focuses on the sensitive spot there. On reflex, your hips begin moving, searching for his. Each lick and kiss are as if given directly to your clit. His hand continues its manipulation of your nipple, the other one joining to take up the neglected one. Colours dance on the inside of your eyelids as they fall closed. Blindly, your hands take up the very difficult task of ripping his shirt from his slacks, desperate to find skin. Hands skimming to the front, you feel the sensitive muscles of his abdomen trembling at your touch before his hips surge against it. Your nails scrape over the bulge in his pants as you search for the belt buckle. His hips stutter again, and a groan is hissed against your lips. Your fight with the buckle earns you a breathless laugh, which is choked in his throat when you finally make it past the barrier, your hand dipping right in to stroke along his cloth covered length. He bucks into your hand, a hitched whimper drawn over your collarbone as his mouth travels further down.

Suddenly his hands grip at your sides, pulling feverously at your dress. You shift, helping him get the material past your hips. When it finally pools around you on the table, he dives under it, his touches greedy as they feed on every inch of skin available. His long fingers move inwards, his path clear even through the haze of desire clouding your mind. You show him your approval by firming your grip around his cock, smiling into his neck when desperate curses are poured onto your skin.

“You want my fingers?” The offer is spoken with a deep, primal voice. As desperate for you as you are for him. Mindlessly chasing an end to the best kind of suffering. Your hips cant out, searching for the offering. He draws back, his hand clutching your thigh and his head cocked down to search your eyes. You memorise the tension around his eyes and mouth, memorise the way you see the need for you outweighing his need for steady control. It feels as though you’re both going mad. “Sweetheart, use your words.”

You raise up to kiss him, but he quickly grasps hold of your hair at your nape, keeping you away from his addicting lips. Giving in, you try to nod, but you’re locked in place. You huff and let your nails dance over the sensitive skin of his pelvis. “To start with,” you finally manage.

His mouth falls into an amused slant. “Brat.” You don’t care. He could call you every name in the book right now for all you care, for his fingers are finally moving. Fingertips dance on your inner thigh, exploring the softness there before finally – finally – landing on the edge of your underwear, teasing the line of the fabric. “You have no idea how much I’ve thought of this. Dreamed of this.” He nips your collarbone with his teeth. “First, I’ll slide into you, feel you come around my fingers. Then, I’ll finally get my mouth on you. Taste that sweetness I’ve been craving directly from the source.”

You nod. Yes, please, all of that, please.

Poised to dive beneath the fabric, you both enjoy this last moment. Hovering on the cliff of satisfaction you’ve denied yourself for so many months. Your hands are holding onto his shirt and his arm, barely able to focus on anything beyond that slow lift of cloth as he slides his fingers down. Both of you holding your breath as he goes to search for your heat.

Three sharp beeps shoot through the fog like arrows. You pull away from each other by a centimeter, looking the other over as if the noises had come from their body. Another three beeps cut down your bubble completely and both of your eyes go to the little plastic device attached to his belt.

“Your pager.” You pant the words, heaving air into your lungs and wiping sweaty hands in the skirt of your dress.

The groan deep in his throat sends another shot of desire through you. Who knew how hot it could be to watch a man debate between possibly leaving someone to die and getting to feel you? At last, he pulls away, scanning the message on the machine before he snatches his phone from the table.

“It’s Doctor Becker, I just got your page.” While he waits for a response, you begin to right your clothes. Lucky for you, there’s a mirror you can use to freshen up a bit. You dap some cold water on your face with a couple of paper towels. The sight of his tense back squashes your attempt to cool off. “Do you need me to meet you, or can you make it to the clinic?” Half turning, he looks regretfully at you before his focus shifts back to the conversation. “I’ll have everything ready by then. See you in a few.” The hard plastic touches the tabletop so carefully. His long fingers releasing the device before going up to wipe over his face. All of his movements mesmerise you.

“Someone fell and may have a broken ankle.”

You nod, forcing all disappointment out of your face. “We’ll pick this back up later.”

His eyes flutter, following you intently as move towards him. You stretch up to give him a kiss on his cheek, his head turning a bit as you begin to drop back down. You both hover there, tempted to fall right back in. You squeeze his arm where you’re supporting yourself against him, unable to stop yourself from touching him further.

This really is madness.

“See you tonight?”

“Yes.” You barely get the question out before he responds, the word a shot so startling you both chuckle a little in shock. You shake your head, forcing yourself to move away while he forces himself to stay. When you leave the clinic, you can hear Sam’s moaning and Abby’s scolding somewhere in the distance

***

 

Want to make fate laugh? Tell her your plans.

That’s your most recurring thought that night, as you speed to and from tables trying to get everything done on an unusually busy Monday night. When Emily had asked – begged – you to take her shift for the night, you’d comforted yourself with the knowledge that at least it would be an easy one. Nope. It appeared so that everyone was still high off Flower Festival weekend and had tons more discuss. Not that you aren’t enjoying the strands of gossip you overhear as you move from one table to the next, catching words and surprising recounts between pours and orders.

It seems Maru had been given a 25-minute lecture on the importance of fish care and honesty, before Demetrius could be lured away with a drink and a look from Robin. She keeps trying to bash away the teasing comments as she downs another drink, scowling somewhere across the pub.

Lewis had been spotted wearing a dark red lipstick as he was walking home. People make kissy faces behind his back now.

And the one piece of information that sat with you the longest – Shane had attended. You hadn’t seen him that night – or any other night in a while. Things have been icy between the two of you, awkward to the point of pain when you tried to move past it, making it hard to reconcile properly. But a shot of guilt works its way through you anyway, and you promise yourself to make up with him before the week’s end. You’ve never had a brother, never had anyone who was cut from the same cloth and sewn with the same stitches, but you’re sure Shane is the closest you’ll ever get to having one, and you’re not letting that go. Despite your wounded pride.

It's hard, learning the balance and dynamics of friendships. How each one requires something different than the other, and how much and little you can ask or be asked of the person. Taking this shift tonight though was a no-brainer. Emily really needed the help, asking in a way so mystical you felt it was your divine purpose to remove all obstacles and allow her to complete her quest. And with all of the machines you’ve been looking at online, you really need the money. You’ve been toying with the idea of making your own products from all the produce you get from your farm. Something like mayonnaise and cheese from the eggs and milk. Or making wine from the fruit of the trees you’ve recently dug out of the jungle that is your yard.

These dreams keep you so engrossed, the shift flies by as well as the faces and conversations. Moving behind the bar with the glasses, you get the washer started, smacking the door shut and looking up and out over the pub. You almost jump out of your skin when you find Harvey leaning over the bar, smiling adorably at you.

You brace yourself against the edge of the bar with your hands, looking around quickly before returning a smirk. “Hey.”

“Hi.” He mouths. Looking casually to his right, you curiously follow his line of sight to the jukebox. Catching your eye again he shakes his head and nods more pointedly somewhere next to the box.

Oh.

The storage room.

Harvey sees understanding dawn in your eyes, sees the battle as you consider the possible consequences versus the possible rewards. Eventually you nod, holding up five fingers and go back to work, not looking up again until he’s out of sight.

You can barely hear the orders of people, blaming it on exhaustion and the not that loud music. In reality, your heart is a drum in your ears, your thoughts and memories whispers in between. What has he planned? What will he do? The suspense heats you up way before he has even had a chance to put his hands on you. Though you know that you don’t have time to do much, you doubt you’ll need even five minutes in your current state.

Dumping a tray on the bar, you head towards the storage room trying not to look like someone who’s hurrying towards the promise of an orgasm. Fighting against looking over your shoulder, you slip inside with a big smile. Your eyes catch on Harvey, and you open your mouth to speak when he widens his eyes at you, shaking his head once.

Huh?

As you move further into the room, you see Elliot who’d been hidden behind some of the barrels, and he’s looking right at you with a large, oblivious smile. “Farmer-girl! Joining us for an intimate discussion? I was just getting the wise doctor’s feedback on some of my recent most haunting works.”

You force your body language to relax. “Another time, Elliot. I’m looking for a corkscrew I seem to have misplaced.”

Elliot turns around himself a few times. “I can’t seem to spot any, but Harvey and I will take a good gander before we leave. If you’ll allow us to trespass in here for a few more minutes?”

You wave them off. “Don’t tell Gus.”

Off all the hard things you’ve had to do today, leaving without giving Harvey a look has to be in the top 10. You haven’t talked about what the thing between you two means yet, but you both seem to have agreed that it’s not other people’s business yet. For some reason that makes you a little huffy as you go back to work. As promised, Harvey and Elliot make their way out of the storage room and over to one of the tables not ten minutes later, still deep in a discussion that Elliot is clearly leading. With a smile and a shake of your head, you make your way over there.

“Can I get you boys anything?”

“Boys? You hear that, Harvey?”

The doctor shakes his head. “You’re younger than me, Elliot.”

The artist turns back to you, ignoring him. “Two glasses of house red, dearest farmer. How long is Gus holding you tonight?”

You tuck the pen into the pocket of your apron. “I get off in about an hour and a half. Gus likes to close by himself on weekdays.”

“Phenomenal! Join us for a drink after.” Arms splayed out he signals to Harvey to help him in his mission to convince you.

“Not tonight,” you turn to look at Harvey, whose eyes narrow in suspicion when your bright smile focuses on him. “I’m going straight home after this.”

Elliot goes on about something after, but he becomes background noise as you wait for your words to click into place. The crackle over the embers is your sign to turn and bring them their orders.

The minutes tick by slowly. You stay in your hopeful bubble for longer than you thought possible for a cynical person like you. But then the doubts come. The replaying of what has been said and what hasn’t, looking over every look and touch trying to find clear answers. Eventually, something pokes at the bubble, deflating it with every passing glance at an increasingly drunk Maru. Swaying, she stands and makes her way to the other side of a bar, to where Leah sits alone for the first time all night. You watch from behind the bar, ready to intervene in case Maru has become uncharacteristically unwise. She reaches out and pokes the redhead in the shoulder, causing her to look up at Maru. Holding your breath, you wait.

“I love your boots,” she says.

Leah gives her a mega-watt smile and gestures at the chair next to her. Over the course of your last hour, you witness them falling deeper and deeper into drunken giggles, discussing everything between heaven and earth. Leah listens with wide eyes as Maru slurs through the mechanics of her latest invention, and Maru nods frantically as Leah describes her vision for her collection of statues and sculptures. It seems that any animosity between them has been drowned beneath the fourth beer. Out of the corner of your eye, you even catch Leah leaning over to whisper something in Maru’s ear before taking her hand and leading her outside.

You head over and interrupt the discussion between Harvey and Elliot.

“Are you going home now?” Harvey says in faux nonchalant voice, barely able to hide the hopeful spike in his tone.  

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep your expression in check. “I am. Hope you boys have a good night.” Waving at them as you pass around Elliot to get to the door, you shoot Harvey a smile which he drinks in, eyes building up an intensity you can’t wait to unleash.

Zipping up your coat, you make your way down the path when giggles pierce the night, effectively halting your approach. To your left on the bench where you’d usually each lunch with Maru and Penny, you see them both leaning into each other, playing with brown and red locks.

What the hell?

However, its a much stronger voice that leaves the redhead – not at all similar to the one you’ve come to associate with your bookish friend. Maru leans forward, catching herself on the back on the bench as she strokes a hand down the side of Leah’s face. “You’re so pretty.”

A soft sigh leaves Leah, the moonlight soaking her dark red hair as she leans into the touch of what you thought was an enemy. “You’re pretty too.”

The pub door opens behind you, and with a frantic wave you silence Harvey. You’re about to move on and leave the two to their discussion - you would have, if not for the next words leaving Maru, drifting between them on a melancholy wind. “I wish you were a boy.”

Leah pulls back abruptly, letting Maru’s hand slap down onto the wooden seat. A shocked silence descending, heard by everyone but the person who called it forth.

You spring into action. “We’ll get Maru to bed.” The redhead is barely startled by your presence. She meekly nods and allows you to begin carrying off the thankfully helpful Maru. A look at Harvey defrosts him from his spot on the path, and he moves to take the other side of your little friend.

It’s quiet on the way to your house. Heavy with what has just happened, with all of the questions and answers you’re left with. With concern for the two women and the broken pieces trailing you as you finally make it to the wooden steps of the farmhouse. With a nod, Harvey bears the weight of your friend alone while you go to unlock the door. When you turn, you see a look that could just about break your heart. Harvey’s brows furrowed and his eyes wide – helpless. He looks helpless as he holds what is still just a little girl to him. Taking her under his wing since he arrived in the Valley, Harvey has watched Maru grow out of the awkward early teenage years. Watched her become unsure of herself, then sure, and now unsure again. From what you’ve seen over the past three seasons, Harvey has always been ready to support Maru through whatever issues she’s been having. But with this? He doesn’t seem to have a plan. No perfectly practiced steps. No tools at his disposal to guide her.

Together you put her in your bed, and you lead Harvey outside, closing the door behind you. His eyes are somewhere over your head, his thoughts a hundred thousand kilometres away. With a cool hand against his, you slowly bring him back to you. “She has to figure this out on her own.”

Dark eyes search yours. If you had a strong porch light, you would perhaps be able to see the honey hiding in there. The whiskey swirling, mixing, a tornado of emotions warring inside those intelligent eyes. “We’re a small town but not intolerant. Far from it. I don’t understand.”

You shake your head. “There could be a million reasons, or maybe only one, but it’s not our place to do anything but be there for her.”

His fingers clench around yours.

There’s an ache inside you. A need to coax him out of the brooding mood. “I’m sorry.”

Questioning eyes find yours.

“It looks like you aren’t getting any tonight.”

The light slowly seeps in through the cracks in his eyes.

“We could go at it in the hay, but I don’t think Jolene would approve.”

A lip twitch. “Oh?”

You shake your head. “She’s always had a crush on you. Poor girl. Wouldn’t want to break her heart.” You give him a knowing look. “It sours the milk.”

The huff that leaves him feels as good as winning the lottery.

“But. Reality check. This spontaneity thing? It isn’t working for us.”

He shakes his head with an amused smile tilting his lips, letting a hand reach up to scratch at his neck. “Clearly.” His eyes widen, as if he’s realised something, before an embarrassed look brings his gaze away from yours.

“What?”

He shrugs.

You lean into him a little, enjoying the way the red in his cheeks spreads down to the top of his jacket collar. “You’ve had an idea, tell me.”

He mumbles something.

“What?”

Inhaling deeply, he squares his shoulders and forces himself to look you in the eye, the moon a spotlight down on him as he sends your heart galloping. “Will you go out on a date? With me?”

You go up on your toes, pulling him down to meet you halfway. With your lips gracing over his, a word wrapped in happiness, hope, fear and promise spills from you. “Yes.”

Notes:

Whoops. Guess we’ll have see how the date goes!
Poor Maru. Poor Leah. Poor Penny What - who said that?

Chapter 19: First Dates

Summary:

“Ready?” He asks, like a giddy kid.
“Ready,” you whisper.

 Maru blinks her eyes open, watching the ceiling. You let your weight sink into the side of the bed, letting her know you’re there. She rolls onto her side, facing the wall, answering your first question before you’ve even asked it. With no other place to start, you voice it anyway. “Do you remember last night?”

Her hair ruffles against the pillow as she nods.

“Are you okay?”

This nod is more hesitant.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

No response. There’s a tension in her that you wish you could help her relieve.

“I care about you, no matter what. And I’m here for you, whether you need to talk or to just silently hang out here for the rest of the day.” You wait. “I’m making pancakes.”

Slowly, she sits up. The cover falling down to her waist as she firmly avoids your gaze. You take her hand anyway, holding it while she finds the strength she needs. When she motions to get up, you leave her to wash up while you prepare breakfast. It takes about three pancakes before she speaks again, her eyes firmly planted on her emptying plate.

“Penny and I have been friends since we were little. Played together every single day. Sebastian is older and he ran with Sam and Abby, so it was mostly just the two of us.” You finish chewing your bite and lay down the fork. The clink of metal on porcelain startling her out of her brief pause. “One time, we wanted to play a scientist couple. You see, I’d read so many books about married people developing and inventing all sorts of things together – before I realised it was mostly the woman pulling all the weight. Anyways, my dad comes in and gives us some juice boxes and snacks. My hands are full, so Penny holds the drink for me. I say something like, ‘thanks, baby’ and hammer on.”

A sinking feeling starts in your chest.

Maru clears her throat. “Penny wasn’t invited to dinner that night, which was unusual. She always ate with us if she’d been playing with me all day. While mom walked her home, dad sat me down. He wanted-“. Her voice trembles, stumbles over the words and memorise intermingling. So far away yet as close as yesterday. “He thought that Penny and I were- he wanted to make sure we weren’t a real couple. Wanted to make sure I knew that.”

Palm up, you set your hand in the middle of the table. Maru places her hand in yours, clutching it like a lifeline in a storm. Perhaps she is in the middle of a storm right now, the wind whipping her hair around and shutting out all other sounds but the screaming of the current. 

“It wasn’t Elliot’s friendship with Leah that made you hesitate in accepting him.” It’s not a question.

She shakes her head.

Leah had been a different kind of obstacle than Maru had originally claimed. Her anger at herself spilling over onto the beautiful sculpturer. You’d had your suspicions, but it all made sense now. “Do you know what you’re going to do about it?”

Maru nods, wiping away an escaping tear. “Yes.”

You accept her simple answer, trusting that she’ll do the best she can. She’s a brilliant young woman, who you’ve never seen back down from a challenge. No problem too great for her. She’ll ask for help when she needs it, now that she knows she can.

Like you do?

You shake away the thought.

***

 

 As a society, there are sounds we have been trained to react to – inadvertently or otherwise. Sounds that spike our heartrates and force our attention out of whatever it’s been engaged in. The sirens of an ambulance, a firetruck. The air-raid sirens they test once a year but still send most people into a two-second blind panic before they manage to remember the date. A baby’s cry, a car pulling up, a notification on the phone, footsteps up the stairs, a car backfiring because it sounds like a gunshot, someone calling your name from down the hall, the cabinet being unlocked, a gunshot, a phone ringing. A doorbell.

You stand in front of the bathroom mirror, fighting that one stubborn piece of hair back before you bravely march towards the sound. Heartbeat running faster towards the door than you can sanely allow your body to do. The cold metal of the handle a relief against your sweaty palm as you pull it, letting the door swing open between the two of you. It’s like the Flower Formal all over again, revealing yourself to each other and standing absolutely mute as greedy eyes trace over every centimeter available. Harvey is wearing one of his finer dress shirts, a jacket, and his black slacks with polished shoes – a step up from his office attire in quality but not as shocking as his suit. It’s comforting all while stirring the desire in you. You’re sure, hoping, he feels the same as his eyes finish their stroll down your legs, meeting your gaze once more.

“Hey, doc,” you hope he doesn’t hear how breathless you are.

A lazy smile lets the words flow from him in a way that makes your hands tremble. “How are you, sweetheart.”

“Good, good, come in, I’ll just get my purse.”

He wipes one of his hands in his slacks before shifting the item he’s holding to do the same to the other. That’s the first time you notice the flowers in his hands. There’s a sudden rushing in your chest. Harvey follows your eyeline down, as if he’s forgotten what he’s holding.

“Is that for me?” You manage to say around a ball in your throat.

“Yes.” He hands it to you. A bouquet. “It’s from Emily. She asked me to bring it as thanks for taking her shift.”

With cold hands and a prickling in your face, you accept the flowers and quietly set them up in a vase. It seems Emily has done most of the work regarding cutting and arranging. Bitter disappointment bites you as you set the vase on your dining table, which you try to keep to yourself as best as possible. It’s your first date, it would be extreme if he had already gotten a bouquet for you. It would also involve announcing to everyone around you that you are going out. Something you have apparently agreed not to do. At least not until you’ve had a little trial run – the object of tonight.

Harvey offers his arm with a cheeky grin. You roll your eyes but accept it anyway, allowing him to lead you out into your mysterious evening.

First stop is the pub. Harvey has reserved a booth, decorated with a white linen cloth you know is from Gus’ private storage, with small restaurant candles creating a cosy private space. The scene makes your chest tight and you’re unable to speak the first minute as you settle in. It’s Harvey watching you nervously that at last pulls the words from your full throat. “It’s lovely, Harvey.” He sits up straighter, eyes lighting up as he hands you one of the menus. You flip it over once. “These aren’t our menus.”

“We’re offering a special dinner package tonight.” Gus appears from the void evidently, looking down at you two, and adorning a fancy apron. Well, fancy in the sense that it’s the only one he has that isn’t splattered with stains. You turn back to the menu, swallowing subtly and quickly picking something before handing the card to your boss. Harvey does the same, watching you intently as Gus leaves to prepare your order.

“Are you sure this is okay?”

Oh Harvey. Your sweet little doctor, always annoyingly able to see right through you. You reach out and grab one of his hands, both of you simply watching your thumb trace over his knuckles for a moment. “It’s been a while since anyone has planned anything for me, Harvey. I’m a little… overwhelmed, but I’m glad we’re doing this. Thank you.” His fingers catch yours and return the soothing traces.

“Hey, you guys!” Hands are immediately snatched back as you face the person standing at the end of your table.

Harvey is the first to find his manners. “Hello, Caroline. Pierre.”

Her eyes flicker between you. “Having a fun night just the two of you?”

He scratches at his neck. “As usual.” You bite back a flinch.

Caroline looks back at Pierre, her words trailing behind them as they move away. “Gosh, I could use a night out with my friends soon too.”

“We were with them only a couple of nights ago,” Pierre says, surprised.

“Yes, but I mean a night without you also there, honey.”

You clamp a hand over your mouth as you share a baffled look with Harvey, trying to contain your laughter.

“Savage,” he whispers.

You snort behind your hand. Harvey shakes his head and fidgets with the cutlery, a smirk curling the edge of his lips. As the seconds tic, nothing more is said. Unspoken words hang over you as you watch the scene back in your head. How quickly he pulled his hand back, his response to Caroline’s questioning. Why weren’t you telling people again? You let your hands rest on the table, but he doesn’t reach for them again. The food is served with some wine, but you’re unable to appreciate it. At some point Harvey finds a topic for you to talk about, one of your usual discussions that you can barely make yourself participate in. The words between you are stilted, the movements performative. The scene is nice, but so unlike the both of you. Nothing is flowing as smoothly as you’ve become used to.

When you were self-proclaimed “just friends”, you would be sitting on the same side of the booth, leaning into each other as much as you could. Laughter would come easily as well as the words. But now, it’s suddenly different. New lines have been drawn over the old ones, and you don’t know why or where. All you know is that it makes you anxious. You feel awful for letting all of it get to you, when Harvey has gone out of his way to set this up. He had to have told Gus about you two to make it happen, so it’s not like he’s keeping it a secret. But you can’t shake the fact that maybe he’s regretting it. That the chase was perhaps more exciting than finally having you.

You don’t notice that you’ve stopped eating, or that he has as well. One moment you simply blink and you’re back at the table, lifting your eyes to find him staring at you across the vast land of the old wood. Your breath is shallow, and you force your face to smooth out every worried line. He stands, sliding out of his side of the booth and leaving you in the once intimate universe of the tall-backed booth. You don’t wait long. Soon enough he comes back with a filled box and an empty one. He scoops up the rest of your food into the empty one and you watch with quiet resignation. The night is over. You’ve ruined this. You ruin everything.

Slowly, you pull your purse over your shoulder, getting ready to rise when he grips your hand, pulling you up quickly. You look into his face, seeing a familiar reassuring expression on him. Air fills your lungs again, the colours slowly return from where they had begun crawling away to, and your fingers clench around his.

“Ready?” He asks like a giddy kid.

“Ready,” you whisper.

Next to him, he drags you along into the night. With a quick look behind you, you catch Gus saluting you before the door closes. Harvey takes you down south, over the lovely, lonely bridge suddenly alive under the streetlights, replacing the bad memories that was first made under them. Wordlessly, you follow him down to the beach. He pauses so you can remove your shoes, smoothly swooping in to carry both pairs along with everything else. You huff nervously at the sight, almost hypnotised by this slightly manic side of him.

Stopping at the apparently perfect spot, he lets his jacket fall to the ground and presents it as a seat for you.

“What about you?”

He shakes his head wordlessly and you simply sit down in the dark. You spend a moment looking out over the waves, enjoying the light glow from the bridge and Willy’s hut while Harvey sets your stuff down and settles in. You inhale deeply, letting the ocean air fill your lungs and slide through your tense muscles.

“Do you remember our little game?” His words rumble against your side where he’s pressed against you, arms casually over his knees while you hug your own. You follow his line of sight into the night sky.

The memory pulls at cheeks. “A star and half of the moon?” You feel his nod rather than see it.

“I never did manage to get that moon for you.” His words contemplative.

“Lucky for us both. These deep dark secrets would send you running for the hills.”

The joke falls flat, and his words leave him in a more serious tone than you had expected. “I know a bit about how you’re feeling. I have some… shadow filled corners as well. But I’m not going to run. Whatever it is, we can talk through it.”

“Even if I was the owner of Joja corp.?”

He inhales deeply, sighing as if he’s really battling with his morals. You huff at the performance, which feeds his smile even further. “It would be a conflict of interest, but I’m sure I could persuade you to find the light.”

Your brows reach for your hairline. “Oh? How?”

Turning his face your way for the first time since you sat down, through the darkness you see his eyes fall to your lips as he gradually leans in. The hand closets to you rises, framing the side of your face, cradling it so gently it’s a huge contrast to the promise whispered into the abruptly tense air. “I have my ways.”

Relishing in the drumroll as your lips hover over each other, you can’t help but push him a little. “What if I brought you to the dark side using the same methods?”

Lips brushing, he exhales shakily. “I’d have to pray that if you don’t have mercy on me, then some other god will.”

“You make it sound like you wouldn’t enjoy it.”

“Oh, I’d enjoy it. I’m sure. But I can only imagine one outcome: me, ruined. Already I’m falling without a light or- or guidance. Do you know how hard it is to focus at work? Every time the door opens I hope it’s you. When you give me coffee with that little smile I burn myself with a sip just to focus on something else, so I don’t give in and beg you. Beg you to give me another one of those smiles, a laugh, a tease. Beg for you to touch me, to let me touch you.” The sensation of his fingers against your face forces the air from your lungs.

“You were shy about it in there.”

He pulls back a little, searching your eyes. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Eyes having adjusted to the darkness; you can see the little insect crawling in the sand between you as you look down. It struggles through the ever-shifting grains, but somehow it’s not deterred from its pursuit of the water. “We haven’t really talked about what all this means. If we want others to know, when it’s not even official.”

Pinching your chin, he guides your gaze back on his. “Our friends can be very meddlesome, borderline destructive at times.” He pauses at your giggles, his gaze softening. “But I’ll take all of that with a brave face. If I knew that you would be fine with it as well.”

Looking from one eye to the other, you run over the words in your head. “My past isn’t finished with me, Harvey. I’m worried I’m going to disappoint you - or hurt you.”

“We’ll face it when it comes.” He doesn’t comfort you with fake assurances that it will all be alright. But he’s steadfast in his belief that whatever it is, you’ll be able to handle it. Together. It’s infectious, this optimism that has either persevered throughout the challenges in his life, or that he has built himself with scarred hands. Where your walls have been carved from pessimism and expectations of suffering, meant to keep anything and anyone out, Harvey has taken it all and made a home where everyone can stop by and be shielded for a while. But your way is protecting him too. You can’t warn him without possibly losing everything, but if you don’t warn him, he might end up even more hurt. You can only imagine what would happen if you were discovered in the Valley, and what would happen to Harvey if the rumours of your relationship reached the people looking for you.

“I’m not as brave as I make myself seem.”

“Be scared with me, then. With us. You’re not alone.”

In your chest, a feeling is swelling, threatening to overflow, to spill onto the cooled sand beneath you and stain it with everything you are and has made you this way.

“Harvey?”

He makes a sound in the back of his throat as he tugs some of your hair behind your ear.

You pause, licking your lips and smiling devilishly at how the movement immediately brings his attention down to them. “Take me home.”

Notes:

* Some important conversations were touched (and not really resolved) but it was good that they learned they don’t have to fit into boxes to fit into this “new” stage of their relationship.
* I’m gonna go back to writing the next chapters – I’ll see you over there soon. It’s going to be fun.

Chapter 20: A standing ovation

Summary:

A good-night kiss

Notes:

This is a smut chapter. If this is not your thing, you won’t miss anything important to the plot if you skip it.
There is *very* brief implied past bad sexual experiences, but nothing explicit or mention of SA.

Ready?

The walk home is quick, but also terribly and insufferably long at the same time. The tension is ramped up by every brush and movement. The two of you a bomb ready to go off. Any impact threatens the carefree exterior you’re trying to fool everyone with. There’s a rushing in your ears. Every dark tree pulls at you, tempting you to drag him against one of them. Your breath comes quickly, not just from trying to keep up with Harvey’s long legs eating up the distance between you and the bed as quickly as he can without outright running. Sometimes you’ll catch the other’s eye and chuckle nervously, unable to procure any topics of conversations, your minds occupied with only one thing.

When you make it to the entrance to your grounds, you pull at his arm, forcing him to slow down. Instead, you move in front of him, guiding him as you walk backwards to your veranda. The hunger grows in his gaze, his focus honing in on you in a way that sends shots of desire through you, the heat pulsing and following every inhale and exhale he forces himself to take. Though you have him by the hand you know that it’s not what’s keeping him so in tuned with every step you take. You dance on the edge of what you can tease him with, finding ways you can provoke what you saw in the woods that one time. What you’ve seen hints of since. A trait that would be frightening in every other man, but not in your sweet doctor. A doctor who takes an aerobics class with the ladies of the town. Who humors George and helps Evelyn. Who listens to Maru as she gets paid to sass him from behind the counter of his clinic. Who searches for Shane every time he falls off the face of the Earth. Who thinks that no one considers him a real friend because of his occupation. Your doctor, who cares so deeply, he makes you feel safe in every way and makes it possible for your deeper sides to come out.

The side, for example, that bites its lip and smiles deviously up at him as you take a few steps up your veranda, leaving him at the bottom to look slightly up at you. His hands flexing at his sides as he waits, patiently.

“Well.” You say.

“Well.” He mirrors.

“You know, if you’re too tired, we can reschedule.”

Unamused, he stares at you.

“I know how it is with you elders and staying up past eight-“ the last words evaporate from your mind. What you had expected, the reaction you had worked for, is not what you got. Harvey brings his hands to your face, holding it like he might hold a baby chick. Framing your face with his long fingers, half of them curling into your nape. In this position he doesn’t have to raise your face to meet his. He can lean in, his eyes staying on yours the entire way, without fatiguing his neck.

“I love it when you tease,” he begins, the words whispered strained between you, betraying his need for you. “And I know you like it when I take. But.” You’re practically panting against his lips as they brush over yours, feeding you his heated words. “You can ask for me, sweetheart. I’ll give you anything you want. Just ask for what you want. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you,” the words leave you in a rush, as easily as your next breath. With fever, your own hands curl around the collar of his shirt, teasing where cloth meets skin – right where his pulse beats hard enough to feel. “You, Harvey Becker. Whatever you can give me.”  

He captures your lips in a slow dance that lures you deeper and deeper. Building this sweet, horrible, all-consuming feeling. Tighter his fingers curl where they hold you, harder his mouth meets yours. You break apart only long enough to heave in air before you collide once more. Wine and a taste so distinctly him is given to you over and over, his tongue claiming yours in a way that reminds you of writhing bodies and eager movements.

“Open the door, sweetheart,” he practically moans against your lips. You start backwards, taking him with you up the stairs and to the front door. You swirl around, fumbling with your keys as he lightly brushes the hair on the back of your neck, leaving his favourite spot open. You almost drop your keys at the first minimal swipe of his tongue over your heating skin.

“G-god, Harvey. Give me a sec.”

He chuckles darkly but allows you your moment to insert the key with less shaking. Barely. Because now that his attention is no longer on your neck, it has shifted to other parts of you. Eager hands travel the length of you, molding against your curves and lines, bordering on sinful as he skims over the parts most hungry for his attentions.

The sound of the door unlocking is met with the same enthusiasm as if they were the gates to heaven. He pushes open from above you, walking you both inside and slamming it shut behind you.

You flinch. Barely. Not even bothered. You reach for him again, but he gives you none of the heat he’s been building to. Instead, he lets his lips glide over your cheek, the hairs of his mustache tickling against your ear as he parts his lips. “You look beautiful.”

“I know.”

He huffs against your ear, the air over your skin threatening to buckle your knees. “You can say no. At any time, if it gets to be too much. If you want me to stop, I will.”

“So can you.”

Pulling back, he catches your eyes. “I mean it.”

You sigh, allowing yourself to calm down a little to give him the reassurance he’s seeking. “We already talked about this, Harvey. Safe word is ‘red’”.

He scoffs and turns his head away, looking out of the window and into the night. You’d have thought he was annoyed, if not for the flush dipping down beneath his collar. “I want,” you begin, waiting for him to look back down at you. “To see how far that blush goes. I want to lick its path down your body.” You pop a button on his shirt, watching for his reaction. His hooded eyes and parted lips your sign to go on. “I want to hear more of those lovely sounds you make.”

“Sounds?” His brows are lightly furrowed, but something is telling you that he’s barely listening as you free another button. Long hands have begun their perusal up and down your ribs, framing the body beneath the now claustrophobia inducing fabric.

You nod emphatically. “Sounds.” Your focus shifts to the next button, revealing the next area of skin. A light layer of curls decorates his broad chest. Unable to stop yourself, you claw right down the middle of it, thoroughly enjoying the trembling beneath your nails. A slight sound leaves him.

“What? What’s that smirk for?” He attempts to clear his throaty voice with a cough.

“You whined.”

He gapes at you. “I- I did not whine.”

“You whined.”

He gathers both your hands in one of his, holding them between you as he pulls you in with the other. “Right, you’ve had enough fun now. My turn.” And then he takes your mouth in a bruising kiss. Lips colliding in a fierce fight against a common enemy: the space between you. He moves you backwards, his goal clear as you narrowly avoid the bedpost jamming into your back. And run straight into other things.

The cat jumps up and puts a claw directly into you, hooking its devil claw under your skin like you’re the prize at a fishing derby. You shriek, jumping away from everybody and clenching your imaginary fists on your ethics regarding animal cruelty.

“OW! You- stop- Baby!” Bending down you grab it at the scruff before it has a chance to get its teeth on its prey. “You can’t catch a leaf, but you can ride a human like a mechanical bull?” Now you’re standing awkwardly bent over, staring down a cat who’s eyeing your shin like a turkey leg and fighting against your grip with all its grown kitten might.

A throat clears somewhere above and behind you.

“Enjoying the view?” You huff.

A chuckle. “Do you want me to- I can get it.” He’s shifting back and forth in a physical debate with himself, afraid of overstepping in a parental situation.

“Please.”

He swoops down and declaws your leg in a swift brush of his hand against its limbs. Taking over your hold on its scruff, he has the cat locked against his chest in no time – and purring.

“I could handle it when it happened with Shane and the chicken. I even bore it pretty well when Jas tamed Jolene. But now you too? Is everyone better at handling animals than me?”

The man doesn’t answer, too focused on stroking the white fur of the soft kitten who could suddenly never possibly hurt anything. “I’d like to put her outside for tonight, if that’s alright.” His gaze flickers up from the animal to meet yours and understanding dawns on you quickly. You nod eagerly and watch him stalk towards the door, his steps measured and calm, sending your heart even further into overdrive. You head towards the kitchen area, opening the fridge and cupboards you find two glasses and a jug of water.

“Would you like some?”

The door closes behind you, but other than the few steps to find you, he doesn’t move any closer. “No.” He clears his throat again. “No thank you.” It somehow makes it worse. That he stands there watching you as you gulp down some water. You’re so close to finally making it, a part of you worries it’ll end up being as disappointing as other times have been. Of course, those people never set your core ablaze. You never felt them like you feel him now. How you feel his approach when you set the empty glass on the counter, feel him like a buzzing of electricity in your blood. A warm drink setting your body on fire, slowly, leisurely, traveling through your veins. He comes up behind you, his large chest against your back. Lips parting on a gasp, you feel him take hold on either side of your shirt, gripping it, curling his fingers into the fabric. The fervour in his movements, in his panting sinful breath against the side of your neck, undo you. You lift your arms accepting his silent request, and he wastes no time liberating you of the material.

You don’t turn in his arms just yet. Instead, you wait. Let him take the lead on this for now. A shaking hand finds it way down your shoulder to your middle, brushing over the trembling muscles there. “Nervous?” He breathes the question down your ear.

A sharp intake of breath and a cocky grin his way. “In the best way.”

His hand finds the top of your trousers, brushing against the band until he finally settles on the button. You’re both panting, both staring at his hand as he pops the fabric over the little metal and lets his hand dive beneath. Firmly following the line of you, he curls his hand against your underwear just over your heat. His long fingers brushing intentionally up and down until he locates what he’s looking for, and then he slides beneath the last layer. Two large fingers frame on either side of your clit and begin their true exploration. Every sound, movement, and flutter of eyelashes makes him adjust until he, sooner than you’d have thought possible, finds the right pressure and rhythm. You cry out, knees threatening to give out under you just as a large arm clamps down in front of your chest. Your arms cling to it, and you allow yourself to be moved closer to the counter to be supported against it, even as you fall back into him.

You mutter nonsense, some of it his name and most of it curses. Once in a while there’s an amused huff of air against your ear when you must have said something particularly funny, but he doesn’t stop. His fingers relentless against your cunt. When you shift against him impatiently, that’s when he gives the last piece you need. With his palm he continues his manipulations of your clit, but his fingers have found their new target. First, one finger experimentally enters you, and you release a long low moan at finally being filled. He moans with you directly into your ear and you instinctively clench around him, transforming his moan into a groan. The finger leaves you and comes back with a second digit, filling you even further. Nails bite into his forearm where he holds you like you’re on a ride in an amusement park, feeling him pump into you slowly but firmly, not letting your body do anything but take him.

“Tight,” he gasps, and you almost come at the desperate, mindless, need in his voice. Against your lower back you feel his hardness pressing against you, which he does an admirable job of not driving into you. For now, you’re the object of his focus. And oh, how wonderful that focus is.

Three. He makes you take three fingers before he finally finds a shred of mercy. Mouth agape, you can barely breathe as he fills you even further than you have been for a really long time. For a second, you almost fight against his hold on you, the sensation overwhelming. He pauses, his fingers curled inside you. “Red?”

You shake your head, gasping. “Green. Go.”

He moves. Pumping those fingers in steady but forceful thrusts. You know that you’re making noises with every thrust, but you can see no reason to keep them to yourself out here more than you already are, gritting your teeth against the sensation climbing in you. He kisses the side of your neck, murmuring sweet praises into your skin as he pushes your body higher and higher.

“So good, you’re doing so good. I can feel you clenching around my fingers. You can come, my good girl. Yes, yes, I can feel you. Come for me, sweetheart.” He curls his fingers slightly and rubs somewhere heavenly.

And so you do. The crescendo reached, there’s nothing left to do but fall. At first, you think it’ll never stop, bordering on fear as you fly and hover in endless white light, before it finally releases you and the lightning runs through you in bursts. He talks to you, but you hear nothing except for a ringing in your ears and the rumble of his voice. He holds you tightly to him as he with slower movements guides you through every pulsing ripping through your body.

At some point, it stops. You find yourself braced against him, panting and sweating, barely able to catch the trembling in his body as he steers you towards the bed. He turns you in his arms, and the concerned furrow evens out a little at the likely satisfied expression on your face. “You okay?”

“Yes.” The word is almost a purr. But it’s as though speaking wakes you. You’re back to where you were before the cat interrupted, and you’re reminded of a task you were very excited about. The buttons on his shirt open a lot quicker than before, but you still take time to lean in and kiss along his chest on the way down. Time to savour every hitch and gasp you coax forth, before his shirt falls open. Hands against his abdomen, you slide up and over his chest until you reach his shoulders to push off his shirt, guiding it down and away from his arms. The whole time he watches you, eyes dark yet still unsure of how far and wild he can go.

It's as if this first orgasm did nothing but make you crave him more. The hollowness inside you demanding more than his fingers. Together you both step out of your shoes and remove your socks, sitting on the edge of the bed. When you’re done, you find him staring at you, waiting, hands opening and closing on his clad thighs – one of them still glistening with your juices. His hair is sticking in every possible direction, his frames sit unevenly on his face, and he looks drugged as he sways towards you again and again before he catches himself. You’re hungry for him. Hungry for his skin and the sounds you’ve barely tasted tonight. Hand clenched against your thigh, you fight the urge to slip it between your legs as you watch him. You need him. Need to see where his weak spots are. Need him desperate for you.

“Lie back.” You command.

The command is soft enough that Harvey has to blink a few times before he obeys it. He shifts and spreads his big body out on your bed, pectorals moving captivatingly under the faint bedside light. 

“You’re so sexy, you know that?”

He scoffs as he adjusts the pillows to support his head.

“I mean it.”

He halts his movements, checking to see if you’re serious. “It’s the aerobics classes,” the soft smile lets you know he’s joking. You sense he’s thankful for the compliment, even if he finds it hard to accept it.

In just your bra and trousers, you begin to crawl to and over him. His smile crumbles immediately. “If only you could see yourself how I see you.” You don’t stop until you’ve straddled him at his hips, splaying your hands out over the art of his body. He may not be a skinny bodybuilder, but he has mass and quiet strength. You see how he disregards the health of his back in favour of lifting unsure patients himself. How he runs often and works out with weights once a week. Though he has gotten in progressively better shape over the past year, none of it affects how attracted you are to him. You’d want to jump him with a beer belly and chicken legs. And though you’d like to pretend you have the high ground right now, the way he subtly moves your body forward a little without your help shows that he could flip you like an omelette if he wanted to. No – right now he wants to be underneath you, curious to see what you’re planning on doing next.

You go to take off his glasses.

“No, wait.” His hands frame yours. You watch him as he finds his words. “I’d like to- if you’re going to- I mean, I-“

“You want to watch me, Harvey?”

He swallows heavily and nods.

Your hands run down his neck to his shoulders, rubbing into the tense flesh as his hands subtly start guiding your hips back and forth over his own. You gasp as his hardened bulge catches on your clit through the fabric, and he moves to sit up, ready to take your mouth in another kiss. With a hand on his chest, you stop him before he reaches his goal. “Then watch.” You remove his hands from you and set them back down on the bed. “Only watch.”

His chest heaves with every inhale and exhale, breathing against a fire matching your own. Watching him unravel is going to be a memory you’ll take with you to treasure on your death bed.

Once your hands finish their perusal of his torso, you lean down, letting your hot breath trace over his skin. You reach the top of his right pectoral before you let yourself land, pressing kisses down to his nipple. You give it a testing nip, watching for his reaction. He gasps and shifts underneath you, trying to rut up into your lifted hips. You click your tongue at him before you dive back in, kissing and sucking at the nub, taking in the feedback from his reactions. Not wanting the other to feel left out, you lift your head to move on. But before you do, you blow cold air over the wet skin.

He groans your name from above, but you don’t acknowledge him as your turn to give the other nipple the same treatment.

“Please,” he moans.

“Please what?” You lick and suck your way down his abdomen.

“Let me touch you, sweetheart.”

Wide eyed and innocent, you give him a curious look. “But I haven’t even started yet.”

His head falls back on a groan, which pulls a devious smile from you. As he fists the covers, you wonder how long he would be able to take this kind of treatment. You nip at the skin on his hip with your teeth, earning your first soft curse which he tries to bite back. The sound of his zipper is loud in your little house, and you both watch entranced as you work the material down his hips and past his ankles. Luckily, he assists you most of the way.

“Tit for tat,” you hear him whisper.

Cheeky bastard. “Not yet.”

“Yes,” he counters.

“No.”

“Yes- ah!” He arches against you when your mouth swoops down to his inner thigh, kissing at the soft skin there. Hips tilted towards you almost unconsciously, it’s as if he’s afraid you can’t tell where he needs you the most.

Poor little doctor.

You move upwards, giving extra attention to the especially sensitive areas until he’s writhing against you, only for you to move on. You reach the leg of his boxer briefs and curiously slide your nails just beneath the edge before you pull them back. Instead, you let them dance on top of the material, gradually coming closer and closer to his firm length just to move away again right before you touch him.

He groans above you.

“Need something, doc?”

A slash of a smirk. “Oh, I’ll remember that one.”

The warning would deter a less determined woman. You switch and do the exact same on his other thigh, following the path up to his briefs with your mouth. Hovering above, you softly blow air on his cock. He chokes on a gasp, hands momentarily leaving the sheets to reach for you before they switch course back down to the fabric.

“Good boy.”

A harsh laugh leaves him while he stares up at the ceiling. “When was the last time you dusted your ceiling?”

“Watch it, or I’ll go do it right now.”

Chest rising and falling on struggling breaths, he finds it in himself to look back down at you. Let’s continue.

Impatient hands drag the briefs down his legs, throwing them in the same direction his slacks went.

Holy fuck.

“A little warning would have been nice, doc.”

He huffs, his flush gaining in intensity as he does his best to meet your eye. “I thought I’d surprise you.”

You bark a laugh. “You sure did, big guy. Good thing you’re a doctor. I’m going to need a wheelchair after this.”

“Alright,” he rolls his eyes and sits up.

“No, really, or take up smoking. It looks like I’ll need a cigarette after. Or in this case, a cigar.”

He takes hold of an arm and a leg, dragging your body back over his. With the button already open, he starts tugging down your trousers. You help him as best as you can, but every few seconds he catches your mouth in a searing kiss, and you can do nothing but receive it, leaving him to fight with the fabric on his own. He does a remarkable job, freeing you before you’re completely willing to abandon your mission.

Breaking the kiss, you start pushing him back down. Before he gets a chance to complain, you’ve gripped his cock firmly, effectively cutting off any protests he might have been about to voice.

He really is impressive compared to what you’ve experienced. Not that you had it in you to take notice of those men. That wasn’t what those encounters were about. This one is. It’s about pleasure, about giving in. About letting it all wash over you, succumb to the waves, and drown in the overwhelming need. About being with someone who cares about you, and who you care about.

You give him a firm stroke, watching him gasp for air as you repeat it, over and over again before lowering your upper body.

His eyes widen with realisation. “You don’t have to-“

Tongue flat against the head, you give him a solid lick that earns you a harsh whimper. You moan a little at the taste, so distinctively him. You swirl your pointed tongue around the underside of the head before diving back down to the root and licking all the way up, your eyes never leaving his. You pause at the tip again, letting warmth breath fan over the length as you watch him struggle to take in air himself. Opening wide, you begin your descend down his cock. The thickness of it an interesting obstacle as you take it into your throat, coming up for air before you work it deeper. It stretches you on its slow slide, a feeling you’re so focused on you barely hear the music spilling from Harvey, the encouragements and nonsense words morphing into desperate sounds. You bob your head up and down, finding your rhythm while he subtly cants his hips to join the dance.

Opening your eyes, you catch him staring down at you, one hand fisted in the pillow supporting his head, the other clenching the sheet. The eye contact does something to him. Determination smooths out his features and his hands leave their posts in favour of traveling towards you. Once you realise what he’s up to, you pull away and leave his length to the cold air.

“Gosh, fuck,” he flops back down.

You arch a brow at him. “Are you going to be nice?”

Despite his heavy need, a grin spreads over his face. He shakes his head.

“Well then,” you lean down, letting your hot breath fan over his throbbing length. The whimper from above you pulls at your smile. “I’m not going to be nice either.”

You take him into your throat and suck hard, barely staying on as he practically bucks off you both off the bed. You continue like that until he seems on the verge of something wonderful. Until he can barely speak except for praises and pleas. Then you pull away once more, all touching coming to a stop.

“What- why-“

Diving back down, you pick up where you left off. Until he whimpers and tries to push himself deeper into you. “You’re so good, sweetheart. You’re so good. I’ll come in your throat, please, please, let me come.”

And you pull back again.

“No!” He shouts, then clamps a hand over his mouth and makes quick eye contact with you.

You barely blink. “If you’re really good, really nice this time, I’ll let you come soon. Can you be that?”

There’s a pause before he nods slowly, letting his hand fall back to where it held on to the bed before. You give him a curious look, but he doesn’t say anything. He simply watches you, tense and ready for your administrations. You begin again, letting your other hand join in to explore further down, massaging on the outside of that sensitive spot just as you take him deep in your throat again. The moan released from him is almost violent, ripped from his chest and forced it way out of his throat. The fact that you can make him lose control like this is heady. You have his buttons, and you push them with little thought, wanting only to see how much he can take. As he throbs in your mouth once more, you pull back again.

This time he doesn’t make any sounds, and so you look up from between his legs. You see him, laying down on his back with a hand gripping the side of your pillow, sweat shining along his clenched abdomen and panting chest. His thighs fallen open to allow your more space between them, yet tense and trembling. He looks down at you, lips parted as he chokes on another sound as you lick up the side of his cock. Reaching the tip, you frame it with your lips, tongue tracing the underside of the head before you suck hard. His hips buck under you, his chest expanding impossibly before it suddenly deflates on a wordless moan. You see gritted teeth as he fights to shove himself further down your throat.

“Let me come.”

You smile to yourself and lightly lick him again, enjoying the way his cock twitches. “No.”

“I can’t take any more of this.”

“The door is right there.”

The laugh that bursts from him is something closer to disbelief and shock than amusement. “Brat.”

“Is that my new nickname?” You ask sweetly, all while trying to rub your thighs together. His eyes shoot down to the movement, flaring on a sudden realisation.

“Enough.”

What?

He sits up, pushing you up at the same time. Coming nose to nose, you feel every hurried exhale against you. You watch him wide-eyed as he grips and shifts you, before the world spins. With a gasp your back hits the covers and you feel your body manipulated and moved around. “Hey!” You protest, laughing. “I wasn’t done-“

He rips the panties from you and pushes your legs up and over his shoulders, clamping an arm tightly over your hips as he lays down on the bed.

Holy fuck, is he?

Unlike you, Harvey doesn’t tease. He dives straight in, licking a line directly up and through your folds, moaning almost as loud as you. One hand finds his hair, holding on tight, torn between pushing him away and forcing him closer, while the other finds the hand of the arm holding you in place, holding onto it like it can save you. The sensation of his soft moustache over your skin has sweat breaking out all over your body. Brown eyes find you from between your thighs as the rapid strong licks continue. The sight almost makes your lungs collapse as a soundless whimper fights its way out of you. He keeps up this steady rhythm, unmovable no matter how much you whimper and beg. You need more, faster, more to reach the peak you’re being gently led towards. His strong shoulders shift beneath your calves just as he starts nosing at your clit. You look down at him, drawn by the whisper of your name over your heat. Glasses askew and eyes heavy with hunger, you see him fit his lips around your clit just as his finger pushes inside you – and he sucks. You try to move away, you try to move closer, the sensations overwhelming and exactly what you need, but his arm like an iron band across you stops you from doing anything. You can only take it, feel it, become lost to it. The gentle guidance towards the peak becomes shoving that you’re not quite sure you’re ready for. It feels intense and you fear what it will do to you once it sweeps you away.

The fear was, however, unnecessary. With a bite to your inner thigh and a soft kiss to soothe the sting, Harvey stops.

“Goddammit!” The rumbling traveling up your skin, kissing and licking the path all the way to your mouth, soothes your disappointment. The flames come back stronger than ever as he looks over the edge of your bed. “What?” You ask.

“My slacks. I had a condom in the pocket.”

Your laugh reaches for the ceiling, panting the words. “Such a gentleman.”

“A gentleman with dreams and ambitions.” He murmurs as he dives for the pile of clothing on the floor. While he looks ridiculous leaning over the edge, you reach out for your nightstand, pulling at the old wood slowly and sliding a hand inside. You see him light up for a moment before he defeated tosses your trousers to the side, while you pull out a few different packets, looking through the descriptions.

“Did they get sucked into a different dimension?” He exclaims from over the side of your bed.

“Beats me, honey.” Regular? You look at the angry thickness bopping between his shifting thighs and shake your head as you place the box back in the nightstand. Glow in the dark? You look from his flushed back and down to the packet.  Another time. “Have you tried looking under the bed?”

He snaps his fingers, “good idea.” And hangs over and under the bed. “It’s so dark down here.”

“We can turn on the big light.” Cherry flavour? That would have been fun ten minutes ago. Maybe with some chocolate sauce.

“This is ridiculous. I have to get my prescription checked one of these days.”

You lay there, openly shifting through boxes of sample condoms and looking at him as the muscles in his back shifts with every struggling reach and slap around on your floor. “Might be a good idea,” you reply drily. Large is a safe bet. You put that one to the side.

He pulls himself up to give you an adoring and embarrassed smile, poised to dive beneath again when his head whips back around. Eyes flickering between the contents in your hands, the open nightstand, and your amused expression. “You have some?”

“Oh my, seems I do. But if you really want to use your own I won’t stop you. Wouldn’t want you to feel emasculated.”

He’s already crawling over you, taking the offered packets and boxes from you and reading them before placing the rest in the nightstand. One makes him pause, brows rising before an adorable giggle flows from him. “’Semen: nutrition facts’?”

Hands on your hips, you look up at his naked form with a proud smile. “If you’re laughing, you’re learning.”

He puts it back in the drawer with the rest of them, taking the chosen one from you before he starts adjusting your hips to get one of the smaller pillows under you. “That’s a lot of sodium.”

“Then it’s lucky I have such a good doctor.”

His gaze settles on your smile, softening in a way that prompts a slight ache in you. A hand cradles the side of your face as he holds you to meet him in a tender kiss, keeping you together as you find yourself relaxing around the feeling in your chest. Letting it wash through you while soaking in the comfort of his skin and closeness. You both pull away, holding the other’s gaze until you meet again, this time moving under the other as you mold together. Coming closer and closer, deeper and deeper as eager hands search, and hurried movements meet. He lowers his body, sliding against you everywhere. His cock spreads your folds, the head catching on your clit and causing you to lose your rhythm. A large hand plants itself on the side of your thigh, holding all the way down to your cheek as he moves you against him. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

You moan into his mouth and turn your head away from his kiss.

“Kiss me.”

You shake your head helplessly. “I’m afraid I’ll bite you.”

He moans and finds the side of your neck, licking and kissing desperately wherever he can reach. “You can bite. I don’t mind. You can bite.” He takes your mouth again, surging against your harder. You both starts fumbling for the condom at the same time. His lips trail down and find your nipple, sucking it while he puts it on. He shifts, aligning the head deliciously against your opening as he sits up looking down at you. Finally, after all this time, you’re finally here. Savouring the sweet moments before you get what you’ve waited for, what you’ve fought against, what you’ve dreamed of. Giving over to each other. “R-ready?”

You nod.

“Say it.”

You gasp, “yes.”

And you almost can’t breathe. The tip spreads you impossibly, Harvey moving back and forth as he coaxes the head inside of you. Slowly, but surely, you body accepts the invasion, and you can breathe again once it pops inside. But Harvey doesn’t move further. Large hands soothe mindlessly over your legs before pulling them up and around his back. He shifts from knee to knee, preparing for something, the movement shifting him slightly inside of you. You moan, trying to breathe around the fullness. You didn’t realise what his plan was, not at first. You couldn’t see it in the way his eyes glazed over or how he slowly came down on you. “Breathe,” he whispers in your ear. And you do. On the exhale he pushes in, not all the way or in one go, but he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t give more room to breathe as he steadily makes you take all of him. There’s no shifting back and forth, there’s only forward. There’s only more. He holds your hands in between your chests, holding your eyes with his as you accept him into your body.

“Good girl, you’re doing so good.” He slurs praises into your mouth as he kisses you. “You’re taking me so well.”

And you want to be good, so you take the last bit, though it feels impossible. When his hips finally settle against yours, the air promptly expands your lungs. He rains kisses down on you while his hand snakes in between your bodies, finding your clit. He soothes it, rubbing over and over the hardened bud until suddenly you’re coming before you even realised it was happening. Fluttering walls around his cock buried so deeply, it makes the shocks go on and on. Your back arches up into him and he holds you close through every unbearably wonderful pulse. Until finally, your body relaxes around him,

That’s when he starts to move. Long drags through aftershocks and sinful sounds coming from both of you. Primal groans serenading the first slow thrusts. The delectable glide of him inside you and the way none of you can keep the kiss going for long, both caught in the wonderous feeling, neither chasing anything. But soon the overwhelming feeling subsides just the tiniest bit, and you find yourself. You trace your nails down his back and into his hair, pushing his mouth against yours, awakening him as well. Moaning into each other, you start to move your hips against him, trying to lure him into moving faster. He doesn’t, stubbornly dragging against you.

“More,” you rasp.

“You’re not ready yet.”

You huff, bringing him into another searing kiss. His rhythm falters for a moment before he picks it back up, still frustratingly slow. Your turn his head, brushing kisses over his cheek and down to the sensitive spots behind his ear and down his throat. Until you find the place where his neck meets his shoulder. You give it an experimental kiss, a kiss that turns into a suck and lick. You bare your teeth on the unguarded skin and give him a firm bite.

He groans, bordering on a growl, rumbling through his body as you hold on. He shifts around you, getting ready before he sets a punishing pace. Letting you feel his entire length drag out before he pumps harder inside you. Faster he goes, forcing whimpers from you in between kisses. You try to turn your head away, but he keeps you there and what you feared happened. You bite down on his lip and feel the hiss of air between you. He takes your mouth harder, moves his cock harder. There’s no give, no break from the sensations. There’s only the shove of him against a spot deep inside you that makes you see stars despite the oversensitivity. It builds. You feel it pulling from everywhere in your body, centering where you’re connected as you meet each other thrust for thrust.  His body, skin and muscles moving under your hands. His sounds poured into your ear, into your mouth, shared on a desperate kiss.

“Please, please, please.” You can’t stop yourself, the word flowing from you. You don’t even know what you’re begging for. For it to end, for it to go on. For more for less. For Harvey.

He reaches between you again, giving you what you didn’t even know you needed. Pushing you towards that blissful freefall as he firmly circles your clit. “Sweetheart, give it to me. Show me how good you are. Come for me.” He presses hard down on your clit and the line inside of you snaps. His pumps shove you further and further out, holding you down and keeping up the pace so you have no choice but to follow it. Until finally, you drop. Air rushes back into you and you cry out for him, hoping he’ll catch you. Working against the all-consuming light threatening to burst you both. When you come to, you find him not far behind, his thrusts faltering as the release draws closer.

You take his face in your hands. “Harvey, baby you’ve done so good. So good. I need you to come, please, I need you.” His eyes fall close and his brows furrow as the orgasm tears through him on a high moan. You bring him in for a devastating kiss, letting everything roll through each other as his hips stutter into you. Even as he calms down, he keeps moving lazily almost like he’s trying to get as deep into you as he can, until he finally collapses onto you.

“Oof.”

“S-sorry, sorry.” He goes to roll off of you, but you lock your arms around him.

“Just needed a second to get used to it, big guy. It feels nice.”

He relaxes again, gradually this time so the air isn’t pushed out of your lungs. “Yeah, it does.”

You trace over his skin, drawing as you can only do with the tips of your fingers. You can see the scene in your head as you paint it over his back, loving this new type of canvas. He starts hunting for skin within his reach, delivering soft kisses to each patch he finds until he pulls back and props himself up and over your stomach.

A soft laugh escapes you and you reach around to adjust his glasses.

“I wanted to take them off, but I didn’t want to miss anything.” A blush deepens his already flushed skin.

“You’ve just fucked me to the brink of consciousness, but now you’re all bashful?”

He laughs and scratches at the side of his neck.

You adjust the pillows behind you so you can look comfortably down at him. At the rumpled hair and the absolute relaxation over him, and the way his shy smile grows more confident the longer you look at each other. You drag a hand through the warzone on his head and down the side of his face while he basks in the attention, kissing your wrist when it comes within reach.

That ache in your chest is back and you casually rub a hand over your sternum. Harvey’s eye flicker to the action.

“Do you want some water?”

His brow furrows further but he nods, letting you get up and watches you as you fill the glasses. “I’ll just go clean up.”

You nod, not facing him as the bed creaks and his footsteps sound towards the bathroom. Your shoulders slump and you rub harder against your skin, trying to take deep breaths against whatever grows there.

When he exits the bathroom, you hand him glass and kiss him on the cheek before you take your turn in there. You feel his eyes follow you but can’t figure out how to act normal right now.

Exiting the bathroom, you find him sitting on the bed against the headboard.

“Come here.”

You let yourself be pulled into his lap and have the covers pulled up around you.

“Do you regret it?” The way he says it so matter of fact – it’s almost enough to hide the emotion beneath the words. The way his eyes can’t quite meet yours.

“No, god no, Harvey. I thoroughly enjoyed every bit of it and I’m already gearing up for another round.”  

His chuckle is more relieved than anything and he drops a few kisses along your shoulder.

“It’s just,” you sigh as he meets your eye again. “It’s been a while. All of this.” You make a vague gesture. “It can be overwhelming. I’m adjusting. Just- don’t lose faith in me.”

He takes your face in his hands, one of yours coming up to caress the outside of one his. “I won’t.” And in that moment, you’re sure he meant it.

You accept the kiss to your forehead with eagerness before you lean against his chest, listening to his running heartbeat as it calms with every breath. Eventually your eyes catch on his nipple and with a fingertip and nail you start tracing circles around it. He shifts underneath you, twitching somewhere under you.

He clears his throat. “Sweetheart?”

You hum, your eyes rapt on the path your fingers are tracing down his chest.

“I didn’t want to ask before.”

Leaning forward, you suck on the nipple, enjoying the way he gasps above you, holding your head seemingly subconsciously to his chest.

“But, um, why do you have a bunch of 70’s exercise DVDs under your bed?”

Notes:

• You know how the first time you’re with someone, and you just want to do *everything*? Now, it’s been a while since I was in love and in lust, but that’s how I remember it. Exploring the different parts deeper and to the fullest comes later.
• Hope it lived up to the wait! I had a lot of fun writing it.
• Plot incoming
• I know it’s not a Wednesday, but this coming week I have to be there for orientation of the new students at my uni, so that’s going to be fuuuuunnn (no)
• And I know this is all parasocial, but I wanted to share that my cat died this week, along with some other horribleness. So coming back to this has been really important for me. Thank you for reading along. And I hope there will be flowers for you these last days of summers

Chapter 21: Through the Skin

Summary:

The morning after your very successful date.

Want, want, want. It’s a constant chant, pronounced by a beat of a drum, running through you both all night. Every time one will promise the other a couple of hours of sleep, it’s promptly broken again soon after. One time he rolls you over on your side, letting you bite down into his arm as he drives into you until you’re both trembling in afterglow. Another time you whisper into his ear, drawing him out of a dream with promises to his subconscious until he can’t stand it and pulls you in the moment his eyes flutter open. At no point does either of you even think of turning off the bedside light, and you’re thankful you won’t have to ask to keep it on.

By the time the morning sun stretches through the window, you’ve barely had a full two hours of sleep. You lean over and let a kiss fall on Harvey’s bare shoulder before you slide out of bed, narrowly avoiding his large arm as it searches for your suddenly missing heat. “What-“

You shush him. “I have to take care of the chores, get some sleep.”

He mumbles something into the pillow.

A drowsy chuckle follows you as you lean down to hear him better. “What, honey?”

Exhaling deeply into the pillow, he forces himself to turn his head. His face heavy with sleep, you almost feel bad for making him repeat himself as you strap yourself into your work clothes. “I will help.”

“Rain check, doc. We can’t have you passing out in the field. And I can’t carry you back inside, I’m already going to look like Bambi on ice out there.”

You plant another kiss on a bare patch of skin as farewell and head out into the cool morning, though it has gradually gotten warmer this week. You had expected it to be colder still until well into the first month of summer, but perhaps it ran hotter out here in no-man’s land compared to where the bigger cities are located. You check the crops first, proud of the fact that the first batch of flowers and faster growing vegetables and herbs will be ready for harvest within the next few days – no later than a week. The rest of the harvest is following the stages perfectly, none of the areas too far behind to cause any sort of alarm. The sleepy rays of sun warm the back of your head as you make your way to the barn. Making up for the recent disruptive mornings with a very gentle one this time, you carefully unlatch the doors, letting the animals take you in before you make your way inside. Harold yawns, flapping his wings in a big stretch before he waddles towards you. Harold enjoys an occasional cuddle, which consists of you zipping him up into your work clothes to let him steal your warmth as you finish up your chores in the barn. His lovely but frankly stupid siblings all try to eat the same bug, even as you fill up their trays with a mix of colourful and nutritious feed. You try to share a look with Jolene, but she seems to be cheering them on. With a bucket and a stool in hand, you set up the milking station and get to work. In these quiet hours, you barely feel the soreness of your muscles or the blanket of exhaustion over your brain. The open air – even tinted with the manure – along with the show of the ducks chasing each other, are a recipe for an almost meditative state of mind. In here you don’t overthink. It’s a safe zone, and the outside world simply does not exist.

An image of a large man spread over your bed, a sheet barely covering him, fills your mind. Well, maybe some of the world exist. You stow away the results of the chores properly, unleash the duck, and drag yourself up the stairs to your house. The rest of the chores can wait until tonight, when you’ve had a chance of sleep. The door drags as you open it, and you turn to find Harvey’s very awake gaze on you.

“Shit, sorry, Harvey. I didn’t mean to wake you.” You toe off the boots. When you meet his gaze again, it’s in time to see it flicker up from what you had just been doing. Despite the exhaustion, awareness manages to rush through you. Your breathing suddenly seems loud in your ears. “No.”

He fights it, but his growing smile wins. ‘Up to no good’ is written all over his face, carved in the way his eyes track every movement as you unleash yourself from the overalls and fleece shirts. When a button pops and a strap is thrown over your shoulder, his pupils bloom further.

“Harvey, down. I’m dirty and covered in unmentionables. No.” With that, you turn your back on him and march to the bathroom. You hang the clothes and step behind the shower curtain. Blindly, you reach for the bodywash.

“I, um, I can help you with that.”

You gasp, turning to find Harvey as he steps into the small space with you. His large form imposing and already stealing most of the hot water, though the way he’s looking at you can heat you up all on its own. He lathers his hands and a washcloth in soap, taking a moment to breathe in the bodywash. “Smells like you.”

“I’d hope it does.”

He blushes and shakes his head, undeterred from his mission. Starting at your shoulders, he only hesitates for a moment before he begins the journey down your body. It had started out as an aggressive seduction, and though you can still feel his hardened length shifting against you and see the desire pooling in his eyes, the scene has lost some of its franticness. This new exploration under the unforgiving light of the bathroom takes precedence over other needs. Realisations and learning news things as you both clean each other creating a much more intimate setting than either of you had been prepared for. When he finally reaches between your legs, the cloth drops to the floor with a smack.

Harvey quickly rinses you both and dries you off before his lips meet yours in a deep kiss, guiding you out of the bathroom and to the bed. His careful manipulations stop when your hand gives him a firm stroke, catching his gasp in a bruising kiss before it has left him. Instead, he promptly moves you both into the bed, and you lose another couple of hours in the bliss of each other’s arms.

Later in the day, you find yourself leaning back against the pillows, sated and relaxed as Harvey sits with your feet in his lap, brushing over the arch of one of them. “How come I’ve never noticed this before?”

You don’t need to, but you raise your head to look at the spot anyway. “Oh,” you say, keeping your tone casual as your heartbeat races in your ears. You lick your suddenly dry lips as you let your head fall back down into the pillows. “I stepped on a twisted root when I was younger, and it may have mildly stabbed me.”

He’s quiet for a moment before his fingers travel further up one of your legs, finding another mark. As he touches it, a picture flashes in your head and you work to blink it back in time to hear his next question. “This one?”

“Fell while jumping on some wet rocks.” You wipe your sweaty hands on the comforter. There’s a tight prickling all over your skin, a thousand needles bearing memories you’d rather keep out. He moves on to another one, this time not asking but merely tapping. “We’re doing the whole scar tour today?” You try to laugh, forcing yourself to keep it quiet and steady. He doesn’t comment. You realise that he won’t press for anything. It’s up to you if you want to share this with him. You swallow against a dry throat. “Surgery on a fracture.”

He touches a particularly ugly one behind your shin.

“Dog bite.”

With soft fingers traveling over trembling skin, you slowly reveal years of memories in short sentences. Some requiring a longer explanation to even begin to describe them:

“Climbed a fence and got caught on a wire the top, so I slipped and stumbled as I tried to climb down the other side.” Elbow.

Others needed very little:

“Pressure ulcer.” On both sides of the knees and upper arms. It takes him a while to move on after that one. You don’t dare check to see if he’s caught on.

Some are harder to explain, so you don’t. Unable to make yourself outright lie to him, you simply shake your head for him to move on. Emergency surgery to fix internal bleeding - blunt force trauma. You want to cover yourself up, lying naked only adding to the vulnerability. But then you look past the memory and find adoring whiskey brown eyes behind dark rimmed glasses, and just like that you can take it a bit more. You can lie there a bit longer. Just a bit.

“Is it okay if I hold you now?” He asks when you’re done. He hasn’t found all of them, but he doesn’t know that yet.

“Green,” you whisper, and open your arms for him to fall into. The pressure of his broadness on top of you a comfort you can close your eyes and relax under. You sleep well into midday.

You eventually have to pull apart when his pager beeps insistently from somewhere on the floor. Your attempt at a weekend together officially cut short. You manage to keep at smile on your face as you watch him shake out his clothes. “We’ll get you a hanger next time.”

Harvey huffs, turning around to face you as he buttons his slacks. “Do you even have a- I mean, I haven’t seen a closet anywhere here.” His eyes trace down your form. You’ve hidden most of yourself behind the covers – an attempt at mercy – but nothing can stand in the way of imagination. Or in this case, straight up memory from ten minutes ago. He turns away from you as he slides on his shirt, buttoning quickly.

“I’m such a bad hostess. And I’ve barely fed you.”

A stifled chuckle. With his back to you, there is no way for him to duck in time before the pillow softly bounces off of him.

“Real food.”

His repressed snicker morphs into a laugh, making it difficult for him to slip into his shoes. But he does, getting dressed as quickly as the paging and following phone call demanded.

“Everyone in town uses your pager first? Before your cell?”

He shrugs into his jacket. “I always have my pager on me. And the cell is more for personal calls. In office hours they usually call the clinic first.” Leaning down, he delivers a lingering kiss, swaying into you before he rights himself. “But you can use my cellphone any time. Emergency or non-emergency.” With a glance down at his watch and a regretful look your way, you know the time for good-byes have come.

It feels oddly hard. It’s as if his every step towards the door pulls at your skin. “Harvey?”

He stops in the door, looking so open and earnestly at you.

You swallow the words. “See you later.”

A large smile warms you. Until he closes the door behind him, taking that warmth right along with him. You look around the small house, barely consisting of multiple rooms, and find it large and empty. The yellow and orange glow is nowhere to be found, leaving a cold blue and white to illuminate the space. You agitatedly rub the skin of your thighs, peering around for something to do. You settle on getting dressed in the silence. Your stomach demands attention, and you attempt to sate it, in silence. The food is hard to chew, turning to glue in your mouth. In silence. The plate is loud as it’s placed in the sink, the water just as startling as it runs over it. Then there’s silence.

“Okay, let’s regroup here. I know I have a million things to pass the time, I have a damn life.” You come up blank. “Or at least I used to.”

After stepping outside, it doesn’t take you long to find one or two time-consuming tasks and eventually hours have passed. As you let your shovel lean against the shed, you disappear. You fall backwards into something else, somewhere else.

“No,” you gasp out loud, forcing yourself back above the surface. You clench and unclench your fists, head swinging around for something else to do. Lunch. Late lunch with your friends. And the brisk walk into town will surely distract you. You hurry, feet clumsily moving below you as if you’ve never done this before. As if your body is trying to run while your mind is trying to walk. Or is it the other way around?

You find Maru and Penny in their usual spot with empty wrapping and packages around them. They greet you enthusiastically. See? This was just what you needed. You plop down next to them and try to get some of the scoop, but their conversation is stilted and apparently very dependent on your participation in it. “Guys, what’s wrong?”

Penny looks down at her hands while Maru’s gaze stays on yours. “Nothing is wrong, I have a date later that’s all.” The dark-haired girl states offhandedly. Eyes catching on Penny’s expression, you don’t believe that’s all there is to it. Maru notices your rather pointed look. “It’s with Sam.”

Oh, Maru, no.

Wringing her hands and biting her lip, Penny fights against what she wants to say. Keeping it all locked up, about to blow. About to crumble.

“Question me again, and you’ll rot in there.” He spits from above you. You keep your gaze on the floor.

“Penny?” You encourage, coughing to clear away the rasp.

“Please don’t,” she whispers.

“Penny,” Maru snaps. You barely recognise your friend in that moment.

“He’s my friend,” she tries again. Maru looks away, the set in her jaw determined. Leaning forward, you give Penny’s hand a comforting squeeze. Her hand is cold to the touch.

Kitchen floor. She’s cold. “What did you do!?” Someone screams.

It’s best to break this up before either one gets more hurt. “Say hi to Jas and Vincent from me.” Penny nods and stands, leaving without a backwards glance. Maru says nothing, so it’s apparently up to you to start this. “Friends are more important than men, and it’s not like he’s the love of your life.”

“He could be.”

“He can’t, Maru. You know that.” Tone gentle, you wish she would look at you. Display any sort of regret or doubt in her actions.

Maru lifts her chin. “I don’t know any such thing.”

You lick your lips, trying to find the right words. “It must be so hard to deal with all of this, but please don’t push away your friends-“

She interrupts you with a mocking scoff. “You’re one to talk. Pretty sure you’d prefer to off yourself rather than let anyone in. If you can’t fix yourself, why should I?”

Eyes falling closed, you picture the words hitting a shield and falling off. A shield made of reminders and facts you hold onto with clenched fists.

She’s a kid, she’s hurt, she doesn’t know what she’s saying. Burned out. She’s scared, she’s terrified.

But your hands have never been the same and holding on to things are harder these days.

“Are you still working on that robot?”

“No. I don’t have time.”

You both know that’s a lie, but the shaking has started, and you really need to get out of here. “We’re here,” you start. “Whenever you’re ready. No matter what you say or do. You were there for me, every time.” Pushing against your knees, you leave without another word. It’ll take time. Looking back in just those few years between you and Maru, you don’t have a lot in common with the person you were at her age. You just hope it won’t take Maru years to escape her prison.

Chapter 22: Where monsters lie waiting

Summary:

You go for your first swim in years.

Notes:

Trigger warnings: hinting at waterboarding. Drowning.

You make it to the farm, eels slithering in your chest as you look restlessly around you. There’s nothing for you inside the house, and so you walk in a circle around yourself until your clothes begin to suffocate you. You rip the gloves from your hands and the sight you’re met with only fuels the hellfire. Shaking, broken, damaged hands. Pathetic, small, weak hands. Unfixable.

“These breaks are weeks old, Sir. Already healed to some extend. I don’t know if we can do much but attempt to set the rest. It’s a miracle we won’t have to amputate.”

“Good.”

“What?”

“Good, I’m glad you can set the rest.”

Every exhale is harsh. You grit your teeth against a pain you know is not there, but which your body refuses to forget. It spreads, the hurt. It spreads over your body, setting fire to every mark, discolouring, and scar it can find on the way. Reminders of him and what he’s done, what can never be taken back. You rip your jacket from your body, finding every scar without difficulty. They throb with the pain, as if they were made yesterday, as if they’re being inflicted upon you at that very moment. With a hand you clumsily claw at the skin, watching it shape and move under your unforgiving hands. You beat it, pull at the now reddened flesh. Frustration welling up until every breath is a silent whimper, your body heaving with the noiseless screams. Even this, the way you mourn, is a habit from your life before. Is because of him. You turn and slam your body into the shed.

Something falls on the other side. Shakingly, you lift your head, fighting through the nightmares to check on what you could have broken. You unlatch the door to the shed and peer inside.

The pickaxe. It had fallen from wherever Linus had it hidden that one time. The fear from that night revisits you, a different kind of fear from the one choking you now. One that doesn’t paralyse you, not in the same way.

It was almost freeing being down there. There was a certain level of control. Your hand shakes as it reaches down to pick it up. The weight of it, the wooden feel against your fingers, is so familiar. Instead of placing it against the wall, you stack it outside. Looking around, you pick another few things off the shelves, throwing them out to join the large tool already waiting. Along with a large hunting knife that you don’t examine for long.

There are many other things you could do – things that you should do. You should go inside and pull out those DVDs that Harvey shily teased you about. Workout in front of the glare of the small screen until you drop, until these thoughts plague you no longer. But it’s as if there are two halves working. There’s the you who knows what you should do, and the you who’s currently acting and making all of the decisions – pulling things together despite knowing it’s wrong, knowing it’s going to hurt you and others. Due to the shame that fills you, you almost walk the path around the town center, but your promise to Harvey rings clear.

Maru is at the front when you get there, calling to Harvey while avoiding your eyes. The door opens and out he comes in his white coat, a nervous smile stretching out over his face. Your eyes fall to a small, beautiful bouquet held preciously in his hands.

“Hi- hello, sweetheart.” He leans down to kiss you, but you turn at the last second, giving him your cheek. He pulls back, a frown placed on his face that stirs the part of you that doesn’t want to do this. Not enough to wake her though. His eyes run over you, taking in your attire and tools. You hand him the note you barely thought to scribble when you left the house, not able to meet his gaze.

He sets the bouquet down on the counter, unfolding the note. Tensions slowly fills his face. Eyes darting over the page, he looks for an explanation where there isn’t one. You make yourself stand there, facing the consequences in any way you can. At last, he folds it again, careful despite the shaking in his hands. Inhaling deeply, he attempts to square his shoulders. “Eight o’clock?”

You nod.

He reaches out a hand, but you narrowly avoid it, smiling up at him in a terribly strained grimace. He nods to himself, swallowing heavily as he seems to slump back in on himself.

“See you soon.” He manages.

The bell announces your departure.

In hopes of avoiding any more run-ins with the townspeople, you follow the river closely on your way up the mountain to the mines. It’s a little harder to make it there, stones and steep hillsides taking you closer to the water than is wise in your current state. Your nerves rise every time you get too close to the edge.

“I fucking hate the water.”

“Watch it.” A voice scolds.

You look to the other side of the river, finding Kent’s military trained focus on you. His hands are placed in his pockets, but you don’t believe for a second that his relaxed demeanour is genuine. A child’s laughter further up the stream forces a break from the stare-down as he looks away from you for a second to scan the scene before his ocean blue eyes settle on you once more.

“Where are you going.” The words are not phrased like a question, though you know he expects an answer.

You shrug, the straps digging into your shoulders. “Wherever I damn well please, Kent. I live here.”

In the face of his hardening glare, you promptly stick your hands in the pockets of your jacket to mask the trembling running through you. They’re so similar, these men. Despite his eyes having a warmer shade, the blue is still unnerving. The contempt as he looks at you, the rigid posture, and the expectation to be obeyed…

Yeah, they could be brothers.

“The mines.” His guess shocks you.

“They’re beautiful this time of year.”

“Are you a professional.”

You sigh, impatient to get on and get these building feelings out. “No.”

He moves towards the small wooden walkway bridging the two sides of the river. “Are you being accompanied by a professional.”

“Not as far as I know.”

“You are foolish.”

Alright, I guess we’re doing this…

“You are careless. And behaviour like this is exactly why you should be locked up. Do you expect the people of the town to go in after you. Or just rot down there and become a lose end the adults can’t explain to the kids.”

“You’re hysteric. I’m doing it for you own good!”

You blink away the cold blue from his eyes, seeing Kent once again as he’s gearing up to something. He begins his venture over the walkway, and for a moment, you envy his graceful steps over the murky waters.

“Don’t you see that you can’t be left unsupervised. You are wreaking havoc on the peace here.”

“Careful, Kent. Or I’ll start to think you have crush on me or something.”

His eyes flare. “You have made the decision quite easy for me, little bird.”

The only reason you are able to disguise your flinch is because you saw the nickname coming.

He continues. “I will call him right now and make him come get you. I know you’re not here because he authorised it, so I know he’ll be more than happy to bring you home sooner rather than later.”

“Kinky. Wanna join?” You can’t hide the shaking in your words that time, but it doesn’t matter.

He opens his mouth. “Daddy!” You both look behind him to see Vincent come running along the river, Jas on his heels, as he holds something in his closed cupped hands. “Daddy, daddy, look, look at what we found!” Vincent is practically screaming, his voice reaching dog-level pitches.

The danger is clear before it’s even happening. But Kent is on your side of the river and Vincent has his foot up on the wood before anyone has had a chance to stop him. “Vincent, get back. I’ll come to you.” But Vincent doesn’t hear him, too caught up in the excitement to take his dad’s orders seriously. Clasped hands outstretched; he takes a running step.

And slips.

His head makes a sickening crack against the wood before his body bounces off and into the water. Nobody moves. Jas is on the other side, hands to her mouth as she watches the surface with wet eyes. Most shockingly, Kent doesn’t move a muscle. Tension rippling over his body, he doesn’t otherwise react.

“What are you doing?” You hear yourself screaming. “Get him!” But he doesn’t, and with his back to you, you have no way of figuring out what the hell is going on with him.

Your eyes fall to the dark surface of the suddenly enormous river. It’s deep – deeper than you’d originally thought when you’d first moved here. It was a quick demonstration from Maru, who was trying to teach you a trick on how to tell measure the depths of water, that proved how much you should actually fear the river that surrounds the town. Almost, if not as much as the ocean.

Red hair peaks up just beneath the surface before it’s swallowed again. There’s a ringing in your ears, masking the thud of the backpack as it falls to the ground, your jacket following. Your arms pump at your sides and you leap, not realising what’s happening until the water rushes past your ears.

It might have been easier if it had been in any other body of water where there’s no current or ice-cold water running continuously from the mountains. You try not to flail around as you open your eyes, turning around yourself to find the kid. Despite seeing him in this spot mere seconds ago, he’s nowhere near you now. It is stronger than you thought, this current. The water pulls at you, takes you. It drags along your skin, holding onto your clothes and ripping at your hair. You regret not taking off your boots. All around you, it’s as if hands grip at every limb, spinning you around and dragging you further into its depths – its darkness. In between flashes of fish, plants, branches, and your own limbs, you find memories of a lake. You remember pressure around your neck; you remember coming up for a second of air; you remember going forcefully back beneath the surface. You remember horrible laughter, and a flash of red hair.

Wait, no. No red. The red doesn’t belong there. You stretch out your arms in front of you, grabbing at the water to aid it in pushing you forward. A striped shirt is wound around your fist to pull the limp body closer to your own, and that’s as far as your plans went. It’s hard to move yourself and another body to the bank.

You look around. It feels as though the water is pushing down on your chest, trying to goad you into opening your mouth and drag desperately for air. Then you notice a dip. Instantly, you throw your body towards it, flailing for it.

With a loud gasp, you break the surface of the water, heaving the wet body up onto dry land. There are panicked voices all around you, and in the second you take to orient yourself you realise you haven’t made it ten meters down the river. It felt like two seconds and two years all in one.

Pushing the kid onto his side, you make a fist up and under his rips and start pushing against his lungs, trying to clear the airway of water. You tip his head back, but you can’t hear any breathing.

At that moment, a familiar face pushes through the crowd that has apparently gathered around you. Everyone is holding their breaths as Harvey drops to his knees next to you.

“Harvey,” you plead.

Eyes focused, he pulls out one tool after the next, sometimes he does the same movements you’ve been doing, other times he does something you’ve never seen before but wish desperately to remember in case anything like this happens again. But you can’t see much else than his face. His smoothed but concentrated appearance. His sure eyes and movements as he races against death. The head wound doesn’t seem to concern him at all right at this moment.

The world doesn’t clear up until Vincent gasps for air and starts throwing up by himself. For a second you can almost taste it yourself. The town collectively inhales and exhales. You see Evelyn sitting down in the lap of George, who for once doesn’t complain about the pain of it. Penny is crying into Sam’s chest, who has aged ten years. Shane is holding Jas’ face against his neck, rocking her back and forth. And back on the walkway across the river, Jodi has crossed to stand in front of her still very still husband, quietly talking to him. It’s not until the sirens come that Kent pulls his wife close to his chest, and they sink to their knees together.

Harvey talks to the EMT’s, Sam brushing past him clutch at his little brother’s hand. Penny stands by the door, asking him something to which Sam shakes his head. With a last look at Vincent, she walks away. The doors are shut, and the ambulance rides off, leaving the shock of the events to settle over the town.

You’re still on the ground, looking over the water.

“There’s a reason I was discharged before the war had ended.” Kent says.

For the love of all that is holy.

“Yet no one is trying to lock you up.” You mutter, the fight having long since gone out of your voice.

“You’re comparing the two.” Again, not framed as a question.

“Well, the things that have happened to me are certainly not genetic.”

He stands somewhere behind you, dry as bone. You hope that it will plague him for a while, that the woman he despises was the one who saved his son. You know some men don’t come back from war right, that it stays with them. Yet it’s hard to feel sympathy for the man who has threatened your peace so viciously these past few weeks. No, you wish him the same turmoil. You wish him to never forget what pulled his son from the water.

“Are you going to call him?”

He takes a moment, making you wait longer than necessary. “Probably.”

“But not tonight.”

“No,” he says eventually. “Not tonight.”  

“Sweetheart.”

You turn around, standing on shaky legs just to fall into Harvey’s arms. He wraps himself around you, holding you close as you both fall to the ground. His warmth weaving its way through the icy surface of your skin. “I fucking. Hate. The water.”

He chokes out a relieved laugh. “I know.” A large hand is placed on the back of your head. You know he’s subtly feeling for bumps and scrapes, even if he isn’t aware of it. “When I saw you come out of the river…”

You tighten your arms around him, feeling him mirror the act. “Take me home.”

Immediately he begins to stand. “Which home? Yours?”

Head shaking back and forth, you creep against his side and enjoy his arms steadying you. “Wherever you’re sleeping tonight.”

Notes:

* Well, I guess we didn't expect Kent to change his opinion all at once -- nooo, that would be unreasonable. But we get a small break from him for now. or so we think
* Doctor Becker back at it again - who wouldn't go home with him after seeing him in action like that?
* If only the farmer would stand still long enough for Harvey to give us some damned flowers. We wouldn't want it to be too late or anything.
* It's not secret that I love the angst, but I suppose we can get a little break next time. Sunlight and reunions in the horizon.

Chapter 23: Tulips and Chocolate

Summary:

Foot in front of the other you meet Harvey by his little dinner table. He’s pulled on a shirt and pajamas, his wet mass of hair already starting to fluff up again. And he’s holding a bouquet.

Harvey runs around his apartment nervously, having draped a warm towel over you he suddenly seems at a loss for what the next step should be. He’s managed to pour water into a kettle but abandoned it in the sink in favour of pulling out some clean clothes. Something on his dresser reminded him that it takes a while for the warm water to come on, and so the drawers were left open and now the sound of the shower fills the tense air. He hurries past you, and you take hold of his sleeve. A surprised gaze finds yours.

“Harvey…” The words left unsaid float between you. His name spun in a web of meaning and feeling. “Slow down.”

“The tea will be good for after your shower, I just need to pull out some clothes. Do you want to use mine, or- I can- shall I get some of your own?” He says, words stumbling over each other in a hurry to get out.

“Take it easy, I can get some of this myself-“

“I can help you. I didn’t – I haven’t helped you,” he stabs a hand through his hair. He won’t meet your eyes.

“Harvey.”

He shakes his head. “Let me, please, let me help. I-I can help.”

You pull him in despite your cold wet clothes. He wraps his large arms around you, his heat battling for dominance against the soaked layers draped heavily on you. Against your neck, you feel him nuzzle his face into the only source of heat on you right now, sighing deeply into your skin. “Vincent is okay. I’m okay.” He shivers. “I’m okay,” you repeat, feeling his arms tighten around you.

Ah.

“I’m probably never going to beat the fear of water now, but other than an impending cold,” you pull back to look him in the eye. “I’m okay.” You wait for the feel of him to gradually relax against you. “But I would love some of your clothes. A hot shower is exactly what I need.”

He nods, getting the clothes out of the drawers before turning back to you. He holds them out for you to take, but you barely spare them a look. There’s a question in the way he looks back and forth between your eyes. You raise your arms in the air, watching as his eyes widen. He places the clothes on the table and turn back to you, scrunching the fabric of your shirt in his grip. You gasp at the startling contact of his burning hands against your chilled skin.

The shirt makes a wet thud on the ground, your bra following suit. He pulls you into his heat as he works on your pants until they too fall into the pile. There’s nothing but breathing growing faster to fill the anticipatory silence. Hands gliding down the shape of you, he hooks up underneath your thighs and you take the cue, jumping up to wrap your thighs around his waist. Harvey takes you into the bathroom with purpose, remembering to lower the temperature before setting you down under the spray. He takes off his clothes with a sort of indifference if not eagerness, but halts as he catches your eyes on him. Standing tall, he lets your gaze run down and over his form, a blush spreading down and over his chest as he fails to meet your eyes when they seek his once more. “I can’t get enough of you,” you say.

His breath stutters.  

You step closer. “You spent all last night and most of this morning,” had it really only been a day? “Driving into me. Orgasm after orgasm. And yet I still need more, even now. I feel like a total creep.” You take his cock in your hand, giving him a firm stroke.

His hips stutter forward, gasps falling from his lips. “C-cold.”

“Should I stop?”

He shakes his head decidedly. “You’re not alone in that,” he confesses after a moment filled with harsh exhales.

“I’m not?”

He shakes his head, gritting his teeth. He starts to move you backwards, crowding you against the shower wall under the gradually warming water. “I need you. All those months dreaming of you is nothing compared to the pain I’m in now. I can’t get close enough,” he takes your mouth in bruising kiss, drinking down the taste of you. “Closer, I need you closer. Say you need me too.”

“I do,” you say without hesitation. “I need you closer too.”

His lips fall on your neck, mouthing at the sensitive spot there. Whimpers and pleas fall from your lips as his long clever fingers move down and over your pelvis, quickly finding the spot that craves him so painfully.

He doesn’t torture you long. No, he moves like a man starved, moulding your flesh in eager hands and feeding off your desperate sounds. He picks up one of your legs, hooking it over his arm as his length glides along the seam of you.

“Wait, condom.”

You let your head fall back against the tiles, watching him as he reaches out from behind the curtain. Cabinets and drawers slam shut. “Or we could go without.”

Body leaning out and a hand stuck in the drawer, he would make a hilarious picture if you were feeling any other type of way. “Are you on birth control?” He asks, pupils shot to hell.

“No, I was kidding. Sort of.”

He closes his eyes, firmly turning his head back to the task at hand. “If you want, we can find a birth control that suits you.” With a little sound of victory, he turns back to you with the prize in hand, sheathing himself quickly. Lining himself up, he doesn’t drive in like you’d hoped he would. Instead, he takes your face in one hand, making sure he has all your attention. “But if you want to play a little some time, I have plan B in the clinic.” With that he sinks in, not letting you adjust as he makes you take all of him in one firm, slow thrust.

Your mouth falls open as you try to breathe against the overwhelming feeling. He kisses you, making sure you have nowhere to go but the current moment with him. It’s the slow, forceful thrusting as his hands take in every inch of warming skin that eventually unravels you. His unyielding focus on that sensitive set of nerves inside of you and the circling pressure on the outside not as much shoves you as guides you off the ledge. In the heat of it you practically beg him to finish, pulling him down with you. Something to be explored more later.

***

The towel is warm against your back as he dabs you dry, leaving even warmer kisses on straying droplets. “I have something for you.”

Heartbeat picking up, you take the outstretched towel to wrap around you and spit out a joke. “Again? Already?”

He huffs a laugh, securing his own towel before he moves out of the bathroom. Suddenly unsure, you settle for staying in the safety of the warm steam for now. Gaze falling on something by the sink, you smirk to yourself and grab it in time to hear a thud and a curse. Footsteps hurrying towards you, you hold out the item just as he peers inside. “Have you seen-“. Voice drifting off as he spots your outstretched hand. An adorable smile breaks out over his face before he gently takes the offering from you and places the glasses over the bridge of his nose. “Thanks,” he breathes and continues his search.

“You can come out now. Please,” he calls after a few minutes of rummaging around.

Your hands slide down the side of the towel, the beat of your heart more appropriate for running rather than simply facing what you think you’re going to face. Inhaling deeply, you let your nerves drift on the exhale. Of all the scary things you’ve done today, this can’t be in the top three.

Foot in front of the other you meet Harvey by his little dinner table. He’s pulled on a shirt and pajamas, his wet mass of hair already starting to fluff up again. And he’s holding a bouquet. You vaguely recognise it from earlier, barely a couple of hours ago now. And so much has happened since then. The way you fall in and out of destructive behaviour, perhaps you should say no. Is it fair to Harvey to subject him to a relationship where he can never rely on what emotional state that you’re in?

Is it fair to decide that for him? No, no you suppose not. You’re going to have to trust that Harvey knows who you are, that despite all that he has seen, this is what he wants. He is, after all, a very grown man. The joke makes you smile to yourself, which Harvey mirrors with nervous enthusiasm. 

He murmurs your name, cradling it tenderly with his voice. “Um, I don’t know if you know what giving a bouquet means here,” he starts.

You nod.

A shaky sigh brushes past his lips. “I believe that life loans you happiness, if you promise it will make you ache when you have to give it back.”

Startled, you blink.

He continues. “What I mean is, everything good I hold it despite the fears, because I’d rather experience it than not at all. And sweetheart, you give me so much good. And I know we both have fears from other situations, from what life has taken back, but I’m not afraid of this. Of doing this with you.” Holding those red and white tulips, orange pansies, and, if you’re not mistaken, a few primroses. The bouquet is not very big. It’s filled with a few greens and meanings that you don’t know but know that he does. A thousand roses could not do what the wildflowers in his hands do. “So, I hope you’ll accept these flowers. I hope you’ll do this with me, officially.”

Your breathing may be coming quicker or not at all, you can’t really tell. You’re looking from him down to the flowers, and you feel the need to bolt. You also notice that he’s standing with his back to the bookcase, allowing you plenty of space do said bolting if you wanted to – you don’t know if that is on purpose.

You remember the times he’s wanted to open up about what happened to him in his last relationships – what happened to him before he came to the Valley. Walking together one winter afternoon, letting the snow frame you as you made your way through the areas which you still weren’t so sure about. You remember him opening his mouth and jumping right into the middle of a story, afraid that if he took the time to orient his thoughts, he wouldn’t get them out at all. He would trail off, though, never making it all the way through. You allowed him to do this, changing subjects as if the outburst had never been there at all. You know how hard it is to say anything. You don’t say anything at all. But here he is, willing to be brave with you in spite of it all. Because of it all. You just have to gather the courage yourself.

Looking up into warm brown eyes, you feel the hope in them spilling over into you, filling the cracks in your chest. For a moment, bathed in the afternoon sun and the fragility of newborn wishes, you feel complete. You’re truly okay. And you’re determined to make this bit of loaned happiness ache like hell if it ever goes away.

With steady hands, you take the flowers from him, inhaling them deeply. The scent dances through you, your eyes falling closed as you receive it. When they open again, you meet the wide eyes of your doctor. “I will, Harvey. Yes.”

A laugh bursts from him, a sound of joy akin to a battle cry, as he swoops you up. Wrapped around each other like vines, you let your laughs waltz where your chests are pressed together. He swings you around once before setting you back down, never letting you separate from him for more than a centimeter.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” He whispers into your hair.

You don’t say anything back, merely holding him tighter, hoping he can hear the unspoken in everything else. Hoping it’s enough for now.

Notes:

• “Looks like we made iiitttt”
• Can’t dance around it any longer. If these kids want to get together, I can’t stop them, no matter how much I apparently like writing angst
• So sorry about the late posting btw. I had the chapter ready and everything, but I’ve literally been to 2 funerals in the past 2 weeks. It kind of reminds me of the movie “Four Weddings and a Funeral” for some reason, and I hope it isn’t a switched situation going on here. (I’m fine, nothing totally unexpected, but it kept me occupied)
• And I love writing about Harvey’s smile. I want to have an entire chapter with just his lil’ smile. “He smiled smilingly down at you with a smile so smiling it smiled.” 10/10 content, no?

Chapter 24: My precious

Summary:

The night of the Day That Wouldn’t End

Nightfall painting the sky blue and purple is your view on the way home. Clouds woven together, framing the remnants of sun. The days have grown longer, and summer will be upon you sooner rather than later. The big harvest will be ready in just under a couple of weeks, marking the end of your first successful spring here.

It’s almost been a year. A year since you were walking these very paths for the first time – well, the first time in your adult life – and meeting the people you’ve come to… come to care deeply for. If only you could take the hand of the person you were then, shivering cold and afraid, and let her know that she can rest here. You doubt she would have believed you. At that time, you had been running for a while, open scars bleeding into what little clothes you managed to pack in time. One of the shirts had even been his, which you promptly tore up and burned with some garden scrap the moment you’d discovered it. You’re just lucky the security hadn’t been put into place properly yet. He had been expecting you to need a few days to recover from his retrieval of you, his arrogance lowering his guard. And now it’s almost been a year without him finding you.

The thought brings a smug smile to your face.

And completely distracts you from taking note of your surroundings. You’re walking along, grinning down at the flowers in your hands, thinking of the past and the perfect vase. Oblivious.

“Pretty flowers,” remarked a voice from the darkness.

Your head snaps up and your body instinctively scrambles backwards, causing you to fall on your ass in what is clearly a lousy evasive maneuver. 

Shane rushes forward, “ah, shit, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t.”

He politely doesn’t raise his eyebrows at you as he helps you stand. You check the poor flowers for any sign of abuse, but they have managed to remain just as beautiful as before the embarrassing incident. You turn your gaze to Shane, giving him a once over. He looks like shit. Not bad like before, but that bar is pretty low. “You look good.”

Shane snorts, keeping his dark eyes on yours. “Don’t bullshit me.”

“Fine, you look like you’re back in the pub.”

“Haven’t seen you there, or anywhere for that matter, how would you know?”

“Call it an educated guess.”

He nods mockingly. “Oh. An educated guess.”

“What is your problem?”

Your tone must have finally registered. The lack of fight in it leaving nothing to fuel his. His shoulders fall and the stubborn set in his jaw loosens. He shrugs.

“Look,” you stop, searching for words. “We haven’t talked lately. I barely see you around and I know that you’re avoiding me. That fight was, well, shitty, but you’re one of my best friends. Let’s figure this out and move past it.”

It takes him a few moments to gather his thoughts, and you give them to him willingly, eager for this rift to be healed. “I’m not good at the making up part.”

“Well, neither am I.”

The crinkle of the paper around the flowers breaks the tense silence. Shane waves at them, “I guess you and doc finally made it official.”

You look down at them, as if he could mean anything other than the bouquet. “Yeah, well, I doubt it’s a surprise to anyone around here. You’ve all been teasing me about this for a while now.”

He nodded thoughtfully.

“When did you know?”

“That you loved him?”

You open and close your mouth, shock tearing through you. “I- I don’t-“

“A couple of days before his birthday.” You look into his face, but he’s looking off into the memory. You remember that day. Emily and you had been holed up in that library for hours after you had unsuccessfully been looking for a gift almost since you noticed his birthday on the town birthday calendar. Nothing had seemed right; nothing said the right thing in the right way. Shane’s joining of the impromptu insane asylum had been appreciated, even if he spent most of the time mocking you and finding prank gifts rather than honest suggestions. “You should’ve seen your face. You were acting like a stressed chicken.” His blinks and the far-away look is gone, his focus is once more back on your face. “Did he like the gift, Paulie? I never asked.”

You pretend to be annoyed but a part of the ice melts, relieved at hearing the old nickname falling from him so easily. “He did, thanks.”

A big dark shadow lands on the fence not far from you. A large crow looking at the two of you as if it didn’t just invite itself into your discussion, but rather the other way around.

“Black, like my soul,” you joke, albeit a little humourlessly.

Shane just stands there next to you, watching the bird squawk, pleased by the attentions of another species. “You know, crows aren’t black.”

“It was just a joke, you don’t have to-“

“They’re rainbow-colored.”

You frown at him.

He nods as emphatically as a guy like Shane can manage. “It’s outside humans’ spectrum of light. Apparently other animals see them as this bomb of colours, though.” A small chuckle spills from him. “We don’t even have the words to describe all of them, but it’s why they almost look oily at times.”

You face the crow, catching the shine down it’s back.

Shane continues. “The oily look is all those colours tapping our spectrum. Mother Nature is a jokester, go figure.” The crow flaps its wings, settling in on its post. “It’s good to be reminded that there is more than what we can see.” That’s the longest speech you’ve heard from him.

“Nerd.”

He sighs deeply, but you see the twist of the corner of his mouth. “Fuck you.”

“Fuck you.” You lean your head against his shoulder. He exhales audibly, relaxing into the contact “How do you know all that?”

“Hey, I can know stuff too. Even though I’m not a doctor.”

You scoff. “Will you ever approve of him?”

“It matters to you that I do?” You can feel the vibrations of his voice through his shoulder.

You consider it for a moment. “For some reason it does.”

“Then I guess I’ll try.” His answer comes without hesitation.

“And help me with a small harvest tomorrow?”

He nods absentmindedly. “Sure, if you pay.”

“And the big one in two weeks?” You raise your head to look at him.

He side-eyes you, his tone warning. “Pushing it, Paulie.”

“I’ll give chickens another chance.”

He’s silent. “Deal.”

You walk away with an over-done swagger.

“I feel like I’m going to regret this,” his voice calls to your retreating back.

“Oh, you most definitely will. I’m in way over my head with this one.”

His groan gives your step a certain spark on the rest of the way home. Who knew the prospect of forcing one’s friends through a horrible day of physical labour would energise one so much?

 

***

Before you head up the steps to your house, you run by the shed. Hopefully there’s a vase, or even a vase-adjacent thing, hiding out here. Or else you’ll have to put them in an old milk carton until you can gather the money for a new one, since your old one broke after one of Baby’s eventful 3AM zoomies.  Perhaps Evelyn has one she’d like to be rid of.

The darkness has now completely fallen, and you can barely see the flowers where you place them on the steps before heading over to the unlatch the door. It creaks, falling open to reveal a very disorganised space. You’d forgotten you’d left it in such disarray. And you’ll have to find your backpack tomorrow, though you expect someone will be by with it soon if it’s not still out there.

You step carefully over some fallen hoes and shovels, looking over the dusty shelves. Up on tip toes, you attempt to see over the top shelves but eventually have to defeatedly drag a crate over to stand on. You immediately come face to face with a giant spider.

Now, that would not have been a problem, if the spider hadn’t jumped at your face. You’d like to see anyone stay calm in a situation like this. You practically take everything with you on your way down, landing not so glamorously on a box of tarps and things. Hard things. The pain of landing on your tailbone forces the air out of you, and for a hot minute you’re completely immobile.

And just like that, you have decided that there’s nothing to find up on those shelves. It is none of your business. What currently is your business, however, is what in the world you’ve landed on. For fear of angering the spider once more, your cursing needs to be directed something else. Ripping the tarp off, you see a large chest inside a cardboard box. Huh.

 Running a hand over the wood, it feels old and worn down by the years. The metal framing it is heavy and large, rust eating away at most if not all of it. And there’s a large lock keeping its secrets inside, hanging heavy. You briefly wonder if your grandfather had secretly been a pirate.

Finding two large open-ended wrenches, you’re satisfied to see that they fit into the shackle of the lock just so. Forcing the handles of the wrenches together, you watch as the shackle breaks into pieces. There’s surprisingly little rust in the lock compared to the other metal of the chest, making you wonder if it’d been added later, despite how its appearance matches. You take off the top of the shackle still looped on, before you can pry your fingers into the mouth of the old wood, and lift.

The smell of wet old wood is your first impression. The small lightbulb behind you reveals little, mainly because there is little to be revealed. A few rocks and singular straws of rotten wheat the only thing in the bottom of this thing. You sink down onto your heels, looking defeatedly into the empty chest. That’s it? Perhaps your grandfather only used it as decoration. According to his hospital records, he hadn’t been all there towards the end.

You run your fingers over the inside, chipping at the wood and pressing against suspicious bumps. There really is nothing. You shrug and go to close it, when something within the lid catches your eye. Because of the concave shape of it, you hadn’t noticed the red carvings in the wood at first – you doubt anyone would if they hadn’t been looking closely. At first glance it looks like unimportant scratches, but there are deeper carvings among those. You run your fingers over them, tracing the lines. The shapes of them form different pictures in your head, parts being cast out quickly when the next line reveals an unexpected part. Image on image until each puzzle piece slowly finds its match. A house and something not far behind it. Two vertical lines and one long horizontal. Leading up to… Oh.

Unfolding yourself carefully, you grab for the flashlight you’d bought from Pierre not long ago. You march out to the mountain path that leads around the town and up to Robin’s family cabin, but instead of following it you stay close to the rock wall. Squaring your shoulders, you head into the area of overgrowth and trees you have yet to cut down.

The darkness feels heavier between the trees and bushes. Everything alive startles at your approach, and despite how far you’ve come in your fear, your heartbeat refuses to settle.

“Meooow.”

From between your legs, you see a familiar white cat come up and lead the way forward.

You breathe the words. “Baby. Stay with me and you’ll get so many treats when we get back.”

The branches and sticks break underneath your boots, the only sounds interrupting the eery quiet. There are no animals or insects to break the silence, as if they’re all holding their breaths, waiting. You’d love even a wolf’s howl at this point. And you’re definitely complaining to Pierre about the quality of this flashlight tomorrow. It doesn’t reach out as far or wide as promised, illuminating only a few steps ahead. Your lantern would be far preferable right now, but it’s hooked on your backpack somewhere.

Suddenly, Baby rushes forward and out of sight.

“Shit.” You increase your pace as much as you can without falling on your face, barely resisting the urge to run. Now that the cat is gone, it feels like everything is concentrating on you. Urging you forward into its dark depths. How far does this property go? It didn’t seem that far in the carvings.

You come to a small clearing, a half circle around the stone wall leading up to the little cliff overlooking the property. Here stands a small monument made of stone as if carved out of the wall. A half circle of smooth stone on the ground with strange letters in a language you don’t know, leading up to what looks almost like a podium, before it flares out into an intricately made frame with an upright stone slap within.

Baby sits proudly, staring up at it with its tail swooshing behind it, blinking slowly. You sneak up to the thing, as if it’s suddenly going metamorphose into a large mouth and eat you. With a hand you reach out to trace the numbers and letters over the large stone slap.

It’s a fucking headstone. You light up the frame, down the podium, and over the sigils on the ground. Even better, it’s a fucking shrine. To your grandfather.

“That’s freaky as hell. Sorry, sir.” You aim the last part at the headstone. Whatever your beliefs are, you aren’t taking any chances.

Other than the name and dates, you can’t read anything on the shrine, all of it written in that strange language. What you do see is something dug into the front of the podium: a small crystal that resembles a green garnet. The same moment you spot it, Baby goes up and starts batting at it with its paw. Corns of rocks come off, each hit loosening the gem from its place. You crouch down and pull at it yourself, shooing off the cat before it can do more damage. You hadn’t planned on grave-robbing today, but you aren’t just going to leave it in the grass for a bird to choke on.

The jewel falls out into your hand, and your brows reach for your hairline in surprise. The garnet is sitting inside the gold band of a ring, which is inscribed with something you can luckily read. “Limus Incantator,” you read aloud.

Baby meows from your side.

“I don’t know either, bibs. Isn’t ‘incantator’ a spell? Like incantation?”

The cat meows thoughtfully.

You rise from your crouch, still staring at the ring while you make your way back. “Limus?” Limus, Limus, Limus. As you play around with the ring, you hold up your right hand next to it. Experimentally, you slide the ring down over pinky finger. It fits. Your shoulders relax a smidge as you make your way back to the house, Baby prancing happily by your feet. You spot the flowers and sigh – milk carton it is.

The next morning, bright and early and covered in evidence of your morning chores done in a hurry, you knock incessantly on the library doors. A tired Gunther, the town librarian, comes out begging you to stop, the convenience of his apartment being above his workplace rapidly losing its appeal.

“I need every book you have on weird rings, shrines, and latin.” You count them off on your fingers. “Oh, and do you know how to get in contact with that wizard guy?”

Notes:

• Yaaay, Shane is back! Missed the depressed, damaged, self-hating alcoholic.
• Busting out my rusty Latin lessons. You were *right* prof. Mogens, I would come to need that mandatory course at some point. Though I doubt he imagined it would be for this.
• Baby’s gender is still undecided. Though sometimes I catch myself giving it she/her/he/him pronouns and I’ll have to look out of the window for a while for some quality self-reflection time.
• Oh – what is this? A random subplot merely because the author felt inspired?

Chapter 25: Lewis’ Secret

Summary:

You’re pulling at old threads, watching the veil of the town fall apart.

Right as you close the door to the library behind you, a loud splash sounds in the river. Your body whips around, eyes wide and scanning the scene. Not long after, even louder laughter breaks through the surface.

Right. You shake your head. Swimming is a fun past time when you know how to do it.

Maru receives Sam at the riverbank with a smile and a kiss, squealing as the wet man wraps himself around her. Your eyes fall to the redhead surrounded by children and books in the grass, taking in the crease between her eyebrows and the wobbling of the corner of her smile as she tries to get the lesson back on track.

This picture somehow continues to make your heart ache; despite how many times you’ve seen it. Maru and Sam have been dating for a while now, but as far as you know there has been no bouquet offered from either side. Not unusual in this small town, but it’s gone on long enough for them to be a frequent topic of discussion at the pub, especially for the parents of those involved. You try to stay out of it, but once or twice you’d caught Maru flinching, just for your eyes to fall to Sam’s defeated retreating hand. You can’t help but notice these things. Notice how Maru makes up for the unmasked moment by being all over Sam the rest of the night. Notice how Penny has been more somber than usual – though it’s still unclear to you for which reasons specifically. And notice how Sam seems to be determined to make this unstable situation work, despite already being known as an eternal bachelor.

On your way over the bridge, you catch Lewis in the middle of tending to his flowerbeds. His signature hat often used to wipe the sweat off his glistening forehead, even though his gloves always remain perfectly clean all through the bout of labour. He notices you coming, rising from his crouch with the abnormally large kneepads still wrapped around him. “Hello, farmer-girl!” He calls, probably expecting you to wave and nothing more, as you have done since you’ve begun your extracurriculars.

You stop, balancing your books and scrolls on your hip as you take in the nervous fidgeting the smaller man is doing. Your eyes level with his. “Hello, mayor, can I bother you for a sec?”

He expels a frightening laugh resembling that of a fat man in a red suit. “A conversation with our flourishing farmer, how could it be a bother at all! No, no, come inside. I’ll bring us some lemonade.” You barely hold back a grimace.

“I didn’t know you made lemonade, Sir,” you remark as you step inside after him, taking in the décor.

He gestures to one of the chairs before moving over to the fridge. “I- uh- I don’t, normally. I’ve, um, gotten a bit of help with it recently.”

Bet you have. You nod politely, eyes brushing over the pictures until you find one of interest.

Lewis glances up at it as you inquire about it, his chest expanding with misplaced pride before he places the glasses down on a couple of coasters. The condensation is a relief against your skin when you lift the glass to your lips. “I collected it about ten years ago. An elderly gentleman sold it to me with no idea how much it was actually worth,” he chuckles gleefully at his conquest. “Ah, but it was the landscape that attracted me to it. I’ve since learned of its actual age, and it would shock a young woman such as yourself.”

You smile at him in wonder. “Is it your oldest piece, then?”

He starts to nod before he suddenly remembers something. “Yes- well, no. It’s my oldest painting, but I collect items much older than this one!”

With curiosity, you look around the room.

Another cringing laugh escapes him. “No, no, dear. I don’t keep them up here. It’s way too dangerous! Any ill-intending passer-by could look through my windows and see the priced collection.” He leans in conspiratorially. “I keep them in the basement,” his whisper washing his stale breath over your face. Your smile doesn’t move.

“I’d love to see them someday.”

The shutters close down over his face, and he leans away from you slightly. “Yes, well, I try to avoid disturbing them to lower the risk of accidentally breaking them.”

You nod empathically. “Of course, well, if you ever make one of your trips down there, consider a fellow enthusiast?”

He shrugs and nods. Once.

“Well, what I came here for was to ask you for advice on something.”

***

Harvey sits at the desk behind the counter when you burst through the doors, his head snapping up as the bells scream behind you equally startled. Once he’s scanned you head to toe and concluded that it isn’t a life-or-death situation, his shoulders drop, and a lazy smile warms his face. He stands from his chair, bracing his hands against the counter to drop a kiss down on your cheek. You turn your head, letting his lips fall on the corner of yours, enjoying the heat born of his sharp intake of breath. A large hand cradles the side of your jaw, holding you still as he takes your mouth in a hot kiss. He absorbs the taste of you, greedily drinking you down. If it hadn’t been for the counter separating you, you know he would be rutting against you, as gluttonous for contact as you are and as easily swept up in a flare of fire that each touch continues to inspire.

You eventually break apart, gasps and giggles shared on wonderous breaths. “Hi,” he says, suddenly shy.

“Hi,” you give him a quick peck and drop back down from standing on your toes. He continues to lean against the counter, his lips curving as he takes in the details of your face. Something he’s become a lot more comfortable doing since you’d accepted his bouquet. You place the books and scrolls between you, pretending it doesn’t make you feel like a giddy fifteen-year-old every time he does it.

“What have you brought this week?”

“Some stuff on historical guilds from this area. Did you know there was a guild dedicated to hunting monsters and exploring the ‘unexplored’ of the Valley?”

“’The adventurer’s guild’,” Harvey reads from the text you turn to face him. You nod and start unfolding some of the scrolls. Harvey’s brows draw together, “is that- blueprints of the town?” He hands you a stapler and other heavy office stuff to place on the edges of the drawings.

“The town’s sewer system to be exact. It didn’t really show me anything interesting. I was kind of hoping they would lead around the basement of Lewis’ house.”

“Why?”

“Well, Gunther said that he depends on donations for the museum part of the library, but after a smaller break-in some odd ten years ago, the few pieces the museum owned had gone missing. He had inquired to Lewis about displaying some of his items in the museum, just to keep the tourism up, but apparently our otherwise tourist-centered Mayor had point blank refused.”

“Why would he do that?”

You exclaim with the enthusiasm of defendant poking a hole in a witness’ story. “Exactly! What reasons could there be for Lewis not wanting anyone to see what he owned? Why does he keep all of his true collectables in his basement? A basement, that is, according to these blueprints of his house and sewer system, supposedly not larger than a coat closet?”

Harvey thinks on it for a moment, uncertainly looking into your eyes. You know what he’s thinking, but his good heart wouldn’t dare speak it out loud. Good thing that you’re not likewise afflicted.

“Because he steals them. The chest I found at my grandfather’s place was empty, but the lock was weirdly new. And when I mentioned to Lewis that I had found something from my grandfather’s estate and needed advice on what to do with it, he’d looked shocked. Not surprised, shocked.”

Harvey leans down on his forearms, a frown in place. You fight to keep your focus as a wave of his scent brushes against you.

“He was asking where and how I’d found it. Maybe Lewis steals from dead people’s estates, like a grave-robber.” You’re conveniently not mentioning that you are guilty of the same crime, the green and gold evidence still hugging your finger. “Maybe he stole those pieces from the museum to finish his collection.”

Harvey shakes his head, and you rear back slightly. He catches the movement, putting a hand over one of yours. “I believe you,” he says, making sure to look directly into your eyes. “I just find it unbelievable that all of this could be going on.”

You unclench and hesitantly place the next bricks of the case, building something that seems more and more solid as you speak. It’s one thing to think it, it’s another to discuss it with someone else. “And then there’s the inconclusive investigation on him. You remember when went through the forest the first time?” His eyes darken and a slight flush begins in his cheeks. “Focus. We saw the Wizard’s tower and you told me about the Golden Statue and the shady way it was financed.”

He nods, but you can tell he’s still stuck on the first part of the memory. You sigh indulgently. “Well, I’m going to find a way into that basement and get a look. My grandfather left everything to me, and I want to make sure it’s taken care of the way he wished it to be.” And also get some answers. You’re beginning to doubt that your grandfather was just some crazy farmer.

Harvey’s gaze falls to the green jewel on your finger. “Have you figured out more about the ring?” You hold it up, shaking your head. Since figuring out the inscription “Limus Incantator” meant something akin to “Slime Charmer”, you’ve hit a dead end. There are no books explaining the ring or any on translating the sigils on your grandfather’s shrine. You don’t even know who made it in the first place. “Have you tried asking the Wizard?”

You blink out of your thoughts, finding Harvey’s contemplating gaze.

He shrugs, his larger shoulders moving under his white coat. “Maybe he knows something about it. Even if you don’t believe that he’s actually a wizard, a man like that might have some special interests that could help you.”

“I asked Gunther, but he didn’t seem to know anything about him. I barely have his address.”

Harvey looks at his computer, a frown on his face. “Not that I could give it to you, but he doesn’t have any contact info. But,” Harvey adds when he sees your face fall. “He always attends the festivals and gatherings.”

Right, apparently the Wizard and Linus usually hung out on the sidelines of those things.  “Honey, you’re a genius. I knew I liked you for more than your butt.”

He scoffs, turning his head slightly with a shy smile gracing.

Your eyes run over the papers, the plan coming together in your mental eye. “I’ll catch him at the next one then, it’s only a week away.”

Harvey has completely stopped listening, though. His eyes glued on where you’re biting your lip. “You know, you’re really sexy when you’re focused like this.”

“Oh yeah?”

He nods slowly, a smirk lifting the side of his mustache.

“It’s not surprising that it turns you on when I’m working with a bunch of old stuff.”

The smirk blooms, and for a moment your brazen attitude stumbles at his unexpected reaction. The way he calmly receives your teasing insult has you unsure.

“Every time you call me old,” he begins, his words spun carefully in a web of hunger that entrances you. “It feels like you’re hoping I’ll pin you down and fuck you just to prove you wrong.”

Your lips part on a slight gasp and you watch as his rapt attention falls to the movement. “Maybe one day it’ll work.”

His eyes flare right as the bell sounds behind you. His gaze shifts to whoever comes in and you shuffle to the side, packing up your things to hide the flush working through you. You wink at him over the customer’s shoulder before you dip out. Saved by the bell.

Notes:

• Little cute filler chapter here. Just a lil’ one. Just a li o. Aloli. *Mumbles into a wall*
• I can’t say this enough, thank you for every sweet comment. I read them and reread them, even if I’m in a too awkward headspace to reply. I’m contemplating framing some of them and hang them over my bed – though it wouldn’t really do much good because I can’t see without my contacts, but I’d *know* they’re there.
• Anyways, this subplot is not completely set in stone *yet*, so if anyone has anything they’d like to see there’s room for suggestions. I’m not as many chapters ahead of this as I was before getting roasted at my Bachelor project meeting and scrapping the thing.

Chapter 26: The Great Luau – Part 1

Summary:

The Luau is a good excuse to talk to friends and mingle with new possible connections. Magical connections.

Notes:

• It’s probably not horribly long, but there are so many things to digest that I decided to divide this chapter into 2 parts. This also means that part 2 will be ready next week.

You smooth down your dress, feeling silly as your flip-flops loudly announce your arrival at the town square. Everything you’re wearing has been borrowed by Emily, who’s also the first one of the group to notice you with a uninhibited smile. With her whole arm over her head, she waves you down, her freshly cut blue hair wiggling around her.

“Sweety! Over here!” She calls, worried there’s a chance you might have missed her.

You give her a little wave of acknowledgement, surrendering to the sweeping embrace she catches you in the second you come within hugging distance.

“It’s been so long!”

You expel an amused sound, extracting yourself. “We saw each other last night.”

“That was for work. This is pleasure,” she purrs the last word, giving a side-eye to a very unbothered Shane. Everyone who knows Emily expects a come-on at least once a week.

Shane has let his hair down today, feeling the hot weather as much as the rest of you. He’s in his t-shirt and shorts as usual, but his signature sweatshirt has been abandoned and his feet are strapped into dad-sandals. You stare down at his feet, feeling his gaze on you daring you to say something. You raise your eyes to his, both expressionless.

“What are-“

“Sandals, Paulie,” he says slowly. “Figured you’d have run into them at some point.”

“They are so…” You trail off, letting the unspoken do the work for you.

“Don’t be alarmed,” he starts drily. “You’re wearing some too.”

“Oh no, no no. These are age and event appropriate footwear. Yours look like they’re missing their obligatory white socks.”

“Why are we still talking about this.”

“You’re so strapped in.”

“Take a picture. I won’t even charge ya as long as you shut the hell up.”

“Penny!” Emily interrupts your squabble.

Quickly the rest of your party arrives, and you head down to the beach. Penny, Leah, Sebastian, Abby, Shane, Emily, and you. A group that has become more and more acquainted as their respective friends have started new relationships or journeys in their lives. You never expected Sebastian and Emily to get along as well as they have, nor Abby and Penny, but people can surprise.

For example, as you enter the beach and take in the decorations and comically large pot in the middle of it all, you’re shocked to see Demetrius and Harvey locked in an embrace on the makeshift dancefloor.

“I’m going to go say hi to everyone,” you call faintly over your shoulder.

The sentiment is shared, and the rest start to spread out, but you barely hear them as you drift towards the unlikely scene.

“Ouch.”

“Ah man, sorry about that.”

“It’s okay! That’s why we’re doing this. Let’s take it from this part again. Start with the right and-“

Harvey keeps guiding Demetrius, who clumsily tries to follow despite having the leading role. The scene pulls at the corners of your lips and you find a tree to lean against as they work through another five minutes of practicing. There’s visible improvements both in Demetrius’ practical knowledge but also his confidence. The guy is smiling as he goes through the motions, by the time Robin arrives at the beach not long after. The men quickly let go of each other and with an encouraging pat on the back Harvey sends him off to his wife. It’s a complicated feeling that settles in you, knowing the type of prejudice that is in that man but still seeing him do sweet stuff for his wife. People aren’t solely good or bad, but you’ve decided that there’s no chance of friendship with him while so many people are still suffering from his close-mindedness.

Harvey turns around and starts to walk back when he sees you, startled.

“Hello, Doctor Becker.”

“Sweetheart,” his voice carrying the word with the comfort of freshly washed sheets. “I didn’t see you. Did you just get here?” He comes towards you without hesitation, bending down to give you a kiss.

“About ten minutes ago.”

He reaches up to scratch at his neck. “So you saw…?”

You smile, adjusting the open short-sleeved Hawaii shirt draped over his white t-shirt. You can feel the not yet fully absorbed sunscreen on his arms as you let your hands run down over his skin to end in his large grip. “Everything.”

He closes his eyes and with a groan bends to hide in your neck. You run a soothing hand over and down his back. The strong body beneath the soft fabric harshly reminding you that you’ve both been too busy to have any real alone time these past couple of days. You let your nails trace a pattern over his back and relish in how his body arches towards your touch, a groan rumbling against you.

You lick your suddenly dry lips. “It kind of inspired me. Maybe I should lead next time.”

“I, I adore you. But you’re not that great at dancing.”

You let the silence do the work for you, as his words slowly sink in. Suddenly he tenses and starts upright, mouth agape.

“I-I didn’t meant it- I meant it as in it’s very hard to lead and- well, the dances are new for you and I-“

You give him a chaste kiss, laughing at the feeling of the relieved sigh pressing between you. “I know, doc.”

A hand holds the side of your neck, angling your head as he takes the kiss into slower more deliberate territories. You break from him with a little gasp, enjoying how he self-consciously looks over his shoulder before dropping his gaze back down to your lips. He massages your neck, urging you closer. Always closer. Heat flares in your abdomen and your hands cling to the front of his shirt so they don’t wander further down. The faint traces of mint and the dark taste of him a mixture you drink down eagerly.

You break apart again only for him to follow the line of you down your neck, nibbling at the sensitive skin there. A faint moan drifts up between you and the larger man freezes. You’re both breathing too heavily considering that you’re at a family event in broad daylight. Maybe the little tree you are leaning against provides some cover, but not enough to get away with this kind of stuff.

“Okay,” Harvey sighs, kissing your cheek, your nose, your forehead. His breath almost cool under the warming sun – you’re hoping to score some shade when the worst hits around midday. “Okay,” he repeats, more to himself.

He takes your hand and leads you over to the large pot, both of you getting stopped along the way to greet and small-talk with your friends and neighbours, even some tourists, before you finally reach Marnie. The older woman is balancing on a step stool, stirring the pot with a spoon taller than herself. The fire under the large black metal cauldron crackles, yet you see no sweat beading on her skin.

“I’ve lived my whole life doing farm labour, sweet pea. This is nothing,” she responds when you bring this up to her, though you see pride raising her to almost the same height as the spoon.

The Luau is basically a feast. People bring individual plates of food, but the main event is the stew, which everyone pitches in to create. There are really no rules for what you can put in, and the mystery and unpredictability of it is what keeps it interesting year after year – or so Penny claims. When you’d asked what you’re supposed to bring, Sebastian had had a few options, all of them ending in a slap upside the head from both redheads.

You went with the safe choice of garlic and carrots still fresh from your Spring harvest, dumping them in without ceremony and letting your then empty tote bag rest in a big pile by one of the tables. Harvey opens a little plastic bag and takes out some green leaves which he lets float along the surface, folding the bag and putting it back in his pocket.

Marnie glances between the two of you with a little smile and a shrug.

“Have you seen the Wizard arrive?”

“Not yet,” Harvey glances around, taking in the different groups of people. His eyes settle somewhere by the shore, and it doesn’t take you long to figure out why, nor to understand his far-off tone. “But I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

Maru and Sam are bickering. You can’t hear what they’re saying for the crashing of the waves and the wind escorting it, but from their pinched expressions and jerky movements, they’re definitely not having a pleasant conversation. Your eyes squint.

“Are you- glaring at them?”

“I’m trying to read their lips.”

He makes a surprised sound in his throat. “You can do that?”

You sigh. “No.”

His laugh is loud enough to bring the couple out of their intense discussion. You enjoy the sight of the crinkles around his eyes deepening, watching as the grin he aims down at you further softens his eyes. The brown tender and gentle, and another emotion that makes your breath catch in your throat. His smile slowly relaxes back into a line as he stares into your eyes. Despite the hesitation clear in him, he opens his mouth as if to say something.

Someone calls your name, interrupting the moment. You turn in time to see Mayor Lewis approaching with a rather large and round man dressed inappropriately for the weather in a purple suit.

“You must meet our pride and joy, our town’s very own farmer,” Lewis says, addressing the stranger. They come to stand in front of you. “Doctor Becker, you’ve met the Governor before.”

The two men shake hands before the Governor turns to you. Your back stiffens and you feel a smile slide over your face.

“The Valley’s newest farmer,” he announces merrily. “How lovely to meet you.”

You take his outstretched hand. “You too, Governor. Is this your first Luau as well?”

You notice Harvey’s questioning gaze aimed at you in your peripheral, but you ignore it.

The Governor chuckles. “Why no. I come every year. It’s such a lovely occasion… It’s always a joy to visit Stardew Valley. I must speak to the missus about purchasing a vacation home here.”

“You tease us about that every year, Sir!” Lewis exclaims politely.

“If the stew is really good this time, maybe I’ll mean it!”

Clucking ensues.

You attempt to share a look with Harvey, but he’s still trying to smother a frown. The man wears his emotions on his sleeve – poor guy can’t help it. You squeeze his hand, feeling him relax a bit against you.

The chuckles die down and the two older men face you once more. “I’m sure the stew will the brilliant now that we finally have some fresh crops again! Come, Governor – there are people eager to greet you again!”

As soon as they turn their backs to you your shoulders drop, and a heaving sigh leaves you. Your face falls into something less strained, and on an inhale you let the scents of sea and sand calm your pounding heart.

“Are you okay?”

Blinking up at him, you notice the sun has crawled further towards its peak behind him. “Why do you ask?”

“You turned into a completely different person just now.”

“Oh,” you breathe into the word, portraying the ache left behind by the meeting. “I just hate meeting officials like that.”

“For the same reason you won’t let me create a profile on you for the clinic?”

You bite your cheek and look away, watching the kids run around chasing each other through ruins of once great castles of sand. “My family can never know where I am,” your confession barely above a whisper.

Harvey suddenly grabs you, mushing your face against his soft chest. You feel his cheek turned into the side of your head and let the overwhelming warmth of him protect you for longer than you have a right to. “I don’t talk to my family either.”

You tighten your arms. Maybe you don’t deserve the comfort, but Harvey does.

The moment is gone long before you’re ready to let it go. Harvey stiffens, becoming alert. “He’s here.”

Looking around doesn’t yield you the same results. “I don’t see him.”

Your doctor turns and looks somewhere further down the beach, to a part that’s usually separate from the rest of the beach. “Trust me, he’s there. Do you want me to go with you?”

With a pat on his arm, you let him know that you appreciate his suggestion, but you have some questions you know would concern Harvey, and you’d like to spare him that.

Past people sunbathing, dancing, relaxing; past shells and birds looking for prey; you walk steadily down the beach, becoming more and more aware of the ring on your finger the further you get from the crowd. There’s a small walkway over the water here as well, one you’d never noticed before, leading to a part of the beach made up of stone and leftover sand. You understand why people prefer the other side. Here the trees lean out and over the ground, hiding the unknown and strange in its shade.

 “You’ve been looking for me.” A smooth voice speaks from the darkness. You sense an outline of a tall man going up into a spike.

Fair enough guess, you credit him. You wouldn’t have wandered this far out for nothing.

“Speak, child.”

You barely supress the urge to huff at him, letting his condescension drift past you. If he’s close with Linus, you assume they must be the same age. And you need his help, so you’ll go along with whatever melodramatics he’s decided are necessary. Though you’d love a moment where you don’t have to consult or rely on a man for the solutions. This journey has been like being transferred around in costumer support.

The metal goes easily down your finger, taking the comfort of it with it. “I found this ring next to some scriptures. Do you recognise it?”

He steps out from the shade, illuminated by the sun. Completely dark hair frames his faces – so dark that it looks almost purple under the sun and up against his clothes. He’s wearing a proper Wizard’s outfit, royal purple and black draped across him in a way you’d have thought silly if you’d maybe just seen a picture of him. But his sharp eyes and vibrating presence contribute to your stone-cold belief in this man and what he knows. It is, however, also making you regret moving out of view from witnesses. He’s almost in your space completely before he reaches out; a hand of wide fingers and a solid palm waiting for you to drop the ring into it. The examination is not done with the eyes – his gaze barely runs over the inscription before he lets the other hand encapsulate the jewellery, lids falling closed as he focuses on whatever it may tell him. If not for the setting promoting old habits of subdued tolerance, you’d have felt more awkward in the silence.

For it is completely silent. The waves no longer expanding over the sand like deep breaths, the birds sitting idle and out of sight, and the wind giving up its dance with the elements. Not even your unsteady exhales and inhales registers in your ears. Rather, a pressure is building, laying on your chest. Along your arms you feel the weight of what the Wizard is doing, of what he’s manipulating to call forth the knowledge of the ring. Just when you fear it may choke you, he opens his eyes and breathes out. And it all moves again.

He makes a thoughtful sound in his chest. “This is a ring of protection. A certain race of creatures will be repelled by you – creatures they would nowadays call Slime.” He looks at you past bushy eyebrows. “Do you know of them?”

You nod, numbly letting him slide the ring back onto your finger with care.

“Good. So many people know so little of the world.” His eyes fall to somewhere over your shoulder. You wonder if you’ve imagined the fall in his prideful shoulders.

“I have more questions.”

You regain his attention.

Exhaling, you square your shoulders. “I found this with some of my grandfather’s belongings,” you fib, keeping your cards close to your chest. “There were also some papers with scriptures on them. A language I don’t know and can’t seem to find on the internet or in the library.”

“Bring them to my chambers. I’ll let you know when I’m available, and we can see if I have the information you need.”

You bite on your lip, pondering if you should perhaps tell him everything anyway. You’re unsure if this shrine thing requires immediate attention or not. What if someone’s put a curse on the grounds?

Look at you, believing in curses and a man who uses words like “chambers”. No matter what that shrine is for, it’s creepy and you’d like it gone. And you’d like to know who made it.

“If someone left something on my property, is there a way of figuring out who it was?”

“What did they leave?” He rumbles.

Your eyes stray to the side.

“We’ll talk more when you visit me. It was about time you and I had a chat. But for now, there are eyes on the trees and your… friend… is waiting for you.”

Dismissal clear, you turn and to walk back, when a nagging thought leaves you before you’ve had time to analyse it. “Why don’t you join us?” You wince internally, half turning your body his way to make it look like it was a thought-out comment.

He’s remained in the same spot, looking into and past the waves. “I believe the townsfolk are afraid of me. It is unfortunate, but I suppose it is human to be afraid of the unknown.” Dark purple eyes fall on you, teasing a gasp that’s stuck in your throat. You hadn’t noticed the colour of them before, hadn’t seen them. “Are you afraid of me?”

Your heart beats faster. “Of course,” you confess. “But I’m curious too.”

“You know what they say…”

“I’m not exactly drinking milk out of a bowl – I think I’m good.”

The edges of his lips curve underneath the ink dark beard. The beard too has a shimmer of purple up against his robes. “Lovely to see you again, Miss.”

“Goodbye, Wizard.” You make it a couple of paces before another question makes it past your lips. You speak it as you turn around, “By the way, what’s your real name?” But he’s gone, every trace of him removed, waking this part of the beach once more and letting life spill over it. Not even footsteps in the sand left behind to prove to yourself you haven’t just imagined this whole thing.

Notes:

• I’m imagining the colours you see on the wizard’s hair and beard is kind of like if you Google image the hex #0f0017 - but go whereever your imaginations take you
• See you next week!

Chapter 27: The Great Luau - Part 2

Summary:

Finishing the day at the beach with sunscreen and screaming.

Notes:

To everyone in the USA, and to everyone who’s affected by the 2024 election, I’m so deeply sorry. Funnily enough, I’m having trouble putting into words how horrible it felt to look at those results. I’ve always been a “find peace in the middle” type of person, but Ao3 is a safe space and the results of the election was a violent act, so my fic is not a welcoming place for people who voted for a man like that – just like it’s not a place for people against Palestine. Human rights, always. I’d rather not get any hits than have people doubt my opinion on these matters. Love to all who need it.

The fog of the event leaves you gradually. As you’re trudging back to your friends through the burning sand, your energy returns to a full blast as their laughter and conversation flow between tables and incoming waves. A beachball is tossed between sea and land, both sides jumping in glee to return it to the other. The ball accidentally heads towards Harvey, who can unfortunately do nothing but let it smack into the side of his head, glasses flying off.

You gasp, running up to him as he rubs at his cheek, his eyes turned panicked down at the sand.

People cry their apologies at him while you stoop down to pick up his glasses. You retract them before he can take them from you.

“I’m starting to feel bullied, Sweetheart,” he murmurs sourly.

You huff, pulling up the bottom of your dress and wipe at the glass before placing them on the bridge of his nose. “Okay?”

He blinks through them, moving his head slightly from side to side. “Okay,” he echoes. “Thank you. I do feel bad about your pretty dress getting dirty.” He pulls at the fabric, rubbing it between his fingers.

“Don’t. It’s just a cover-up. Its destiny was always to end up dirty in the sand,” you say melodramatically.

Eyebrows reach for his hairline. “A cover-up?”

You nod, biting your lip. “Mhm. I’m wearing a bikini underneath.”

“But- but you don’t swim.”

“I can tan or play games.”

“In your bikini?”

You nod. “In my bikini.”

Harvey’s eyes are fastened on your breast, as if he can all of a sudden develop x-ray vision. His attention makes you shiver, prompting your nipples to begin hardening behind the fabrics.

“Harvey dear?”

He makes a sound in his throat.

“Do you want me to take off the dress?”

He rubs at his mouth and jaw, dragging his hand over his skin and back onto his neck. “I don’t know if I’d survive it.”

You scoff. “You’ve seen about every angle of me naked.”

“But here? In public? Where I can’t touch you?”

“Right,” you drag the word, stepping closer to him. “It would be… hard… not to touch me. To play the professional, respectful town doctor, when we both know the dirty things you’re thinking when you’re watching me.” You go up on your toes, watching his reaction as you whisper over his flushed skin. “Should I bend over in front of you, in my little bottoms? When it’d be so easy for you to push them aside and slide into me, yet knowing you can’t.” Lips brushing, you feel him struggling to control his breathing. His chest trembles under your hands where you use him to steady yourself. “Is that what you want? To take me right here, where everyone could see, show everyone that I’m yours and you’re mine.” You kiss his cheek, letting your lips linger on his skin before lowering yourself back down.

He's so beautiful like this. Panting and pupils blown, looking around self-consciously but unable to keep his eyes from you for long. His skin red – as if the sun could ever best Harvey’s anal tendencies regarding sun exposure – lets you know just how affected he is by you.

You pull the dress off in one long, smooth motion, sending him a coy smile. To be honest, teasing Harvey is only an added bonus. Something akin to panic has flooded your system, making it feel like your head is overheating and your chest is too tight. You grit your teeth against it, hoping that your sweet doctor can be a distraction while you fight past whatever this is. Being exposed like this in public is new for you – in the sense that you’ve only tried it once before and never been tempted again since. You’re fighting to stay in the moment when Harvey reaches out towards you. A large hand lands on your shoulder, the roughness of his thumb familiar as it moves in soothing circles over your skin.

“You’re not wearing sunscreen.”

You blink. Of all the things you’d expected him to say, that was not one of them. Not in this moment. However, it has succeeded in distracting you. “Apparently, I need to up my game.”

He flushes even further, maroon threatening to take over his entire face. “No! No, I- you did good. I mean… This is good.” He waves at the length of you before dropping his hand. “But you don’t have any sunscreen on at it just creates so many health risks. Just thirty minutes in the sun unprotected can cause irreversible damage.”

You let him ramble on about the risks, looking around for his bag in the sand. He always packs a bag for any event, not just in case of a medical emergency, but he overthinks himself into a corner he can only get out of by packing for every possible situation. You’re sure that there’s an extra set of swim-shorts in there, in case the ones he’s wearing underneath burst into flames or something equally likely. You bend down, effectively stopping his speech before snapping back up, handing him the bottle.

He looks from his hand to you.

You shrug.

“You want me to…?”

A nod.

“Here?”

You glance around. “I mean, I could ask Alex if he’d like to do it for me.”

Aaand the lid makes a clear pop as it’s opened, the solution farting as it’s squeezed aggressively out into his palm.

“I fear I have overcompensated in my eagerness.” You both watch him cradle the absurd amount of sunscreen.

You open your mouth and close it again.

“I’ve never been hard and holding sunscreen before,” he murmurs almost in wonder.

Clamping your teeth down onto your lower lip, you desperately try to hold back a barking laugh. “This was not how I saw it playing out.”

He shakes his head solemnly, eyes still on the shifting mountain of lotion. “The beach is never as sexy as the movies make it seem.”

“Which movies have you been watching, doc?”

He shakes his head again, this time with a grin tugging at the edge of his lips.

“Right, better start smoothing that stuff out.” You turn your back to him, making sure there’s no chance of hair being in the way.

You feel his heat as he steps closer, hear his hands as they warm up the sunscreen before he places his scorching hands on your shoulders. At first as he slides his hands over you, you believe he tries to be clinical about it, very aware of any potential watchers. Soon enough, though, his hands have to travel further down your body, and the impersonal swiping becomes purposeful messaging, as if he’s trying to feed your skin the solution. The sand shifts behind you as he steps even closer, his hands traveling up the sides of you and down your arms making you shiver.

“Turn around.” His voice rough enough that he spares a moment to clear it.

You do, shaking now for a whole different reason than when you started this. A bead of sweat travels down the length of your chest, which he follows hungrily with his gaze. You smirk when he raises his eyes to yours.

His pupils dilate further. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Do you want to stop?” You don’t want it to get to be too overwhelming for him.

Eyes dropping down to the uncovered skin, he answers you firmly. “No.” Starting at your collarbones, he connects the sunscreen with the back before he continues down your body. He moves swiftly over your chest and right now you’re both thankful that your bikini is somewhat conservative. Hands running over the top of your breast, he dips beneath the line of the material, his fingertips teasing the sensitive skin around your nipple. You gasp when he shifts his grasp, lightly squeezing one of your breasts.

Your eyes fly up to his.

“S-sorry.” Yet you have a feeling the blushing man is far from sorry.

Bracing on both sides of your rips, he lets his hands meet on the middle of your stomach, ignoring the trembling muscles as he follows the line of your bottoms all the way around. His hands so close to where you need them. He moulds your flesh and muscles in his firm grip, hungrily absorbing the movements with his eyes.

“I can do my legs,” you go for the sunscreen again but before you can pour any into your hand, Harvey offers his own again. Squirting less this time, you watch as he drops down to his knees. You’re sure this looks less pornographic to anyone who happens to be watching you.

Framing your ankle, the older man massages the lotion up your leg and only after a moment’s hesitation spreads it over your cheek, mirroring his movements on the other leg. His large hand manipulating the softness greedily. As his hands near your most sensitive area, you’re not sure he’s going to stop, and you’re not sure you want him to. His firm fingers drive over the inside of your thigh, so close to you you’re sure he can feel your heat through the material. He rises, his dark gaze holding yours all the way up. His hands come up to your face and, with the same care you’d spare a butterfly, apply the leftovers to your features.

“Harvey,” you almost whimper his name.

“Doctor Becker! Leave that girl alone and give us a hand here, we’re a man down.”

By the dancefloor, past one of the six large totems surrounding the beach, a group of the boys are huddled around a makeshift net, passing a ball back and forth.

Harvey looks back at you.

“Go,” you try to wave him off, but he doesn’t move. “What?” You laugh.

He swallows, “I’d rather be with you.”

“We come to these things to be social. Go! Make friends.”

“Right now, I couldn’t care less about having friends.”

You go up on unsteady tiptoes and land a kiss on his cheek. You feel his hand slide to your hair and for a moment you wonder if he’ll let you part.

But he does, with a sigh of great suffering. “Don’t go home without me tonight. Please.”

No chance of that. You shoo him off, and with a last glance at you he hustles to the cheer of the men.

Spotting your group huddled together in various stages of tanning and ocean-watching, you plump down on a towel in the sand next to Sebastian, who’s inconveniently dressed in his usual gear. “You run the risk of overheating.”

He gives you a sly smile. “Are you calling me hot?”

You give the back of his arm a light slap, feeling his laugh shake his shoulders. He goes to pull out a little pack from his pocket, but with a side glance somewhere behind you towards the dancefloor, he wisely puts it back. He blows out a long gust of air.

“Nervous?” You ask him.

He does a double take. “No,” he thinks for a moment. “No, my head’s just… busy.”

“How eloquently put.”

He grins. “Shane mentioned you’re a little shit, given the chance.”

“I’m older than you,” you point out.

Sebastian frowns, fiddling with his lighter. “Fixated on age, are we? You did the same when Sam hit on you a few months back.” He nods his head towards the blond boy as if you’d forgotten who he was talking about.

You both sit for a moment, taking in the way Sam pulls at his hair, frustration oozing from his very pores, from every movement and dart of the eyes as he talks to Maru.

“Do you know what that’s about?” Nothing in Sebastian’s tone would indicate that he cares one bit.

You shrug. “I can only guess.” Turning back to the sullen man at your side, you notice the tension placed around his face. “They can only help themselves, there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“Maybe.” The metal of the lighter making satisfying clicks as he handles it. “But of all the shit he’s pulled, staying with a girl who hates his guts is the weirdest for sure.”

“She doesn’t hate him.” You feel Sebastian’s questioning gaze, but you refuse to elaborate, having already said more than you feel is wise. Eyes drifting towards the ocean, you catch Leah a little way in front of you quickly turning back around, acting like she wasn’t listening in.

In a screech loud enough to travel over the busy beach, you hear the end of the argument from the couple. “Fine! I will!” And then Maru marches off the beach, angrily grabbing her stuff on the way out. Her dad rushes after her. Sam puts his head in his hands, letting them wash back over and through his already spikey blond hair before he vanishes beneath the surface of the water.

“That’s my cue,” Sebastian remarks drily as he rises, brushing sand off him. He salutes you with a wink and strolls casually towards where Sam disappeared. When you look back after a few minutes, you see them sitting in the sand, talking.

Emily puts her sewing project down in her lap, her comically large sunglasses hiding most of her expression except for the downturn of her mouth. “That’s the end of that, I suppose.”  

You hope that she’s right.

It’s barely into the afternoon when a bell is rung, begging the attention and attendance of everyone around. Adults, teens, and kids alike keenly make their way to the big pot, where Marnie has finally ceased her stirring. Lewis has somehow found himself yet another makeshift podium to stand on as he begins his little speech. “Well folks, it’s time once again for the potluck ceremony.” He leaves space for mandatory applause. “I trust that you all put high-quality ingredients in the pot this year. We don’t want the Governor to regret visit to the valley!” He might’ve said the last part pointedly, with a little glare at a bored looking Sebastian.

Mayor Lewis turns to the round official in purple with a hopeful but anxious look on his face. “Well… Governor? Would you do us the honour of tasting the soup?”

The Governor chuckles, his stomach moving with each expel of air. “Of course! I’ve been looking forward to this all year.”

Lewis hands him a spoon before moving aside to let the Governor close in on the big pot. Leaning over, he dips his spoon into the mixture, purposely avoiding some of the leaves and vegetables floating on the surface. If this was a cartoon, Lewis would be chewing his nails to the bone right now. The spoon closes in on the Governor’s outstretched lips. With Lewis’ colouring close to that of Caroline’s special tea, you’re wondering if he’s going to faint.

The slurping sounds vibrate the ground you stand on, and concerned glances are exchanged amount the onlookers. The kids are shifting, hungry for the promised feast.

“I wish he’d get on with it,” Shane mumbles impatiently from your side.

You check that Lewis’ attention is still locked on the man mid-slurp before you lean into Shane. “Didn’t know you were such a fan of the soup.”

“Huh? No, me and Jas aren’t coming near that bacteria risk with a ten-foot pole. I’m talking about Gus’ pepper poppers.” He points with his chin to a covered dish somewhere to the left.  

A loud gasp from the Governor brings the wavering attention sharply back to him. “Oh my god!”

You’re pretty sure you’re not imagining Lewis’ knees knocking together.

The Governor continues, “Oh my… that’s the best soup I’ve ever tasted!”

The mayor stumbles forward, grabbing for a spoon and almost falling into the pot in desperation to taste it. “You’re right… it’s delicious!”

And it’s as if the bounds have been released. People rush forward to stuff their faces with various dishes. Most making their way to bravely try the soup, curious to see if it’s really as good as the governor proclaimed. You enjoy the rest of the event, sitting with your friends, with Harvey, letting the summer day warm you from the inside out. The day passes by building sandcastles and taking a turn on the dance floor – being swung around by Harvey the highlight of any of these events. You even manage not to panic when Vincent shoots you with his water-gun, though you thank the stars that you were sitting against Harvey’s chest when it happened.

As the day ends and people say their goodbyes, you wait for Harvey to collect his bag, watching him hurry towards you, reaching for your outstretched hands. He plants a lingering kiss on you, letting you lead him back to the farmhouse. All in all, a really good day.

 

***

 

The Governor and his Wife sit across from each other at the long dining table, the dark skies barely descended outside the windows, despite it being fairly late into the evening. Only the sounds of forks and knives against dinnerplates break up the silence following the Governors retelling of his day. His eyes fall back down to his plate, dismayed by his Wife’s lack of interest.

Suddenly, his wife puts down the knife and fork, a thoughtful frown on her elegant face. “What did you say that farmer’s name was?”

Notes:

• Never mess with Harvey when it comes to UV protection
• I wonder what the governor’s wife has realised.

Chapter 28: A Weird Welcome Into The Wizard’s Home

Summary:

You’ve received your summons – time to make a deal with the devil.

The following week flies by in a whirlwind of emotional turmoil and irritating soil. Bad weather having practically drowned your crops, you curse at yourself for not realising that heavy summer days would result in an unyielding ground unequipped to swallow down the heaps of water. You’d almost bitten Pierre’s head off when he’d commented on it the other day. You’d stood, soaked to the bone and mud to your eyebrows, when he’d brightly said the obligatory, “the plants must be loving this, we’ve really needed it.”

Instead, you’d merely nodded, perhaps making sure the change you put in his hand had been run over your coat on their way out of your pocket. His grimace had almost resulted in an extra skip in your step.

Whenever you’ve tried seeking solace from the hell of your farm in the arms of the town, you’ve been met with nothing but escalations of the ongoing drama. Sam and Maru have to your knowledge broken up, and it took Shane and a couple of the other older men to get Demetrius to calm down from going after the poor boy. Maru had to gently remind her father that she had in fact been the one to call it off.

She still refuses to look you, though. You’ve not stopped the tradition of coming by the clinic with a cup of coffee after your morning chores, but you’re unsure if she even touches it. Harvey keeps trying to assure you that she’ll come around.

“I don’t know, Harvey,” you said one evening on his couch, your hair damp from the shower. “I’ve never had friends like this before. I barely know what we’re fighting about, let alone how to fix it.” Your big man was more heartbroken about that than you.

Penny and Maru aren’t speaking either, a fact not made better how Sam and Penny have gone back to their chummy ways. All of this only scratching the surface of the eggshells the entire town seem to be walking on with each other, but, along with your adversity on the farm, have been more than enough to distract you from your other tasks and troubles.

Until one morning, when you open your mailbox to a surprise. You don’t even know how you thought of checking; there are no festivals on the horizon, and you aren’t exactly expecting to hear from anyone who can’t just stop you on the street or knock on your door. But as you open your front door in the early hours, blinking blearily against the sunrise, your eyes happen to fall on the little box. You hop down the steps, but once you reach the mailbox you find yourself handling the latch with more care than probably necessary. The rusty metal complains as it falls open, revealing a single black envelope.

For a moment, you simply stare at it.

“This is silly,” you mumble to yourself, yet you continue to stand there. Something is off about it, but you just can’t put your finger on it. The corners visible to you are sharp without creases, the colour a deeper black than ink, and the air around it… It seems untouched, unhandled despite it being impossible. It cannot have made it into your mailbox without someone putting it there.

Can it?

Grabbing it, the smooth feel of the paper immediately lets you in on the level of quality. Flipping it over, you see that it’s sealed with a dark blue wax, the emblem resembling an encircled wavey string that seems irritatingly familiar. It opens easily under your fingers. The paper makes a satisfying sound as your pull it out, the crisp note matching the envelope so perfectly you almost miss it at first glance. In the sun it’s like a deep blue, likely an illusion brought on by the light blue writing on it. You read it carefully:

Why don’t you pay me a visit?

• M. Rasmodius, Wizard.

 

Guess you know his name now.

 

***

 

The walk to the tower is different this time. The woods opening easily around you, the path clearer than you remember it being. You briefly wonder if the only reason you happened upon the tower last time, is because you weren’t actively trying to find it. The warmth of the forest and the hot smell of the lake not far away follow you right up to the clearing surrounding the proud home of the Wizard. It looms over you as you make your way up the little hill.

The stone steps are steep enough to contribute to your already galloping heartbeat. “I appreciate you coming along,” you wheeze as you reach the top. When there’s no answer, you turn around to find Abby doubled over about halfway up.

She raises a hand before letting it slap back down against her jean-clad thigh. “Is-“ A desperate inhale of air. “No big deal.”

“Are you good?”

There’s a long wheeze that gives you the impression that Abby’s lungs must’ve collapsed in on themselves, and though you’d like to save her, you’re not going down these steps just to go back up immediately again. “Hurry up.”

You huff as she flips you off.

At last, using her pale arms, she drags herself up and over the last step, landing mercifully on her back in the maintained grass. “I sit on my ass too much.”

“Devoting one’s life to the noble cause of gaming does come with sacrifices,” you respond solemnly, stepping out of the way when she flings a barely clenched fist in your direction. You’re about to dive for a spider in a bush to fling at her, when the creaking thunder of the old wooden door interrupts your fight.

You both stare into the darkness beyond it. You look at each other.

“Shit,” Abby giggles.

‘Shit’ is right.

After dragging her up by the arm, you both make your way to the part of a movie where the viewers would be screaming at the screen. You can almost hear them now:

“Turn around!”

“Don’t go in there!”

Perhaps it had been a bad idea to ask Abby to tag along.

You brush a hand against the wood of the door, pushing it further open. Peeking inside, you force your voice to come out firm and confident. “Mr. Rasmodius? You sent me an invitation in the mail.” When there’s no response, you dare to take a step over the threshold. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve brought a friend. I’m sure you’ve met.” Your voice echoes out around you, as if you’re entering a vast empty castle rather than the finite and lived in tower. The air that clings to you as you move further behind the stonewalls is cold and wet. Perhaps this is the wrong tower in the middle of the woods. You clear your throat, “It’s Abigail, Caroline and Pierre’s daughter.”

The door slams shut behind you, collapsing the darkness in on you.

Before panic can stretch its long fingers down inside your chest or frame your throat with its teeth, a sound like the stroke of a match fills the room and all of a sudden, a hundred candles light up. Stacked on books and furniture you swore wasn’t there before, they illuminate the room in a comforting glow. And in the middle of it all stands the Wizard, eerily unmoving.

“Of course, you’re both welcome.” He smiles, as if there have been no interruptions in the conversation at all.

“You should try out for Broadway, dude. You have enough drama for it.” If every old reflex wasn’t activated right now, perhaps you would have laughed at Abby’s comment. But as it happens, you’re not in a very funny mood.

Luckily, he is. The Wizard observes Abby with a thoughtful look, taking in her long purple hair styled wildly, and the dirt on her clothes she didn’t brush off after laying on the ground.

“You have some questions, young farmer?”

Though you swear you’ve been watching his expressions closely, you’re still shocked when he’s suddenly facing you, his focus completely yours. You hadn’t even seen him twitch a muscle in your direction. In some irrational way, you’re worried about blinking in his presence.

“Yes,” you go to elaborate, but with a nervous glance over your shoulder, you suddenly regret the extra company.

The Wizard is instantly standing with his arm stretched towards the back of his chambers, aiming towards a hall. “If you’ll excuse us, Abigail, you’re welcome to explore my library for a moment.”

She blinks, noting his oddly fast movements too. With a look from you she nods, starting down the hall and out of sight.

He’s facing you once more.

Fuck, that sure as shit isn’t something you get used to.

“My grandfather,” you begin simply.

A smile is on his face. “I knew him.”

You wait awkwardly.

“What is the matter?”

“I thought you were going to say more.”

“Oh,” he says. “No.”

Right. “Since you know him, maybe you’d know something about a shrine made to him on the farm? I don’t understand the writing on it, and I’m worried it’s some hateful thing. Grandfather was a bit,” you search for the right word. “Unsettled, in his later years. Very ill. And then there’s the matter of someone keeping his belongings from me, and I think I know who it is. The only thing I have left is this ring, and I was hoping we could talk about that as well.”

He breathes deeply, his eyes falling closed. “The shrine. Yeesss, I remember. Your grandfather believed in my crafts. He was worried about you growing up in your family and he wanted to make sure you had a safe place to return to.” He opens his eyes, a mischievous light in them as he gazes down at you. “But I’m sure this is all something he’d like to explain to you himself.”

And then the world starts spinning. Slowly, at first, it all bops up and down and the room around you twirls, like you’re on a carousel with the Wizard watching from afar. He keeps coming in and out of sight as it spins faster and faster, and you wish desperately for something to hold onto.

It stops. As suddenly as it began, it all halts and the world comes back into focus. You take in the familiar surroundings. “We’re on my farm.” You feel intoxicated, drunk off of wine and on your way home from a long night.

“Sort of,” he answers, making his way to the shrine and looking over the intricate inscriptions. Eventually, he steps back. “You’ll have to wait a while yet, unfortunately. But I will assist you until then.”

“Until what?” He turns to face you, the world behind him swooshing past him like a highspeed train with his movement. When his eyes meet yours once more, you find yourself back in his tower. You’re barely able to stand upright now, and you notice your breathing coming in quicker, yet it feels as though it’s all slowly seeping out. You’re about to pass out.

“Forgive me, it’s been a while.” He snaps his fingers and with the sharp sound disappears the uncomfortable feelings, your breath evening out. “I forget how upsetting this all can be. Now, for your other question. If you find any more charms belonging to your late grandfather, feel free to stop by. And lastly, you weren’t satisfied with my answers about the ring?”

You hesitate. “You said this was a ring of protection from those creatures in the mines-”

He interrupts, “No.”

“What?”

“I never said anything about the mines, child. Though I’m pleased your experience with them is more than theoretical.”

You clear your throat, barely resisting the temptation to cast your eyes down. “Right, well, is it possible to create a ring for other kinds of protection?”

His head is now cocked to the side. A shiver runs down your back. “Against what?” Before you can answer, his eyes widen a smidge, and a grin stretches out over his features. You’re thankful he’s doing it slowly enough for you to follow the movements. “Aaaah, against him.”

A gasp is dragged from you. “How do you-“

“Yes, for a price I can make it for you,” his voice dances around the room smoothly, like a blade shaving the skin.

“What price would that be?”

“You look as if I’m about to demand your first born.”

“You’re not?”

“No, nothing quite so easy.”

You scoff, surprised at his joke. Or what you hope is a joke.

“All I require is that you kill and harvest one of the slimes,” he says the name of them like he’s forcing himself. As if they have some other name, he knows you won’t be able to understand. You’re thankful for that, for right now you don’t really want to understand anything more. You’ve had enough, feeling more than overwhelmed by this encounter already. 

“Oh, is that all,” you murmur, your mouth going dry.

He has a jar in his hand, which he gives to you. Where he got it from is apparently none of your business. “Fill this.”

“Why can’t you do it?” The words leave you before you’ve had a chance to think about them, a common occurrence around this man.

A little smirk tugs at one corner of his mouth. “The undergrounds and I have a deal; I will not say more. Do this for me, and I’ll make sure to make you such a ring.”

Abby comes around the corner, a slightly dazed look on her face. The door swings open behind you, the fresh air a relief against your back. You’re being dismissed.

“How will I know if it really works?”

He waves at the door, “test the powers of your own ring. I’m sure it will convince you better than I can.”

Before you’ve even realised that you’ve moved, the door slams shut behind you.

You and Abby blink at each other, looking back at the tall tower watching you as closely as you’re watching it.

“Dude,” Abby starts. “I think there might be drugs in all those incenses he’s burning. I feel like I’ve been floating on a cloud for the past half an hour. I gotta know who his supplier is.” With those lovely parting words, she starts down the stairs, otherwise unbothered.

But something has left you with a sense of alarm. Something in her eyes that seems more familiar to you now. Something about the purple hair deepening in colour underneath the summer sun. Some horrible knowledge clawing at the back of your mind. “Abby,” you call hesitantly. She turns halfway down the steep stairs, looking up at you with a pleasant expression. “Wait up.”

Together, you walk through the woods, both chewing on the events of the day. And you, chewing on what you’re about to do.

Notes:

• Sooooooooo -- I guess we’re going back to the mines?

Chapter 29: Goodnight Flubber

Summary:

The Farmer yearns for the mines - promisereprise

Notes:

After writing this chapter, I got the unquenchable urge to watch ‘Flubber’ (1997) featuring Robin Williams. I was pleasantly horrified. 10/10 would recommend.

You twirl the ring around your finger, a newly acquired obsessive habit bringing you more comfort than you’d care to admit. At this time, when you’re trying to make a decision, the movement soothes you as you fight through the different outcomes.

The ladder.

Or the Elevator.

The last time you went into the mines you took the ladder down, only for the light on the level above you mysteriously disappear. Either a lamp had gone out or the boulder had been moved back over the hole. You have no way of knowing which, as you in a panic driven moment had decided to take the elevator up. A machine that you’re almost convinced is haunted by past miners. As you’d stood face to face with the slime creature, you’d kissed the hand of your inanimate rescuer, but now that you’re somewhat clear-headed it feels like an unnecessary risk to put your life in the hands of the Death Box of steel. If you take the ladder down, you’ll have more control. Or so you tell yourself.

The truth is, you’re debating more than just your means of descension. You’re conflicted with Harvey’s response to your plan, and even more troubled by the fact that you can’t tell him why you’re so intent on going down this time if not for suicidal ideation.

He’d asked you, his voice wavering and his eyes running over you as if he could somehow find a physical symptom, “how can I help you?”

It hurt you, and you’d tried to elevate his mood with a dirty promise as soon as you got back. As you turned to leave the clinic, you thought you’d caught a glimmer of concern in Maru’s gaze before she turned back to her books.

But you can’t tell them that you’re doing this for your own safety, for their safety. Because that would mean having to explain what you’re protecting them from and then they would never speak to you again. How can you ever being to explain that the fear of having His hands around you again, is far worse than any monster or sentient elevator. The stones could rain down, the mine implode and collapse in on you, and you’d just be thankful that you didn’t die how you’ve always feared you would. That He didn’t win. Every scar not caused by him is a scar you wear with pride. Is a mark you enjoy. You’ve caused this – this pain is your own.

You blink, forcing yourself to slow down on the turning of your ring. The green stone catches the light from above the elevator.

You think you’ve made a choice.

The metal button gives in easily, the click of it activating the whirring and grinding somewhere you cannot see. The doors pull apart, revealing an immaculately clean room. Foot hovering for a moment, you gather the courage before you lean forward, testing your weight against the support slings holding this box. It barely bounces. Inhaling and exhaling deeply, you step fully inside.

All of the buttons from last time are still here. Your finger shakes as you press the highest number, accepting your fate as the doors slide closed, blocking your view of the entrance to the mines. All around you there are clicking and metal gears considering your request until eventually the journey down can begin with a slight jolt. The summer heat wars with the frozen bones of the stone walls around you, until you eventually have to unwrap the jacket from around your waist. You remove your backpack, the sound of metal-on-metal startling as the attached lantern hits the elevator floor. Tapping the jacket pockets allows a momentary sigh of relief before hauling the straps of the pack back over your shoulders. Everything is going according to plan.

In red, on a screen above the door which you haven’t noticed before, a number slowly goes up.

Level 1.

You shift impatiently. Has it really only been one level? You feel as though you are far below ground already. Staring at the screen, you watch as the next number falls down over the previous one.

Level 2.

Weird. You glance at the lights above you. The room seems darker. The brightness of the space dimmed to such a degree that it doesn’t blind you to look directly into the hospital like beams. When had that happened? One level ago? Two?

Level 3. Ding.

As the doors part, revealing the darkness beyond, you have one raging thought pounding inside your head.

Something is different.

The glow from the lamp above the elevator spills out onto the first, maybe, ten meters of ground? Ahead there’s a wall supported by beams of wood, and right next to it is the unending darkness of the cave beyond. You look out to the left, and the view you’re met with drops your heart into your stomach. The ladder is gone. You squint back into the darkness ahead, and the realisation that slowly dawns on you is making you regret your large breakfast.

This is a different mine. This Level 3 is not the same level 3 that you escaped from. You remember the open space of the other one, the many rocks littering the ground ready for harvesting. You remember the ground the slime hurriedly swallowed up in desperation to consume you. This. Is not. The right. Fucking. Level.

The light in the elevator goes out. Twisting your upper body, you reach around to light the lantern, not breathing until it’s been unclipped from your back and beams brilliantly ahead of you, revealing nothing. There’s nothing. No sound of shifting waters or bugs, no bats lurking, no slimes dragging themselves towards the light. No. Nothing but a silence so heavy a ringing starts in your ears. Your footsteps barely echo as you step out of the metal box. The doors sliding closed behind you is enough to waver your resolve.

Get it together, you tell yourself. You forcefully stiffen your back and jut out your chin. If the weird man in the Funhouse said the ring from your dead grandfather’s shrine will protect you, well who are you to question him? You shake your head at the ridiculous situation, taking a cautionary step forward.

And now that you’ve gotten yourself into this mess, you’re damn well going to see it through.

You hold the lantern up to the beams you pass, amused at some of the carvings you find; disturbed by others. The old wood is strong despite the moisture that has crept through it all these years, darkening it and the marks it carries. There are a couple of letters with addition signs and a heart around them, a man waving, a smiley, a few “___ was here”, but some are less adorable. Shapes that look like nothing important: like stickmen, like boulders. Few with scratches across that render them incomprehensible. Until you come across one of the more detailed ones – dark shapes hiding even as they’re portrayed in front of your eyes. Their lines edged into the wood in a careful manner, as if these details were too important to be hurried. Their eyes watching you as you move onto the next one.

You’re about to move closer to the parallel wall of the tunnel when something ahead catches your eye. You freeze, breath halting in your lungs as you take in the hunch shape just outside the reach of the lantern. Blood pumping in your ears, you reach into your pocket to palm contents before you let one foot in front of the other lead you closer. It’s a large figure, down on all fours and looking directly at you. Four reflective eyes shine your light back at you, making it hard to discern the rest of its limbs in the darkness beyond. This is sure as shit not a slime.

Heart pumping, you have no choice but to continue to move forward, unnerved by the way it just stands there, unmoving and completely focused on you. It’s broad, if the eyes’ position should tell you anything, and as you’re moving closer you realise that if this is when it’s hunched, you don’t want to see at its full height.

You should have known. You should’ve known that the only thing the eery quiet holds is a thing that no one wants to disturb. That no one wants the attention of. And now you have the brunt of it.

You release your clamped grip on the contents of your pocket and instead let your hand drift behind you to your sheathed knife. As you take another step, watching the light from your lantern embrace the creature, you prepare to lunge.

A sigh shoots from you so hard you feel dizzy. You bend over, clutching your knees as you feel the tension run down and into the shadows around you. “Fuck you,” you tell the very scary minecart. You unfold to circle it, brushing your finger over the shining bolts and kicking against the twisted wheels. “What a terrifying creature you are,” you murmur, sizing it up and clicking your tongue. “This is not proper etiquette for when you’re alone with a woman in the dark.”

Peaking over the edge, you find nothing but stubs of coal. Almost completely useless to you. You still stuff them in your backpack and move on – where there are minecarts there are rails, and where there are rails there are pathways.

Right enough, soon you happen upon a track leading to a fork through the walls, one of which goes down. You drop down in a deep squat and try to shine through, but the narrow tunnel turns too sharply for you to see anything. Taking a page out of the book of your dearest livestock, you decide to duckwalk like an absolute maniac through the tunnels. No one is here to see you anyway.

Thank your limited luck.

And limited it is.

Despite your layers, every brush against the walls sends a shiver through you. Somewhere far off, there’s a steady stream of drip, drip, drip… You have hope that some of these caves still have active pumps, filtering out the water that gathers in mines like these. Or else you’ll likely happen upon whole areas of just water, perhaps even deep enough to fish in. You snort at the thought, moving further down tunnel. Another bend comes, and you utilise it to get down on all fours instead of continuing your impromptu thigh workout. The wood and iron of the railway makes it so you don’t turn this into a slip and slide, inevitably cracking your head against the bottom of this tunnel. You notice old compact and protected boxes next to the rails, and you wonder briefly if these used to be powered by electricity – perhaps compressed air? To be fair, you haven’t really read up on that stuff lately, not imagining that you would find yourself in need of these. If you knew how they worked, perhaps you could ride these around instead of crawling through narrow and wet tunnels.

Your mind drifts to the past events, wondering what in the world the Wizard meant by having a deal with the undergrounds. Wondering why he would need the corpse of these things. And wondering what in the world you’re going to do if both plan A and B fall through.

The lantern shines from where you’ve clipped it back on your side, swinging side to side and making it a little harder to see certain details. Like the fact that the tunnel has ended, and you’ve crawled directly into the darkness of another level.

“Fuck,” you whisper, scrambling from the ground.

One foot in front of the other, you slowly figure out the layout of this area of the mine. The rocks are much darker down here, despite how far or close they get to the light. The ground much more uneven, and the few squeaks here and there lets you know you’re sharing the space with upside-down nocturnal friends. You just hope they don’t mistake you for food. Or are carrying rabies.

As you turn a corner, you see light flickering up against a wall, casting a large shadow of something huddled on the ground. Sliding close to the wall, you peak around the corner. Attached to the wall is a torch – still lit.

A high-pitched sound rings out suddenly somewhere to your right. You whip around.

Electronic whirring and familiar grinding of gears sends your heart galloping in your chest. On the other side of the mine, the doors to the elevator slide apart, the light above it blinking until it makes a steady glow.

Can it fucking not? You don’t think that’s too much to ask at this point.

The torch now out of sight must have flickered, as the shadows begin to writhe on the wall in your peripheral. The wind from the movement of the elevator must have caused this reaction. Not feeling very patient, already on edge from knowing you’re going to have to kill a monster – an alive being, you make the rest of the exploration of this level swift. It perturbs you, the fact that the stones have become so dark it’s hard to discern the walls from the rocks around you.

Speaking of. A squish sound comes from the area of the torch, startling you enough to not pay attention and trip over one of the smaller boulders. With an elbow bent to save the lantern, you end up putting all of your weight on your free hand and immediately having it slip on the wet stone. A stabbing pain shoots up your arm, making you hiss between clenched teeth. For a moment, you hear the howling of men circling you, but it’s gone in a flash.

Turning around on your back, you look for the source of the sound. With the aid of the light both above and inside the elevator, along with the torch, almost the entire other side of the mine is lit, making it only hard to see on your current side. The flames flicker wildly from the torch, the shadows moving closer and closer to the edge of the wall leading up to the direct path between you and the elevator – like a little nook you can’t see inside of unless you’re standing in front of it.

Another wet sound. The hairs on your neck stand up, a chill passing over your arms and up your throat, holding your face in a stiff alert position. It’s been a while, but your brain recognises those sounds.

You’d been mistaken. It hadn’t been the dancing flames that caused the moving shadows on the wall. As seconds pass, you see dark mass spilling over and around the corner, its wide eyes dark and deep.

It’s a different one, that much is clear. A dark blue Slime slithers over the floor. It turns its large humanoid eyes on you, so disturbing you don’t realise at first that something further could be wrong with them. Then it hits you. They’re not reflecting the light. That seems important. If it lives in a dark cave, isn’t night vision important? Tapetum lucidum should be critical in a creature like the slime, yet this one doesn’t have it. Why doesn’t it have it?

The slime turns on you, blinking blearily in your direction. It clearly sees you, sees the light that has agitated its kind before. Why isn’t it doing anything? You place the lantern on the floor, needing both hands to get up. The moment you let go, you sense a sharpening of focus. The slime rushes at you, eyes narrowed on the source of light. You squeal, picking up the lantern and running towards the little tunnel that brought you down here. Squatting down, you cast a last look over your shoulder to gauge the distance between you and the monster.

The very disinterested monster.

It’s back to just blinking at you, at the walls, just at its surroundings in general. Glancing down at the ring, the light reflects wonderfully in the green stone, a sense of comfort washes over you, a sense of calm. You step away from the tunnel, curiously nearing the slime. A laugh of disbelief bursts from you, yet even the sudden noise does nothing for the sullen monster.

It works. The ring works. Then why…?

You kick a rock.

Nothing.

You bend down and pick up another pebble and throw it towards the slime. Its eyes widen and it jumps at the pebble, consuming it whole.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” you murmur, rounding on it.

Tilting your head, you feel your heart calming. It’s unreal, being able to be an observe like this to something that terrifies you so much. It reminds you of laying on a couch so far away now, pretending to be asleep while watching a very angry man calmly make breakfast, looking out of the window and smiling at the birds moving into his handcrafted house in the tree.

Now that you’ve had a chance to relax, you feel the burning of the wound from earlier. Pulling up your sleeve, you watch the blood welling once more. It doesn’t look that deep, and so you drop your hand again, returning your focus to the slime nibbling at the stones.

Perhaps you should have paid more attention to the wound.

A drop of blood gathers on the tip of your pinky, clutching at you in fear of the fall. Inevitably, the weight of it forces it off; the drop long and horrible, ending in splatters on the cold ground. The slime whirls on you, once more the frightening monster. It huffs and jumps. You throw yourself to the side, your body colliding heavily with the sharp wall. Turning your body to face it, you watch in time to see the slime throw itself on the drop of blood. Sucking it from the ground, its gelatinous body ripples in sick pleasure, eyes falling closed.

A testament to what it would do to you if not for the ring. Hand sliding inside your pocket, you pull the two containers out. Shifting the items around, you first unscrew the cap on one of them, scooping a handful and cradling it carefully. Moving closer to the Slime, trying to ignore the wild sucking noises coming from it, you throw the salt over its body.

You learn another thing. Just because it doesn’t have a mouth, doesn’t mean it can’t scream.

Horrible, long wailing pierces the still mine, though you have a hard time knowing if it’s from the seething flesh of the monster or from its actual mouth. Eyes wild, it looks around for someone to defend itself from. A pang hits you when its eyes drift past you, not able to comprehend that you’re the threat on its life. And though you’re pleased to know that your theory on the affect of sodium on a slime creature like this is confirmed, it’s going too slowly for your taste. Bringing out the other container, you point the squirt gun at the writhing creature, parts of it melting off in horrible burning. You deliver two swift shots and watch as it stops moving almost instantaneously.

NaOH, miracle in a bottle. Shout out to retired science teacher and B&B owner, Mr. Brown, for that little gold nugget. A strong base able to decompose proteins of membranes is handy for cleaning and, apparently, for killing monsters.

You get to the melting body of the slime, unpacking the jar from the Wizard and scooping up as many of the slime’s remains as possible. You just hope that the sodium won’t ruin his plans for it. You frown, feeling off when you notice one of the sightless eyes rolling in the cadaver. It’s dead. Definitely dead. You should be relieved, right?

You are relieved. You are. It wouldn’t hesitate to kill you if not for the ring. You look away from the eye, slapping the lid back on the jar.

Heading for the elevator, you make sure to watch every corner. The monster is dead, but you somehow still don’t feel alone. Don’t feel at rest. The elevator takes you straight up, much quicker than you’d expected. The heat flows into the small box as the doors open, the late afternoon giving you a proper greeting. You breathe deeply as you step out into the sun.

At no point during your walk to the tower does the feeling of eyes on you cease.

Notes:

* There may not be a lot of actual plot happening for the rest of December, as I have to turn in my bachelor project start January. Hope there will be forgiveness, and if I don't upload at all, expect a January with nothing but chapters, as I will be very bored for my month-long break. I swear I'm not abandoning this. The latest you’ll see me again is January 12th, 2025.
* Happy holidays - or just happy December

Chapter 30: I Wanna Take You There

Summary:

Since the song “Like a Prayer” by Madonna has become popular again, you’ve been feeling inspired.

Notes:

Warning: Smut. Schmut. Smutty smut schmut.

A short chapter to get back into things.

 

After a brief moment of indecision, you decide to wade through town to the clinic instead of heading home first to shower. You know Harvey will insist on patching you up, anything you do yourself will merely have to be redone, but without the dirt hiding the many scraps you’re sure the townspeople will be stopping you with questions of concern.

“Fought a potato and lost, Paulie?”

You flip Shane off, only to quickly pack it away when you catch Evelyn’s shocked gaze next to him. “Sorry, Mrs. Mullner,” you call.

This time she did not insist on you calling her granny. You just hope it’s the shock rather than disownment. Turning away, you shoulder the clinic door open to the sound of bright bells.

“Just a minute,” a voice yells out from the back. The familiar voice works better than a massage, immediately soothing a deep tension inside of you. However, when you hear his lap coat flapping as he rounds the corner, you still guard yourself in anticipation of his reaction. Of his disapproval. You can almost see it – his brows drawn in a displeased manner. His mouth pressed in a flat line. His words cold and distant as he works through how to forgive your actions.

“Sweetheart!” You flinch at the outburst. His clipboard is dropped on the counter, and he hurries to you, his hands open. You brace yourself.

“Are you okay? What happened down there? Do you need anything?” The onslaught of questions gives you a moment to relax. You barely listen to them, caught in his deep brown eyes as the edges of honey are visible in the wide concerned gaze. He is bend down to look at you, carefully moving your limbs, mistaking your reactions for physical pain. Your dirty hand reaches out, brushing some of his wild hair away and accidentally recreating Simba’s baptism.

“It looks worse than it is,” you try, a soft smile making its way over you face as you watch him fluttering around you.

His hand touches something on your back and he snatches it back like he was burned. “What- what is that?”

You twist your body around, finding a bluish-clear matter hanging on to your shirt. “Oh,” you face him once more. “No comment.”

He sighs, but you catch the curving of his lips as he finally accepts that you’re not going towards the light in the near future. The sweaty hair plastered to your forehead is combed away by a gentle hand. The silence between you is filled with unspoken insecurities, anxieties, and reassurances.

He sends you up to take a shower, closing down the shop for the day and preparing a tray of medical supplies. The warm water bites. Apparently there are more wounds than you’d realised. As you dry in front of the mirror, you even find several large angry bruises, one looking like a wing painted down your back and spine.

You pull on one of the drawers on Harvey’s dresser, finding some of your clothes folded neatly. A smile threatens to break out when you spot one of Harvey’s sweaters among your things, knowing he put it there on purpose. Fishing out some loose-fitting clothes you head downstairs feeling refreshed and ready.

The steps creak under you as you hop down. You peer around the corner, looking into the sterile rooms on your way.

Weird. As you peer into his office/examination room, he’s nowhere to be found.

“Harvey?”

“Here, sweetheart,” he calls back, his voice floating down the hall.

You move back to the waiting room, finding Harvey setting up behind the desk and counter. He’s pulled out two comfy office chairs and beckons you over with a wave of his hand. “There are too many sensitive files and materials out in the office. It’s easier to just do it out here, if that’s alright?”

With a glance towards the covered windows, you nod. You trust that he’s locked the door, doing everything to protect your privacy before intending to expose your new marks. You sit on a low-back rolling chair, enjoying the soft cushion underneath you even as Harvey manoeuvrers you this way and that, rolling around you on his own stool. Your eyes follow every cotton ball as it is dipped in the clear liquid before its bloodied and dirtied version is deposited in a separate bowl, pinchers clinking against the metal. His hands are warm even through the gloves, his long fingers framing carefully around each bruise and mark he finds, meticulously not hitting anything hard enough to make you hiss. It’s not until he finally works his way down to the cut on your arm that the words come to you.

 

“You know, you didn’t use to get so worried when I was hurt.”

“What do you mean?” He’s leaning over the wound, your arm stretched out in front of you.

You wave your free hand. “You just used to be so quiet and controlled. I love your concern, but from your reactions I’m afraid I’m stressing you out.”

He’s quiet, his eyes on yours as he takes in what you’re saying. You’ve come to learn that his silences are always thoughtful rather than disapproving. He just needs a minute to work through what he wants to say. “You’re not stressing me out,” he confesses in a low voice.

“Then what’s different?”  

He shrugs, avoiding your gaze as he dips another cotton ball in the liquid. From where his gentle hand supports yours, your fingertips are pressed against his wrist. In the silence, the only thing that fills your ears are the rapid beats of his pulse. As nerves rise, you decide to let it go, finding a new leaf to pick at.

“I never asked how you just knew the Wizard was there at the beach at the Luau.”

His mustache curls. “Now who is the one with a lot of questions,” he teases.

You stick your tongue out at him.

“It’s hard to explain.” He turns his head, appearing to be examining the stones and grime he’s pulled out of your wounds before continuing, “a lot of stuff happened while I was a mine medic. I had years down there and that made me – well – sensitive to things. Probably why I’m so anxious now.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I mean, I’ve always been anxious, but now I just feel-“

“More,” you finish for him.

He sighs, “yes.” A butterfly bandage marks the end of the doctor’s visit. He begins to pack up the supplies, throwing used things in the right containers while you simply sit and watch him do it. The expertly way he handles things in this space he’s so familiar with, the eager way he takes care of you and his other patients – how can you ever express how admired he is? How can you ever find the words to let him know how much you appreciate him and all he does? Shane’s observations from your reunion fill your head, but you shove them aside.

“It would be nice to relieve you of some of all that stress,” you murmur, a light bulb going off as the words flow from you.

He closes a box and places it on a high shelf, stretching his large body over you unintentionally. “Well, I run a lot, the extra physical activity really helps, and-“. He stops as you sink down onto your knees on the floor, grabbing for his belt.

A shocked chuckle escapes him as he tries to hold your hands still. “What are you- wait, you’re hurt.”

You shake your head slowly, letting him see the desire and determination in your eyes. His lips part in response, his pupils growing. “I warned you I was going to do this some time.”

A nervous gust of air leaves him as he lets you drag his slacks down. “You don’t have to.”

You stop, exhaling softly over the growing bulge hiding beneath his black bowers, letting the air caress him through the material. He cants his hips towards you, a moan catching in his throat. “Do you want me to stop?” Your whispered words barely audible over the suddenly loud breathing coming from the both of you. You both want this so badly. The temptation of what you’re about to do on the edge of overwhelming him as he holds a white-knuckle grip on the edge of the counter.

He shakes his head.

You let a finger drift over the band, teasing the edge of it. “Use your words.”

The muscles in his stomach tremble underneath your touch. “Please don’t stop.”

Tension crackles in your little cocoon barely hidden from the outside world. Knowing that anyone could come and knock, that anyone could call the emergency line, only spurs you on. Only adds to your need in doing this – and doing it quickly. The underwear comes off in a flourish, giving you wonderful access to him.

You impatiently catch the base of his cock, wrapping your fingers in a tight grip around it. Above you he lets out a hitched whimper at the sudden contact, his cock becoming impossibly harder as he watches you handle it. Likely still riding off the high of surviving another trip to the mines, you have no interest in waiting, no interest in drawing it further out before you get to feel him in your mouth. You dip your head and stick out your tongue, catching a drop of precum clinging to his length. From there you rise with one long drag up his shaft to his tip, with the same luster as catching a drop of melted ice-cream from a cone. The moment your tongue sweeps over the sensitive head of Harvey’s cock, he lets out a startled moan – a moan that morphs into a muffled cry when you lap warmly at his slit, chasing the taste of him.

It’s been too long since he’s allowed you to do this. Always so eager to hear your cries, he has no trouble getting his way once he puts his mind to it. Pushing your buttons in ways that make you unable to do much else but take his administrations and clutch his messy hair.

Now it’s his turn for his fingers to weaver their way through your hair, clutching desperately at whatever he can as you continue to lick him. “Gods!” he chokes out. His head momentarily drops back, his eyes closing in haunted bliss before he snaps his gaze back down, his eyes hungry for the vision of you tasting him. “Ah- ah! Sweetheart, you mouth, I need it-“

Just as you are about to oblige him, a sharp rattling breaks through the haze of desire you’ve both been surrounded by. You both freeze, heads snapping towards the front door when another abrupt sound comes. Your alarmed gazes lock, eyes wide.

“Maru,” Harvey whispers in horrified realisation. In a series of decisions which can only be described as panic-fueled, you crawl under the desk of the secretary’s counter and Harvey smacks his bare ass down on the stool, rolling forward just in time for the bells to announce Maru’s entry.

Fuck.

“’Sup, doc.”

Harvey scrambles with a few papers, coughing briefly and scrambles some more.

Never send the man with literally no poker-face to the front lines.

“AH! Maru! Hello!”

You gently place your face in your upturned hands. A silence stretches out so thick even you can taste the awkwardness from beneath the desk. Doesn’t help that his cock is waving at you in the face with each exaggerated word.

“O-kay. I just wanted to clear up what time I should come in on Thursday – you asked me to come in a little earlier but we never got around to discussing an actual time.” Footsteps shuffle closer to the front desk.

“Right! Right.” Harvey clears his throat again, his movements ceasing their franticness as he finds something else to focus on. Why couldn’t he just tell her some random time? You just know he’s working through all of the appointments and deliveries for Thursday trying to decide on a time.

The sound of metal hits the counter – kind of like Maru has set down her set of keys. “You look frazzled. Has she- um…” Maru trails off.

The chair squeaks. “Has who what? Oh – yes, she got back a little while ago.”

There is a hesitation. “Where is she?”

“She uh- she needed a shower and a nap.” Harvey clears his throat, typing something on the computer.

It was actually a convincing lie. He might pull this off. Sooo- since it’s going relatively smooth for him, would it be so cruel for you to play with him a little? Your eyes track another drop of precum, a devious smile settling on your face.

Harvey continues, “I’m actually going up there in a moment so would you mind locking the door on your way-“ and then he essentially swallows his tongue. He gasps so hard, you wonder if the small coughing fit afterwards is real or an attempt to cover the hoarse moan that followed. A compliment when you consider you merely lapped at him with a flat tongue. Your hand curls around his shaft again and you feel a rolling tide of pleasure and nerves run through him as he trembles in your grip.

“So she really did go in the mines?” Maru asks, her voice keeping a certain edge.

You frame the head with your lips. “Yes, ahem, yes she did. I know it’s not exactly safe but there’s nothing to worry-“

“I think it’s cool,” Maru interrupts him.

“What? I mean, yes, but don’t you think it’s dangerous-“ You suck lightly, feeling him flinch against you.

“It’s badass, doc. Dangerous and badass. As long as she doesn’t do it too often. Try and relax with your hobbies if it gets to be too much – I know you have some things you take pleasure in doing. Focus on that and just let go.”

Verily. You take his entire length in your mouth, working him down your throat in one smooth motion.

He stutters out his words, “I-I guess, yes. Thank you, Maru. And around 7am would be great. Thanks.”

“Sure. Don’t tell her I asked though, alright? And take a cough drop or something, it sounds like you’re getting sick.” The bells follow the sound of a slamming door.

A large hand cradles the back of your head for a moment before long fingers wrap themselves within your hair. You hear Harvey panting from above you before he slightly rolls out, careful not to go too fast as you shift out with him.

“Sweetheart, please,” his whine sends a throbbing down between your legs.

You place your hands on both of his thighs, bracing yourself and working to open your throat. You hum, loving the whine it elicits from him.

“Ah!” His hips stutter and he quickly pulls back with a curse. When he feels your moan around his length, it’s like a light bulb goes off above his head. “You want me to take you, sweetheart?” His words hoarse and low.

You move your tongue, teasing the underside of his head now that he’s not all the way down your throat. He tugs on your hair, holding you still. Preparing.

He shifts under your hands. “Yes? You want me to use you? Want me to take your throat? Show me what a good girl you can be?”

His words affect you in a way you could have never imagined before you got together. His dirty thoughts and desires spilling from him, the images running through his mind painted clearly for you. He watches you so intently as he let them wash over you, feeding off of your reaction to them. The warm distracting light in his eyes a lighthouse in the haze of your desire. You’re tempted to slide a hand down his strong thigh and into your pants. Instead, you rub your thighs together, desperate for some relief from a throbbing so violent you can scarcely see.

A throbbing that’s mirrored in the cock between your lips. A cock that’s moving slightly now, gently starting it’s thrusting back and forth despite the rough words he used. When you stay still, holding his hungry eyes with your own, he starts to lose himself in the feel of it. Pulling you onto his length in long thrusts, his girth felt all the way into your throat, you feel him let go.

In this picture, neither of you have ever been hurt before. Right now, you’re both crazed with want and nothing can stop you from reaching the wonderful finish line. He takes your mouth in such a dirty way, it’s completely at odds with the other hand you feel touching the side of your face. His eyes are on yours, analysing every possible change in expression. He lets your come up for air, for which you punish him with a devious lick to the sensitive underside of his head. The velvet softness of his cock cradled gentle on your tongue as broken whimpers fall in between his encouraging words.

In a move you’d only read about, you let your curled knuckle find the soft skin behind his balls, pressing against the sensitive nerves just as you swallow around him.

You aren’t sure who’s more startled by the fact that he came. You or him. Suddenly his body locks up as he spills into your mouth, something close to a shout breaking from him. These noises serenade you with each spearing wave of pleasure you guide him through. You swallow him down, catching each drop before you finally let him fall back in the chair, his chest dragging in jagged air. Sweat lining his face, his glasses somehow askew again. He only rests for a second before he pulls you out from under the desk, hands curling around your biceps to pull you into his lap. You feel the heat of him through his shirt and a wetness when you caress his neck.

“Big, strong, doctor-you. You did so well,” you tease.

He huffs, his swaying head working to catch your mouth in a scorching kiss. Harvey works a hand down your body, going for the hem of your sweatpants his destination clear.

You laugh, taking his hand and kissing away the protest that rises in him. “It was all for you, honey. A little gift.”

He’s still panting as he lightly frowns. “What for?”

You hesitate before a grin comes to your rescue. “For being you. The sexiest doctor in the whole town.”

Shifting you on his lap, he somehow manages to pull you closer. His large hand grips your thigh, testing its softness. “I can’t believe you did that, by the way.”

“I can’t believe how much you liked it.”

He blushes, turning away.

You regard him for a moment. “You’re a little kinky, huh, doc?”

His head swings back. “Harvey,” he corrects, leaning forward to mouth at your neck.

You clutch his shoulders, a gasp falling from your parted lips. “H-Harvey,” you moan.

“Exactly.” He shifts his grip on you, his arm going beneath your legs before he rises from the chair taking you with him

“Fuck-“ You cling to him, laughing with a slight panic on your breath. He starts towards the stairs in fierce determination. “Harvey, I told you, you don’t have to do anything in return.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he nips at your neck with his teeth. “But don’t most gifts offer a return policy?”

You laugh, letting him carry you up the stairs. The last words heard in the clinic that day were from your mocking voice, “Wow! I can see the whole word from up here!” Followed by the slamming of the apartment door.

Notes:

• I’m so glad to be back. I’m still getting into the flow of things and trying desperately not to write like it’s an academic article. I finished my project and now I have to wait 2 months to find out if I’ve passed – I’m going insane.
• I actually had a different idea on how this chapter was supposed to go, but I needed the warm-up of something short and sweet. And I’ve missed Harvey like a crack addict.
• Thank you all so much for the comments wishing me luck!
• Crazy that Maru’s asking about you. Is someone warming up to you again?

Chapter 31: At the end of the rainbow

Summary:

It’s the middle of summer and time for the rainbow trout fishing derby. But there’s a lot of downtime when fishing.

A breeze of voices drifts to you as you near the clearing, warning you that despite the early hour the festivities have already begun. Stepping on recently laid stones on the path connecting Firelight Farms to Cindersap Forest, you appreciate the stability as you attempt to balance the many supplies you’ve brought. You slow your hurry past Marnie’s ranch, nodding at her as she furiously applies sunscreen to a struggling Jas.

“I wish I lived with Miss Penny!” Jas exclaims in protest at having the sticky cream smeared across her forehead.

Marnie swipes her own wild hair out of her face with the back of her hand but still manages to get a dollop of sunscreen in it. “Miss Penny would be making you wear a sunhat too – don’t test me, Jas!”

“D’you want kids someday, lass?”

You whirl, boxes sliding from the top of the pile in your arms. Luckily Willy is ready to catch them, at ease despite almost losing a couple of teeth to your bait box.

“Ah, sorry, love. Didn’t mean to scare ye,” instead of returning your items he falls into step beside you. “Ye must’ve given it some thought. I know I did at your age.”

You watch Jas run off towards the river, weaving between people setting up. Your eyes run back to Marnie, finding her clutching the sunscreen to her chest as her gaze stays locked on Jas’ disappearing shape. “Do you regret not having any, Willy?” You ask instead.

He seems to contemplate this. “In some ways. But I’ve spent me life with the sea doing what I loved, and I have no regrets about that. Leavin’ the younglings behind would’ve made it all sour. Of course, now that I’m in me old age, it would be mighty nice havin’ someone to tell all me stories to.” He throws you a smile, “then I wouldn’t have to bore my poor neighbours.”

Together he helps you scope out a good area by the riverside, unpacking some of your stuff and setting up. The fishing Derby has already begun all around you, though you know the famous trout won’t seriously come out for another couple of hours. And when the flock finally starts coming, there will be so many migrating through here that it will take almost 36 hours before the last one has passed. He points with pride up to his own spot by Leah’s cabin, having arrived early enough to beat all the out of towners, and invites you to come by during the day if you need any tips.

As he starts shuffle away, you tell him softly, “I love your stories, Willy.”

He tips his cap and walks off, his slight limp even more present these days.

The truth is, you have thought about having children. You have feared having them all your life – feared having them with the wrong person and giving them a life you knew they didn’t deserve. You feared being a mother. And now that you’re here in the Valley, checking the emergency phone less and less, you’ve let yourself imagine a future. But your life has only just truly begun, and you selfishly want this time all to yourself. To find out who you are, however long that takes. But you also know that the age-gap between you and Harvey means that if he isn’t to be an old dad, it would have to be within the next couple of years. Not that you’ve had this conversation with him. You don’t even know if he wants to be a dad.

You pause as you adjust your fishing rod, a memory from last week coming forth. Harvey on his lunch break, sitting in the park when Vincent came running towards him, squealing with laughter as he tried to escape his father.

“Catch that criminal!” Kent called.

Harvey remained calm, gingerly placing his sandwich down and wiping his hands. To the unobservant onlooker, he was wholly uninterested in participating in the chase.

Vincent came up to the bench and like a spring trap Harvey came forward, long arms capturing the kid with a growl. Vincent kicked his legs, a shriek dipped in laughter shooting from him as the capture morphed into a tickle punishment. They both calmed down as Kent neared, Harvey’s glasses askew from being hit by Vincent’s flailing arms, giggling together. Eventually Kent and Vincent left, the kid waving at Harvey – Harvey waving back with a gentle smile on his face, before he quietly went back to eating his sandwich. You came out from your unintentional hiding spot, not leaving him alone for long.

You smile to yourself, unfolding one of your lawn-chairs.

More out-of-towners set up around you as the time passes, even Elliot finds a spot though you know he has no intention of doing any of the fishing. He’s here to soak up the action, hoping to take that lightness of feeling with him back to the cabin to write. Elliot is often like a cat, stretching out near the activity but never being too involved for too long. And then the last person you expect to arrive does.

Maru.

Setting her things further down the river.

You feel a tightening in your chest as you give her a slight wave. From behind her sunglasses, you worry if she’s even seen you. After a brief hesitation she waves back. A sigh of relief releases from you.

“Love always finds a way!” Elliot exclaims, having watched the scene. You take advantage of the person separating you leaving and stretch over to unscrew a bolt from his chair.

“What are you-“ And he collapses to the side, effectively kissing the ground. “Heathen,” he accuses, grass sticking to his hair as he sits up. You look past him, catching a smile from Maru before it drops again as she looks away.

Perhaps the trick to repair things with Maru all along was just to terrorise Elliot. “Write it down instead next time, lover-boy,” you say, handing him the bolt.

Cries of wonder start up the line of the river and move down. One even manages to be coaxed from you as you take in the view. Rainbow Trouts hugging the bottom of the river have begun their journey. Having gotten their name for their brilliantly coloured scales, the rainbow trout is, in your opinion, a natural wonder. The midsummer sun casts a sheer rainbow over them, almost hiding them under the colours and lights. It’s like one long blurry rainbow travelling in the water.

And then people quiet down, getting out their fishing rods and casting their lines into the wide waters. It has begun.

When Willy informed you of the event, he told you that this river is the only natural path for the trout and so when its time to migrate we all come to watch. But as the rainbow trout doesn’t have many natural predators, they have a tendency to boom in population each year. This annual derby controls the population all while boosting tourism.

The sun warms your smiling cheeks as you cast your first of many lines into the water.

***

During the day your friends come to see how it’s going. Some sit with you for a while, others dare only spare a minute among the stinking fish at the mercy of the hot summer sun. Harvey brings you lunch, kissing your hair and promises to come back later. Despite living just on the other side of the forest, you’ve set up a tent of your own. Willy has too. You wanted to go all out for this, and that means fishing far into the night, especially since the flow has slowed down after the first hour, making a catch rarer and rarer. You want to wake up with these people, stinking horribly. Harvey has fallen on his sword and promised to sleep in the tent with you.

You were worried about having a nightmare and despite your protests that he doesn’t have to do it, Harvey stubbornly insisted not even a second after you mentioned your concern.

During the day there have been all kind of mishaps that you never imagined was a true risk when fishing. A man caught his own lip on his own hook, accidentally swallowing the bait and throwing up all over himself. Elliot left immediately after that, having drawn more than enough inspiration for the day.

A drunk fool knocked over another man’s bucket and they got into a fistfight, which Willy and Gus had to break up. You kept a close eye on Willy for a couple of hours after that, inconspicuously moving his cooler under the guise of a brief visit so he could naturally use it as a footrest.

The biggest shock of the day? As you’re sitting on the ground watching the sinking sun, the brilliant oranges and pinks spanning across the sky, reaching for parts of the world you’ve never seen, you feel a chill travel down your arms. You twist around, reaching for your jacket and catch Maru only a few meters from you. Shifting from foot to foot, she looks nervous, hesitating on what to say. Shit, you don’t know what to say either.

You shove a box to the side, waving her forward as you push your arms into the sleeves of the jacket, feeling much like the hunter trying not to scare away the deer. For a while, you just watch the colours together. You wonder if she sees them like you do. You wonder what she’s going to say.

Oh please say something. Say anything.

What is she thinking? Does she want you to say something? Anxiety twists deep in your belly.

“How can you sit there so calmly?” She suddenly accuses.

You almost laugh. Almost. You turn out your palms, “what would you like me to do, Maru?”

“I don’t know!” She sighs, pushing up her glasses and rubbing her eyes. “Yell at me or something. This entire time, why haven’t you been yelling at me? Why aren’t you angry?”

“Me? What do I have to be angry about?” You ask, genuinely confused.

She scoffs. “Oh well, let’s see; I’ve been a shitty friend,” she holds out her fingers as if to count on them. “-to you and to everyone else. Meaning I’ve been shitty to your friends. I’ve made really bad decisions. I’ve pushed everyone away. I’ve been so incredibly selfish.” She sniffles and abruptly stops talking, turning her head away from you.

A group of people laugh somewhere by one of the grilling stations, which fills the silence as you search for what to say. You wish desperately that Harvey was here, he’s so good at this stuff.

When she faces the water again, you force the words out, “You’re hurting, Maru. I can’t be angry at you for that. Have you- I mean, are you dealing with it?” You ask clumsily.

She shrugs seemingly unbothered by the phrasing. “Not really. But I want to try. I just don’t know how… I mean, how do I fix it?”

“Fix what exactly?”

“Everything with everyone. It’s like, well, not to sound like a sap, but I’ve burned literally every single bridge. I feel like there’s no where else to go. I’m just… on my own little island now.” She hugs her knees to her chest.

You know how that feels. “That is… very sappy.”

She jabs you with her elbow and in retaliation you stab your finger into her armpit, causing her to flinch away in a panic. Fool. Don’t challenge the master unless you’re ready for the consequences.

“But I don’t doubt that – after a small bit of groveling and a couple of sincere apologies – every single one of these equally sappy people will be willing to take you back with open arms.”

“How are you so sure?”

A burdened sigh spills from you. You squint against the sharp lights spilling from the horizon. “You’ve all done it for me. Even when I didn’t want you to. The real trick is getting rid of you.”

Maru throws her head back on a laugh, which you watch with dry amusement. It doesn’t take long for that ease to leave her again, worry carving itself into her expression, filling the silence with subjects too big for these two healing hearts.

“I feel like I have to choose between my family and, I don’t know, everything else. Their comfort or my life,” her gaze falls on something over your shoulder, but she quickly averts it again.

A frown marks your face. “Does your mom and Sebastian feel the same?”

Maru sighs, letting her head rest on her knees. “I don’t think so. But mom doesn’t fight dad on it either.”

“Have they discussed it?” You hadn’t known Demetrius knew anything yet.

She shakes her head, “no, but he has made his opinions on this matter clear. Mom never says anything when he does. She doesn’t even look at us or anything. She just, she just stands there.” Her voice stumbles over the last words.

In some ways, you know how it feels. By doing nothing, the other parent is hurting you just as much, if not even more. At least with Demitrius Maru knows where she stands. The uncertainty of not knowing what could make her mother turn on her must be unbearable. It is unbearable.

You ground yourself in the here and now, focusing once more on the colours in front of you, on the hard ground beneath you, and the horrible stench around you.

This is about Maru. Get a grip.

Fortunately for you, Maru carries on without assistance from you. “I just wish I was normal.”

You know how that feels too. “You impress me every single day, kid. Your mind and your curiosity, your hunger for knowledge and for life. I want to be you when I grow up.”

She huffs a laugh, rolling her eyes.

“Knowing your sexuality hasn’t changed that. If I could make this easier for you, I would. But I can’t. The only thing I can offer is the promise that I’ll be here. Your parents are not your only family in this town, you’re not alone.”

Maru hovers there – somewhere above hearing your words and still listening to the very valid fears whispering to her. The voices of some people out in the world, the voice of one in her own home – the fear of having to accept a harder life. You’re just sitting next to her as she weighs it all. She doesn’t have to decide anything now. You’re just relieved she has reached out.

Eventually the sun sets and Maru leaves with it.

***

The tent rustles thrice briefly. You freeze mid unfold of a sleeping bag, very confused as to what is going on. Is a bird attempting a fucking break in right now?

Then you hear your name murmured on the other side and the warmth floods your system at the familiar voice and the way it carries your name.

“Yes? Who is it?” You call sweetly as you continue to set up the sleeping arrangements.

There’s a slight chuckle. “A big bear lured here by the smell of fish that literally goes on for kilometers. Seriously, have none of you done any bear prep?”

You stifle a laugh, forcing a mock seriousness into your tone. “I’m sorry, mister bear. I can’t let you in, I don’t know you.”

“Sweetheart,” he pleads gently.

“I’m sorry! But I don’t think my boyfriend would like it.”

There’s a silence. “Your boyfriend, huh?”

You nod, though you know he can’t see you through the tent without light in the twilight. Teeth sinking into your lip, you struggle to keep the grin inside.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you refer to me as your boyfriend.”

Leaning forward, you unclip and unzip the tent door. His expression is barely visible in the summer night afterglow, but from the wonder in his tone you don’t need to see him to guess how he’s looking at you. “I must have done it before,” you protest.

He shakes his head slowly.

You run through the time since he gave you the bouquet. Sure enough, you haven’t exactly been staking your claim in public. And not ever in front of him.

“You’re my boyfriend, Harvey,” you tease, placing a hand over his warming cheeks.

He splutters for a moment, avoiding your eyes as he climbs into the tent. He’s in a sweatshirt and joggers, a pillow under his arm. “I thought I was too old to get flustered about that sort of thing.”

“Honey, I’m sure I can make you blush even when we’re eighty,” you zip and reclip the tent door, settling into your bag and getting a cover to throw over you both.

Harvey’s very quiet when he agrees, “I’m sure you can.”

You’ve both kept your voices low, despite the ruckus still happening around you. Privacy is an illusion when camping, but somehow you still feel screened off from the world. You cuddle closer to Harvey, both of you taking advantage of the slight chill in the air and using it as an excuse to basically crawl into each other’s skin.

“I think we should bring Maru in for the – coup,” you barely breathe the last word.

To his credit, Harvey keeps his surprise very well contained. You only sense it in the slight pause where his fingers were tracing a pattern on your back before they resume. “Oh?”

“Her and I had a really good talk today, and I think she could use the distraction.”

He splays out his hand and applies an even pressure along your shoulder blades. A jaw-breaking yawn escapes you before he chooses to speak, “I don’t know if it’s right to trust her with this right now.”

You frown. “You don’t think she would be able to keep it a secret?”

“I meant that she’s under a lot of pressure, and I’m not confident that she would be able to handle this with the level of care it needs.”

His point of view settles over you.

“I’ll support it if you think it’s right. This is your plan. But I wanted to throw in my two coins,” he amends.

You squeeze his hand. “I always appreciate your opinion. You work a lot closer with Maru. But I’d like to at least talk to her about it.”

He kisses the back of your hand, definitively ending the conversation. You snuggle closer, letting your head fit in under his chin as you talk about your day. A stream of consciousness that he comments on with a rumble of laughter in his chest or a question spoken into the quiet of the late hour. He gets quiet when you begin to describe the sunset, verbally painting for him a view that he missed as he was busy tending to the steady stream of accidents sent his way from the derby.

“Would you paint me something?” He asks when you’re finally done.

“What?” Startled, you sit up. Staring down at him as he props himself up on his elbow.

He scratches his neck, “it’s just, way back at the flower dance you mentioned you wanted to be a painter. And well- the way you adore art when you talk to Leah and Elliot at the bar…” He trails off.

“I’m afraid I’m not any good,” you scoff, trying to make light of it. Desperate to ease the knot twisting tighter and tighter in your chest.

“Every artist says that.”

“Most often they’re right, doc.”

“You don’t mean that,” he shoots back.

You look away – out at something far off. At something you’re not even sure is there. Your head is loud and empty at the same time. A fog of complicated thoughts yet none of them jump out at you long enough for you to articulate it.

“It was just an idea. I thought it would give me a chance to see the world the way you see it,” he says shily.

Fingers wrapped in tight fists; you feel the hint of tremor even now. You see the times you’ve had to shift your grip on tools too tiny for you. You open your mouth, ready to tell him. To confide in him why what he’s asking is impossible.  

“I’ll think about it,” you say instead.

He reaches out, with a gentle tug he unwraps your fingers and kisses the palm of your hand. “Thank you.”

In a brief moment of panic, you wonder if he already somehow knows. If memories and moments are stringing together for him and your reaction have just confirmed something for him. But he tugs you down and into his chest, holding you tightly and gives you a rundown of his day instead. You breathe in his scent, coffee and a smell that is distinctly his own. You take in the solidness of him behind the barrier of the sleeping bags, enjoy the cocoon of his arms and the warmth that is created within it. Eventually you drift off, a cautious smile on your face as you dare to expect soft dreams.

Notes:

• I know it wasn’t the most action-packed chapter, but I really like the personal development happening all around us. I love when I get to this part of stories, when we know the characters, their struggles, and their progress. When small moments don’t pass by as easily, because we know what it means for them. Or, well, at least I hope that’s how it comes across.
• (very hesitantly) I’m writing a book.
• Anyways, I have so many ideas and scenes in my head for this fic. How are we every going to reach the end of it? I hope you don’t mind that I’m dragging this out as much as I can.

Chapter 32: A shaky start

Summary:

Plans are-a going.

The crack of the wood beneath you splits through the forest. You step on the axe where it’s stuck in the wood, abandoning technique as what you imagine to be an impending heatstroke starts to overwhelm you.

You’re finally building a shed so you can start production of the raw materials from your cows – Jolene now has a friend who you’ve wisely named Dolly – and your growing hoard of ducks, who are making more eggs than you know what to do with. However, Robin offered a bargain you can hardly refuse: if you get the materials yourself, the processing and building costs will be next to nothing.

So here you are, desperately drying your forehead in the shoulder of your shirt as you fling another log into your rusting wheelbarrow. You grip the handles and start to move, pushing the heavy container when you sense your mistake. Only wiping against one shoulder means a great risk of not getting every part of your apparently endless forehead, and now you feel the enemy on a furious path towards your unguarded eye. You close one lid, feeling victorious for the two seconds it takes for you to become uncoordinated and bump straight into a rock. Out of instinct you fling both eyes and that is when the phrase “good things come to those who wait” pounces – “good” in this case being a very subjective term, for the drop of sweat finally got its way. It moistens your eye, the salt immediately stinging you. You’re compromised.

“Fucking fuck-shit,” you wheeze. You try to dry your eye with your even sweatier forearm – genius move. Then your glove – now you just have dirt in your eye as well. And lastly you gather enough functioning braincells to use the bottom of your shirt.

A snicker somewhere behind you brings you momentarily out of your suffering.

“How much of that did you-“

“Oh all of it,” Leah cuts in.

You sigh but gratefully take the handkerchief she holds out to you.

“You’re a clumsy person,” she observes.

A solemn nod. “Only when observed, evidently.”

“Want to come in for some lemonade?”

You raise a brow. This feels a little familiar. Apparently, everyone in this town is crazy about lemonade. You follow her anyways, desperate enough to risk it if it means getting out of this heat.  

The light wood of the cottage door makes a slight thud as it closes, blocking out the noises of the forest. The few windows on the walls allow for marked rays of sun to drop through, underscoring the purposeful way Leah has decorated her cabin. Most of her tools surround areas with optimal lighting from multiple windows, and some sensitive materials are stacked in cold corners. Her bed is shoved up against a wall in the seemingly least lived-in part of the small house. The TV is placed on a stand, but it doesn’t face any of the sitting furniture in the kitchen, instead it’s facing the rest of the house but not really close enough to watch from the bed. You’re guessing even art can become too mundane without extra entertainment to break it up.

 “Get comfortable while I get a glass from the kitchen,” Leah calls as she turns the corner.

Toeing off your shoes and folding your gloves into your pocket, you wander around the small cottage, taking in the art. You stop at an easel placed next to an open window. Leaning forward to glance out, you find the fenced area of Marnie’s ranch just outside. A medium sized calf is running around its mother, annoying her the only way a child can. You draw back with a smile and let your eyes run over the canvas. At first glance it may appear untouched, but you notice the dried base coat painted in a light layer, the sheen appearance and the nostalgic smell of it sparking years old memories.

You’d think it was impossible for you to retain memories after all this time. You’d read once that the cells in your body are supposedly replaced completely over a period of seven years, making you a completely different person at the end of it. So why can you feel the stern eyes of your father on the back of your head? Why can your new body remember the punishments when you spent your hours on something you weren’t supposed to? And why can you remember all that, but not recall the feel of the brush in between your fingers? Perhaps those things are not longer a part of you, lost to time.

“You paint?” Leah asks as she emerges with a couple of glasses.

You take one with a smile, turning your back on the canvas. “No.”

She laughs, like you’ve told some great joke. “That sounded very definite. Have a go, babes. Let’s see if you’re secretly a great artist.” She takes the glass from you, and you watch the cold relief being unloaded from you with a forlorn expression.

“Don’t you think two artists are enough for this little town? We can’t have this turning into a competition. Then we’ll only end up proving the capitalists right.”

But despite your protests, Leah manages to place a few dollops of colour on a palette and push it into your helpless hands, as well as burdening you with a couple of brushes and innocent expectations.

You stare into the void of white, wondering how you can do the least to get out of this quickly enough for Leah not to notice anything off. “Are you sure you want to waste a fresh canvas on this?”

She watches you with folded arms. “Sure, I can always paint over it if we don’t like it. I actually think it will help me get past that initial block when starting fresh.”

Swallowing around the lump in your throat, you skip over the red and watch the blue stain the brush. You mix it with a white on the palette, holding the brush firmly in the nook of your thumb.

A stream of impoliteness runs through your mind as you face your doom once more. You stretch out your arm, and then, like a slinky, decide to follow it and step closer to the easel.

The first stroke is slow and unsure, sticking to the edges as if you’re afraid of causing offense.

Leah clears her throat behind you, “Great, now, imagine you already have the canvas’ consent. Get, set, go!”

You move mechanically, watching the paint vain as you move further over the white space. You want to swish back and forth, a forgotten technique that itches beneath your skin now. A sky you’ve seen before that craves to have its likeness brought out. With a bravery you don’t really feel, you let yourself move as if on instinct, none if it thought out, no plan in sight. You stop being smart about the way you hold the brush. Your heartbeat is in your throat, barely leaving enough room to breathe as you feel yourself reaching out to something else. To a comfort, to a lightness that is no longer yours.

Your fingers twitch around the tool.

No, no, just a little more.

“Hey, now we’re talking,” Leah encourages.

You don’t spare her a glance, wanting to soak in as much of this as you can. But none of this satiates the cravings, it merely teases the flames of them. The dangerous fault of wanting more, the careless hope that eats at contentedness.

After the twitches come the weakness. The muscles refusing to hold on at the weakest links. But how can you create if you hold the brush like a shovel? The sky is almost there, almost exactly how you see it. The whites and blues. The yellows cradling what’s supposed to be clouds. You see it.

And then you drop the brush. It slips through your fingers so easily.  You watch it fall to the floor, splatters joining other long-lived stains. A crime-scene littered with evidence of a path that is not for you. “I’m sorry, Leah. I’ll clean it up,” you say, head kept strictly down.

“Nah, it’s all good. As you can see, I never clean up any spills anyway. Wanna try again?”

Not even if she paid you. You thank her for the lemonade, barely able to get your shoes on before you head out. It doesn’t even register where exactly you’re heading, just that you’re getting farther and farther away from that cottage. You walk over an uneven bridge to the other side of the river, letting the shade cool down the shameful heat in your cheeks.

You hear the thundering waterfall and know you’ve reached the edge of the forest. If you remember correctly, it was in this area you once found Shane laying. He’d been so sure that all hope was lost. You don’t know what he’d done that evening if you hadn’t found him. But you can see why he sought out this place. The mind-numbing noises of the water crashing down upon itself. The endless view of the ocean. You breathe in the saltwater, not hearing the rushing footsteps behind you.

“By Yoba’s crusty boxers, you’re fast,” Leah pants.

You turn around carefully, fighting tooth and nail to keep your composure from slipping further than it already has. “Sorry, felt like getting some fresh air.”

She huffs, coming up to stand beside you. “Well, you’re not gonna get it here. Not next to that nasty sewer.”

You follow the line from where she points with her thumb, catching a divot in the hill.

Huh. “The sewer line leads out here?” Moving closer guided by Leah, you feel yourself pulling at a tread. The blueprints you’ve looked at over and over again flash through your mind, trying to recall this part. And for some reason, you can’t. Is there a second sewer system or something? The one you saw is supposed to lead out on the east of the town.

Stepping down, you find yourself standing in front of a huge tunnel of metal, large bars keeping out any curious passer-byers. From the mouth of the tunnel seeps a thick green substance that you choose not to look at too closely. Instead you study the bars standing far above your height, wide enough that it would take days to file down. You touch the cold metal cautiously, a sinking feeling in your stomach only stopped by a sudden distraction.

“There’s a keyhole,” you look to Leah.

“I’m sure the people in charge have it. Why? Wanna go explore it?” Her crooked smirk and intelligent eyes make you very aware of how she’s caused such a stir in your social circles.

You take a step back, aware of the steep fall not far behind you. “Tempting,” you murmur, but turn away from it even as you say it. No good showing too much interest in it. Not now that it has become a central part of your investigation of Lewis’ mysterious basement.

 

***

 

“Back for more books on our humble town? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were planning a renovation of the whole place.”

You huff, smiling pleasantly over your shoulder in a practiced move. Gunther sits behind the desk, looking you over with a mild skepticism veiled behind a toothy smile. You’re very aware that the museum and library keeper of your little town is much more observant than he lets anyone give him credit for. “I don’t have the luxury of just knowing these things from growing up here, Sir. And I’m unfortunately burdened with an insatiable need to have an answer for everything.” You wipe a fake tear, seeing a drop of honest amusement fill his careful eyes.

The chair creaks as he rises from it. “What have you discovered this week?”

“As of a few days ago, the sewer entrance.”

“I already gave you everything on the town’s sewer system a month ago, I can give you-“

“The entrance out west,” you say simply, watching for his reaction. You have to admit, he’s keeping himself in check.

He slowly turns to you, leaning against the bookshelf you’ve been shuffling through. “Oh?”

Another smile graces your lips, much heavier than the other one. “You know, the huge one that’s almost hidden right at the end of the cliff?” You’re know that you’re trying to herd him into a metaphorical corner. Both of you aware that you’ve seen the original plans. Both of you aware that something is amiss.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

Hmm. “And what would make you surer?”

Eyebrows rising, he regards you with a slight smugness, as you’ve just proven some point for him. “There must be some artifacts useless to you out in your grandfather’s old place. I know, because he bragged about them relentlessly. Of course, that was before the museum became hopelessly empty.”

You nod, understanding him. “Unfortunately, Gunter,” you start, feeling beyond the honorifics of ‘Sir’, “when I arrived, the farm was in the same state as your museum. Now, if I figure out what happened to them, I’ll be more than happy to swing by with any leftovers.”

He looks back and forth between your eyes, judging your earnestness.

Finally, he blinks, nodding to himself. “Alright, what can I do you for?”  

Notes:

• Gunther you sly minx. A man with that beard and such a magnificent hat has to be keeping some secrets.
• Someone suggested finger-painting for our poor farmer, which was so sweet and I had a fun time picturing it.
• I guess we’re going into the sewers? Though I don’t know if “the miner yearns for the sewers” has quite the same ring to it.
• It’s damn tough having to decide where to end the chapters. I’ve made the mistake of adding too much in one before, and I don’t want to overwhelm you all with information. So I figure it’s better to stop it a little early so we can focus on one thing at a time. It also makes it easier for you guys to work through, instead of having to read my 10 Word doc pages once a week hahah.

Chapter 33: A Shadow in the Dark

Summary:

Going into the sewers to try and find out more about Lewis’ mystery basement.

The large metal key slid into the lock with little difficulty despite the amount of rust covering both. Gently turning it, the fear of it simply cracking under the pressure very prevalent in your mind, a breath of relief breaks from you as the warning of the click calls out to you in the busy noon air.

You slide a hand around the thick bar, letting the chill spill into your skin as you heave and force the rolled steel to open up. The hinges shriek over the rustle of the waterfall, echoing into the darkness of the tunnel looming before you. You catch the eye of your carefully chosen companion.

Abby stands with wide eyes, a smirk teasing the edge of her lips. “Cool.”

You’d considered many people for this task – even toyed with the idea of just going solo for this as well – but in the end Abigail seemed like the right person. She loves an adventure and won’t question you about your intention behind going into the sewer, as she’ll assume you have a shared motivation: the lure of the potential danger simply too exciting to pass up. And if you end up finding something, she’ll be the last person to let it slip to anyone. Except David Jr., but you trust that guinea pig with your life so it’s fine.

Both of you adjust your small backpacks. You’re still making sure the knife you brought is at the right height on your hip when Abby starts forward, her eagerness betraying her inexperience. As soon as she moves into the shade of the tunnel, her boots catching on the murky water, you see a whole different version of her. In a flash her hair appears to deepen in colour, her fair skin almost glowing in the darkness. And when she turns to you, waving for you to hurry, you see something unsettling behind the merriment in her expression.

You don’t know whether you’re incredibly grateful to have brought Abby along into this place, or if you’re regretting putting her in this situation.

Stepping up, you’re shocked by the consistency of the green liquid seeping through the wide tunnel. It’s thick, almost like a jelly, except it doesn’t cling to your shoe. However, the sound does make you both giggle a couple of times as you walk forward. You just remember to close the door behind you, pocketing the key in case anyone stumbles across this part of the forest. Can’t risk Jas and Vincent drowning in sewer waste.

It’s cool in here, a relief from the summer sun. The smell gaining in strength but not as foul as you know a sewer can be. It’s very likely this isn’t the main line.

Guided by the flashlights, you realise some of the shine has left Abby’s skin. As she’s trying to take everything in, you let yourself study her.

“Abby? I’m considering dying my hair, but I’m afraid of all the work it’ll take. You know, with root upkeep and so on. How do you manage it?” You attempt to sound nonchalant.

“Hm? Oh, it was a lot of work when I was younger but now I… Huh,” she chuckles to herself, running a hand down her hair. “I- actually I can’t remember the last time I dyed my hair, that’s kinda funny.” Her eyes go distant for a bit before they refocus on you. “What colour have you been thinking about?”

You shrug, “it was mostly the idea of trying something new that interested me. What colour do you think would look good?”

Abby lets herself get distracted by the question, coming up with a few different colours as well as explaining the reasoning behind each one, all while you let your eyes run over her, your focus sharp with consideration and theories that are too absurd. And yet…

Perhaps they’re just absurd enough.

Ahead, the flame from your flashlights begins to bounce back, revealing that you’re close to the end. Thank gods, you’ve been walking for far longer than you’d expected. At this point you only vaguely have a clue where you are in relation to the town above.

Hugging the wall to the right, you make Abby stay behind you as you peak around the corner. There’s very little light coming down from somewhere to the left, perhaps the sun streaming through a manhole cover. It illuminates what looks to be a ladder and casts a glow over the extensive room you’ve happened upon. The streams are barely able to touch down to the ground from the height, like lights trying to break through tightly bound treetops of an old forest. You brace yourself, at last letting your flashlight scan the area. There’s a shallow pathway running over a large pool of thick green water before it connects to the platform by the ladder. By the ladder is a large wall, which hides where the next pathway moves to, though you can see that there is pocket in on the left up ahead.

With a wave over your shoulder, you’ve declared it safe to explore for now, and move forward. With every step you can almost sense the substantial waters beneath you, the dark green hiding what lives beneath, only chunks here and there letting you know that this place has some practical function other than just being creepy.

Despite all of this, the moment you become truly baffled is when you happen upon a statue. It’s of a dog with arms, looking to be nervously rubbing its own hands as it looks straight ahead. You frown at it, your flashlight slowly revealing every detail of it.

There’s a snort next to you, “’regretting moving here or…?”

“Something like that,” you murmur, moving on.

“You sure don’t get stuff life this in the big city,” she comments, the sound of her exploring behind you as you carefully make your way across the water.

“Peace and quiet comes with a price. You’ve got to be able to embrace the weirdness.”

She sighs, “yeah. These places are pretty unique.”

 

Something in her tone catches your attention. “Are you thinking about staying?” When there’s no answer you continue, “thought you couldn’t wait to get out of here.” You turn, your flashlight casting a sheen over the murky waters.

A mild blush caresses her cheeks, her eyes shying away from yours, “I guess I’ve been reconsidering.” She shrugs. You mirror her movement, moving on.

The sound of dripping echoes throughout the open space. The rushing of water somewhere not far off silencing your steady footsteps and blending in the rattling of your tools. You reach the indent of the open space past the ladder, looking quickly around the corner to make sure nothing is there. For a second you think you see a swift movement, but it’s gone when your flashlight goes to track it. What truly catches your attention, however, is a miscolouring on one of the walls straight ahead.

You step up to it, regarding the tall structure suspiciously enough to regain the attention of Abby. 

“What’s up?”

You don’t give her an answer. This wall is new – well, not the entire wall. Just one rectangle spanning out a little further and reaching higher than minimal repair would call for. The mortar has dried to a colour unlike that around it, not yet truly affected by the musky and moistened air. A couple of more years, who knows. No one would have been able to tell it apart from the rest of it. But as of right now, it feeds your curiosity. Your eyes catch on a small part of the wall, a smile coaxed forth by the sight.

Your bag makes a distant thud as you crouch down to look through it, pulling out some small tools.

“You know, you could’ve told me if we were doing a heist.”

You fondly shake your head, rising to approach the wall once more. “I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this, but I worked briefly at a construction site.”

“Oh?”

A nod. “And it was very easy to see when someone’d cut corners.”

“Why would they cut corners?”

You move over to the area you spotted, placing the drill against the mortar beneath the crooked stone. “Oh, lots of reason. Laziness for one, though I found it to be the least likely cause.” You test the drill a couple of times before lowering it back into place. “Most often, it’s time.”

Abby steps up behind you, trying to see what you’re seeing. “Time?”

“They want to get it done as quickly as possible, so they can move on to the next project. Or-,” you pause, letting the sound of the drill fill the space. It doesn’t take long for the resistance to cease, the drill stuttering in your hands before you pull it back and out. You lean down, looking through the decent sized hole you created. “-because the client wants it done quietly and quickly.”

You lean away as Abby moves into your sphere to look through the hole herself. And directly into Lewis’ mysterious basement. Jackpot.

Abby lets out a low whistle, “that looks creepy as hell. Where is that? I didn’t know we had any basements in town, you know, because the river is like right there.”

Just as you’re about to answer, you find the words have disappeared. Slowly your mouth falls closed, a frown creasing your forehead. You lean back and away from her, head turned over your shoulder.

Your companion doesn’t notice, occupied by trying to fit the light from her flashlight through the hole while maintaining the eyeline. You’d kept the hole on the smaller side for a reason. Fumbling around through your pack, your hands shake as you look for the item you brought to cover it back up. What is wrong with you?

Your flashlight scans the area. Eyes on the room, your hand blindly roams for the item. “Let’s cover this up. We can explore for a bit more before we head up,” as you say it, it feels like a lie.

A shiver runs down your spine; goosebumps marking the path, spreading out through your body. Turning to the wall, you aim before leaning against the sticky material, making sure it doesn’t flop right off the wall after you’ve left, and effectively blocking the hole again. Your movements are hurried, your eyes unfocused.

“Dude, are you okay-“

There’s a shuffling behind you, interrupting Abby.

You whirl around while Abby freezes, her back still to the room. The normally noisy area falls silent save for the heavy breathing next to you.

She whispers furiously, “what the fuck was that.”

Eyes tracking for movement, you hesitate on answering her. You don’t think “I have no fucking clue” will be any comfort to her right now. No, you’re in no state to comfort her right now, not when you feel as if you’re going mad. Overwhelmed by the sensation that you’re missing something, as if there’s someone rushing past you out of the corner of your eyes yet is no where to be found when your head goes to track the movement.

Fingers curled around your sheathed knife, you shift forward to cover her back. “Hello?” Your voice sounds weak as the room echoes it back to you, travelling through tunnels, across the murky water, and into the shadow-heavy corners. As your voice touches every surface, bouncing off one to the next, it feels as though it clears the air with it, chasing away what might have been lurking. The tightness in your chest lessens and the breathing of the girl behind you gradually evens out.

Abby claps you on the shoulder, “Maybe I’m not as tough as I thought. Let’s get the fuck out of here.” And off she rushes towards the exit, leaving you in the dust.

You scramble to get your stuff into your backpack, hustling after Abby. Just before you round the corner to the exit tunnel, you cast a glance over your shoulder, checking that nothing really is there.

You both run all the way out, locking the tunnel door behind you before you allow yourself to fall into the still warm grass under the shade of a tree. As you lie there catching your breaths, you can’t help the nagging feeling that something in the darkness was looking back.

Notes:

• Don’t ask me why we have a drill – I couldn’t for the life of me remember the word for the tool you hammer against to create a hole and google was no help. Can’t even remember the word in my native language.
• I passed my bachelor! Now I’m just finishing up my minor (weird system but what can you do)
• Krobus teasing?

Chapter 34: Harvey and the Square – slightly damaged – table

Summary:

Avengers – Assemble! Or, just a friendly gathering before the heist of the decade.

Leaning against the windowsill you watch for the grey dot above, the lights flashing on each wing as it travels fast past your little town. Who could the people in it be? The story of each of them and how they got there? Or is it perhaps just one person. A solitary pilot accompanied by clouds – head and body in the skies, above any of the worries spoiling the Earth below.

Could you place yourself in their stead? Could you avoid the temptation to cut the engine just for the momentary rush as your body begins to drop? And could you trust yourself to turn it back on?

A door closes somewhere behind you, and at once you feel the energy pulling at you, your smile at ready. Harvey stands at the front door, sliding off his white coat, his eyes fixed on you. His expression invites you over, draws you in. Your hands reach out, framing the clouds of his hair, your gaze absorbed by the sun in his own. Eyes falling closed you let his lips press to yours, and for a while you’re falling. The drop so exhilarating you wonder how you’ll ever find the sense to flip that switch. His large hands warm you skin as he cups the side of your face, forcing you both to pull away. He leans into your touch, the contrast of his smooth skin and the stubble of his beard reading the lines of your palm.

“I’ve missed you,” he confesses. His eye flicker back and forth between yours, catching your reaction to his words.

You kiss the tip of his nose, sinking back onto your feet with a pleased smile before you let him go. Moving to the kitchen, you hear him pull out a chair behind you. “I made you some coffee,” you say. You pour his cup and let the boiled water soak the bag in your own before joining him.

This is one of the rare afternoons where your schedules have linked up. Lately, the demands of the farm have kept you separated. The limited lunch dates have been interrupted by emergencies that naturally come with people spending a lot of time outdoors and in their gardens, causing your doctor to rush off before he’s had a chance to finish his meal. And in the evenings, your time is spent on most of the hard labour that the scorching sun has prevented in the earlier hours, which has resulted in you crawling into bed exhausted many hours past his bedtime. But in some ways, you’re luckier than most. You almost never spend a night apart.

As you place the cup in front of him, you realise something with haunting clarity. You actually haven’t spent a night apart in so long. Either he stays at your place, or you crawl to his. You somehow always find yourselves in the other’s embrace before the rising of the day. For months you’ve exchanged your pillow for his heartbeat.

So you take this time to talk about your weeks, updating each other on your lives, and simply squeezing each other’s hands. The birds serenading outside the open window like a summer anthem.

Harvey flips your hand over, noticing the deepening of your skin that comes from summer labour and his mouth sets in a nervous line as he chews on the inside of his cheek.

You sigh. “Spit it out, doc.”

“Are you wearing enough sunscreen?”

You scoff, teasingly attempting to pull your hand away but finding his grip unforgiving. At last, voice full of heart, you answer, “twice a day, and I wear a hat.” You clap the hand holding yours. “Don’t worry, honey, your voice goes off like an antique clock in my head whenever it’s time. It’s just that not everyone has the luxury of being pasty white.”

He snorts, “it takes real commitment to look like a sickly Victorian child.”

“Come on, Harvey. No one thinks that.” You pause. “You’re way too old to be mistaken for a child.”

To his credit, he lets you snicker about that for a while. Watching you carefully as you revel in the hilarity of your own joke before he speaks again. So softy, it doesn’t register at first, he says, “haven’t we already discussed this?”

The leftover giggles leave you as your grasp through memories, trying to figure out what he means.

“Every time you call me old, it feels like you’re hoping I’ll pin you down and fuck you just to prove you wrong.”

You fight a gasp, but you can’t hide the moment it hits you from him. His eyes narrow as yours widen, his thumb lovingly brushing against your thumping pulse on your wrist. You don’t let him have the upper-hand for long, though. You lean forward, watching him fixate on the turn of your lips before they disappear to brush against the soft shell of his ear, “you’ll have to catch me first.”

Leaning back, you bask in his reaction. The way his chest hitches, his eyes hooded as a blush works its way down past his shirt collar. Despite the way your words weaken him, he doesn’t allow himself to be moved from his target.

He stands, and you shoot up to follow, rushing behind your chair with a grin plastered on your face. And then the stalking around the table begins.

Around the square table you move, eyes on each other. Charged looks exchanged as you try to mess with the other. He halts, fakes a left and almost gets you. You rush forward, pushing a chair out behind you that he gingerly moves out of reach, effectively removing further blocking.

“I’m not afraid to leap over this table, Harvey,” you warn.

“But if you can’t make it across before I grab you, I’m taking you on this table, sweetheart.”

You sigh wistfully, “what a wonderful plan.” Your eyes flicker to somewhere behind him before you click your tongue, “However, I think you’re forgetting something.”

That earns you a frown, “what?”

“Our guests will be arriving soon.”

He groans, his eyes falling closed as a self-deprecating smile grows. “Are you serious?”

“Aww, you forgot?”

His eyes reopen at your playful tone, hands twitching at his sides. You love winding him up, teasing him like this. The careful doctor turned inside out because you both know it wouldn’t be proper to make the guests wait just so you don’t have to. And though you’re not at all happy about being left with blue ovaries, it’s worth it to see Harvey pent up and antsy to get his hands on you.

“How soon?” He asks.

Huh. “What?

He takes a measured step closer. “How. Soon.”

“Uuuh, not even half an hour,” you answer hesitantly.

“Not enough time,” he remarks.

You shake your head with a little mocking pout. Has he come closer? You take an experimental step back, and sure enough, the man is still on your tail. Does he even realise it?

“And what a shame,” you sigh.

He rubs his thumbs across his fingertips, as if he’s trying to soothe the ache of not touching you, his gaze straying to a wall further away in a clear attempt to collect himself.

Your own hand glides over the firm wooden table. “Not enough time to slide your hands under my clothes.”

If he’d snapped is head in your direction faster, he would’ve broken his neck.

Another sigh, “no. No time to spread me out in front of you, ready to be ravished.”

 “Sweetheart-“

“Or bending me over, finally sinking into me. Taking me.”

He rushes to you, his hand on your waist as he twirls you around, keeping his front pressed tightly to your back. His fingers splay out against your lower abdomen, feeling your muscles quivering underneath his attentions. His mouth is pressed to the back of your ear, his pants caressing the line of your neck. “Say yes,” despite the command, his words break from him on a breathless plea.

 You breathe with him, feeling his chest expand on each exhale and inhale against your back. His warmth through your thin clothes. Lips parting, you breathe, “yes.”

There’s a knock at the door.

Both of you groan. His head falls to the nook of your neck while yours is caught against his shoulder. You rub the iron band of his arm comfortingly, “to be continued.”

His arms go slack as you unclip them from around you, moving towards the door as your nerves start firing.

You’re officially doing this.

***

 

You’re sitting at the make-shift head of the table. Harvey to your right, by all appearances absentmindedly memorising shape of your knee under the covers of the old wood, distracting you – grounding you.

Despite your controlled exterior, you know he senses the unease, the restless anxiousness simmering beneath. He smiles, letting the warmth of it seep into your bones. You smile back, a wolfish edge to it when you face your friends. “What I’m about to say cannot leave this room. If you’re unwilling to participate, that’s fine, but I’m asking you to trust me on this.”

They look to each other. Leah, Emily, Sam, Sebastian. A lot of people for something intended to stay under the radar, but each of these people have abilities and traits that you’re going to need if you’re going to pull this off.

Leah, with her go-with-the-flow attitude and her attention to detail; Emily, ready to go into the ring and loyal to the bone, and way too good on her feet to not have a criminal record in her future; Sam, with a vendetta against Lewis and an impulsivity that could be incredibly useful; Sebastian, not easily scared and able to keep Sam in check by mere aura alone. You’d asked Maru to join you as well, but you know that she has yet to make up with everyone and you aren’t even sure if you two have made up yourselves. One moment of vulnerability does not fix years of self-sabotage and internal conflict. But her inventor’s mind would have been nice when planning all of this.

No, it’s not a surprise to see that chair sit vacant. You continue, “and just hear me out.”

Finally, they nod at you. You expel a breath and launch into the explanation. The museum and the sudden loss of artifacts, Lewis’ collection and mystery unauthorised basement, and at last and very hesitantly you share the details of your missing inheritance.

“But,” Sam starts. “Couldn’t your pop just’ve sold all of that before he…you know.”  

You nod, “He could’ve. He may very well have. The reason I suspect something more nefarious is going on is because of this.” Taking off the ring and placing it in the middle of the table, you let your friends soak in the beautiful stone and the recently cleaned gold. Emily drags her eyes away from the ring, wide and knowing, before leaning back in her chair.

“That’s a very valuable ring my grandfather left behind. In an empty chest that has been handled more recently than anything else, I found the engraved instructions on how to find this.”

“Like a treasure map?” Sam asks. You contemplate him in silence, wondering if he’s fucking with you. When you find him to be nothing but earnest, you shrug and nod.

Sebastian cocks an eyebrow.

“Cool.”

You move on. “After feeling a little paranoid about the whole thing, I went to look over some city plans. And then I decided to pay Lewis a little visit.”

The rest of the explanation goes about as smoothly as the beginning, Your friends cutting in with questions and you answering calmly, acknowledging doubts and admitting when you’re unsure. Some of the specifics make them see you differently. You know this. Know it in the way Leah shares a look with someone at the table. The way Emily frowns at the scratched surface of the wood. The way Sebastian goes from leaning back with arms folded to bearing an expression of interest, leaning forward and bracing himself as he absorbs himself in the details. You knew this was one of the risks. Asking them to do this with you has put your cards on the table and exposed your moral compass. If they’re not aligned, it could go very wrong. You just trust that the last year here has created a report with these people and allowed a bit of trust. You can spend the next year building it back up again.

Or so you dare to hope.

“What do you think about all of this, doc?”

Harvey looks away from you for the first time since you started speaking, facing a slightly worried Sam. He squeezes your leg out of sight from the others. “I’m not the most daring person at this table. In this town. But past experiences with Lewis have made me capable of believing he could be up to anything. I don’t suppose you can all recall the Golden Statue incident?”

Surprised murmurs of realisation sound around the table.

Harvey continues, “I understand your doubts. This is not legal. If we’re wrong it could create a lot of problems. If we’re right, I doubt Lewis will report the goods as stolen, as he’s not supposed to have them anyway. I believe none of it is on his insurance plan either. And,” he takes a breath, pausing his speech with a smile. “I think once you hear her plan, you’ll all feel much better about this.”

There’s a knock at the door. Your guests whirl around, and you force yourself to remain seated, to devoid yourself of any guilt in your expression.

“Door’s open,” Harvey calls after a moment.

An assured brown bob and strong framed glasses peak around the door before she steps fully inside. Maru closes the door behind her,

 A tense feeling settles over the room as everyone waits for the inventor’s reaction to the gathering. She shifts from foot to foot. “Umm,” she begins.

Solid start, Maru.

“Is this the heist room?”

And then the ice was broken. Little by little the atmosphere changed and when Maru was more or less caught up, silently taking in the different opinions and debates a new angle sparked, the room felt charged in a different way. Eager.

Maru’s eyes clashes with yours. “So, what’s the plan?”

You unfold the new and improved underground drawings. “We’ll start this Sunday.”

Notes:

• Another cute short one before the action. Time to see if I know how to write anything exciting. But, you know, if it flops it flops.
• Who would you pick from the valley to do a heist with? I unfortunately didn’t think Marlon would be interested, but maybe you guys have a different opinion?

Chapter 35: Coup of the Artifacts

Summary:

A large shriek goes off, making the sculptor drop to the ground. Her drill bounces on the platform and a worrying crack pierces the bursts of alarming noise.

“Why Sunday?”

“That’s when he’ll be at the Shrine in Pierre’s place,” you answer.

***

It’s a wonder Lewis even makes it out the door that Sunday. With the many sets of eyes on him, he must feel the energy in some way. The shift of the focus. The awareness. Even though every time he’ll look around it’ll seem like no one is paying attention to him, he must at least sense the danger on a primal level. The day hovering, the people waiting to begin at his first steps out the door. Perhaps not.

From where you’re placed in the library, you can’t even see him. It’s not until Gunther clears his throat decisively 3 times that you close the book and place it on the front desk in the library. “Have a nice day,” you call over your shoulder, making your way out.

Gunther had timed it perfectly. You peer over the river and catch Lewis’ disappearing back. With no more purpose in your step than usual, you stroll across the bridge, getting closer and closer to the loaming house of the mayor. And walk right past it.

You wave at Sam practicing on his skateboard in the town square. He lights up, returning the gesture before performing a trick that you must acknowledge with an admiring thumbs up. It’s a quiet Sunday in the Valley. There’s no way of sensing that somewhere below your feet as you’re shuffling along the paths out of the city center, Leah and Maru are setting up.

Out by the sewer entrance in the forest, you pull experimentally at the bars. The creaks bounce off the tunnel walls, rushing down to greet your friends long before you get a chance yourself. The crashing of metal is unavoidable when you close the latch behind you once more – not that it matters this close to the waterfall. You hurry down the tunnel, rushing the corner to find Maru on her knees, setting up a machine, while Leah is marking the wall.

The air is tense as you move between them. Leah clears her throat before she catches you up on what’s been going on. “I was thinking of getting a bigger area, now that we have… the machine. But I honestly think that this,” she says, motioning at the chalked surface, “will be much easier to hide behind a couple of boxes because it’s much smaller.”

You nod thoughtfully and hesitantly ask, “And if we need to carry out box-sized boxes?”

The women share a look – Maru’s one of triumph and Leah’s accompanied by a defeated eyeroll.

“I guess I can make it bigger.”

Over her shoulder you catch Maru silently mocking her.

You rub your forehead, regretting the pairing already. “Thank you, Leah,” you call, making a firm slashing motion at Maru to cut that shit out.

 You trust Leah’s opinions on the material and what it can bear. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if the entire wall came crashing down because you were too eager to move everything all at once. And if you can somehow hide how you got in, it will make it harder for Lewis to prove anything should he wish to. But you’d also like to not have to squeeze in and out and push things through piece by piece.

Although… having a new set of scrapes for your doctor to clean would be an extra reward. You shake your head, forcing the lecherous thoughts away.

Sure, this could have been done with way less effort. March into Lewis’ home and take the things with brute effort. But then it would become more than just your word against his, and it would turn the town into a land occupied by chaos. Give Kent an excuse to straight-up take you out for good. This way you have time to sort through the stuff – find what’s actually yours to take. Lewis must have acquired some of this stuff legally, so you’re intending to leave at least a little behind.

For now.

“What the hell is your problem?” You murmur in a low voice.

Maru looks up, mouth agape and protest at ready. “Me?!” Luckily she mirrors your noise level, even if her tone somehow manages to still sound absolutely outraged. “She’s been giving me attitude since this morning. She’s just making a hole in the wall, while I built an actual machine. A machine. Talk about contribution. I mean, can she even-“

You hold up a hand, cutting her off. “I regret asking. Perhaps this isn’t the best way to make up, Maru.”

She scoffs, turning back to tighten a bolt you’re pretty sure can’t get any tighter. “Make up? Yeah, right, as if I’m interested in making up with her.”

For a moment, you simply observe her. The way her jaw is clenched, her shoulders curled forward, carrying tension prepared to fight off a missile strike.

“She’s hurt too, you know.”

Maru slows her assault of the bolts. Turning away you allow her to work in peace while you asses the next part of the plan.

Leah places her own machinery against the wall in a way it sure-as-shit does not look like it’s supposed to be held and flips her safety goggles down over her eyes.

“You think we were supposed to have those too?” Maru says with eyes barely more protected than your own.

“Definitely.”

And then you both duck, covering your heads as the tool booms through the sewers, sending every rat within a kilometre scurrying far, far away. Beneath the thunder of the large drill and the pieces of brick flying, you faintly hear the manic laughter coming from the woman holding the monster. Once it breaks through the layer, she turns it off. Among dust, debris, and heavy breathing, you wait anxiously for the shrieking such a large hole would provoke from the alarm system. Especially since a lot of the dirt and brick fell directly into enemy territory.

Leah sighs in relief, “ah, maybe he didn’t expect visitors?”

A large shriek goes off, making the sculptor drop to the ground. Her drill bounces on the platform and a worrying crack pierces the bursts of alarming noise.

Panicked looks are exchanged until it finally cuts off, leaving you in silence.

Fucking hell.

“He did it,” Maru gasps, a smile of wonder on her face.

***

Maru asks, “How will we get around the alarm systems?”

“Leave it to me,” Sebastian says, a crooked smile in place. 

***

Leah is quiet, hunched over the drill as she examines it.

“Leah?” you try.

She doesn’t answer.

Rising from your crouch, you come around to see her face. She’s biting her lip, a sheepish smile turning the corners of them.

“Is it-“

“It’s not broken!” She exclaims. “I mean,” she hesitates. “It’s about to break, but I’m sure we can still get the hole big enough,” she hurries out the last part as you turn away from her, going to the wall to see how much good damage has been done so far.

Head bobbing before you’ve even fully realised it, you wave Leah forward once more. Fuck it, you’ll make it work.

Both women sweat over their respective machines, preparing for another round when you feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You look over your shoulder, over the murky waters and around the large room, before fastening your eyes on Leah as she lines up again.

A buzzing sounds near your ear and your whole body twitches away from it, swatting at whatever it is. There’s nothing to see when you regain control of your faculties.

You mumble underneath your breath. Suspicion gnaws at your nerves, keeping you on high alert.

“Ready?” Leah calls, flipping her goggles down before you have a chance to answer. You cower behind Maru’s machine, waiting out the destruction and chaos.

Maru’s invention is placed in the pocket of the open room of the sewer, almost hidden away from where you entered. It’s pressed close to one of the corners, leaving you in the embrace of shadows just outside the reach of the lanterns the women have propped up around the workspace.

After another break, you move out of the chill of the corner, using the excuse that you need to look over the plans again somewhere you’re not in danger of losing an eye, when light suddenly spills from the tunnels – what looks to be a flashlight showing the way to someone hurriedly nearing you. Eyes fixed on the impending intrusion, your heart pounding behind a stoney façade, you wait. Not a peep from you as your comrades are busy with their own stuff.

Closer and closer, until finally the bright light blinds you as the person turns the corner. You can’t see past the rays, and it’s not until they click off the flashlight that you recognise the person marching towards you.

“Hello, Sebastian,” you greet him, weirdly formal.

A nod. “Grandma,” he calls back by way of greeting.

Little shit.

Out from his cross-body bag he pulls a pair of safety goggles, standing with his feet firmly planted a safe distance away from the havoc Leah’s wreaking as he puts them on. He’s wearing his usual getup except he’s recently admitted defeat and chosen to wear a black short sleeve instead of the infamous hoodie.

Once Leah finishes the current round, you both get treated to a few gasps of shock as they finally notice who’s joined them.

“Nice work on the alarms. Quick note though; why the hell didn’t you just turn them off before they activated?” Maru asks with plenty of sass to spare.

“That’s not a note. That’s a question,” he says.

“Then answer it.”

He sighs, rubbing his neck in a motion you find startling familiar. So familiar you don’t hear him as he murmurs something.

Maru does however and throws back her head on a laugh.

“What?” You ask.

Sebastian looks away, pink tinting his cheeks.

“Hey, I didn’t hear you, tell me.”

He bites his cheek before facing you head on again. “I accidentally turned off his sprinkler system instead.”

Leah injects, “they run on wi-fi?”

There’s a moment of silence before he answers. “Apparently.”

You look down at you watch, grimacing at the time lost. “Leah, how much longer do you need?”

She huffs. “Ten seconds.” Leah then manages to push against what you thought to be untouched brick. Under the pressure of her bodyweight, the brick collapses in on itself, revealing the perfect cutout.

You all move up to the wall eager to get started. Leah sits gaping at the hole while you examine it, carefully poking your head through it as you hear her behind you, “that’s much bigger than I thought it was going to be.”

Gloves on and a jacket placed on the bottom teeth of the wall, you’re ready. Your flashlight helps your narrowly avoid collision with a barrel as you crawl through. As a matter of fact, avoiding any barrel collision is going to be a battle.

“What the fuck,” you whisper, letting your light brush over the expansive basement.

Barrels upon barrels – boxes upon boxes. Chests, what looks to be covered frames holding paintings, and sheets thrown over shoulder-high square objects. On shelves reaching far over your head, you recognise vases and bowls secured in bubble wrap… The dark room is much bigger, much more filled than you imagined, hoped, feared. Lewis has accumulated an ungodly amount of stuff. And you’re starting to worry if you’re ever going to find what you’re looking for.

As your companions fill in behind you, stepping into the room and seeing the same things you do, you hear your surprise in their own words and gasps. The outrage. The realisation that this is the man responsible for this town and its interests.

“He should be impeached,” Leah states.

Sebastian huffs. “Can a small-town mayor even be impeached?”

“Seb, we haven’t held an actual election in like ten years. He’s overdue an impeachment.”

“That’s not-“

“Guys, look,” you cut in.

They make their way over to what you’ve discovered, curses drawn from them at the sight.

Leah clears her throat, “well, for once it’s good that he’s so anal and organised.”

Illuminated by your flashlight, a sign appears to be categorising one section of the basement. It reads:

‘Dead People: Treasures’.

How original of him. Not that he needs to be original to pull off the biggest scam this town has ever seen.

You guess you’ll start in this area. “We have one-and-a-half hours left. You each have your lists. Fan out and shove shit through to Maru, she’ll take care of it on the other side.” And with that you all spring into action.

Sorting through family heirlooms is a different kind of ache. Names on picture frames in boxes marked as “Sentimental Crap: A-D”, until you realise that it’s the family names that they’re sorted by, and you have to fight through the queasiness that suddenly threatens to overwhelm you.

There’s an outraged chuckle before a woman’s voice drifts to you from across the room. “This area is called, ‘Valuable: Keep out of public eye’, conveniently next to ‘Valuable: Bragging Allowed’.”

And that’s how the first ten minutes pass. With you all just trying to get your bearings while forcing yourself to repress the reality of the situation. There’s no time for true outrage. No time to focus on the families left with questions – or on the people here who may have had none to collect this stuff. The mental image of Lewis hovering by a death bed, awaiting his moment to collect is shoved away along with a box of irrelevant stuff.

Sooner or later, Sebastian and Leah start pushing stuff through, placing pictures with names in them so Maru knows how to sort them on the other side, more or less quietly working together.

You heave out a box from under a set of shelves and go still. Staring up at you from the void of it all is a pendant with your name on it. Your heartbeat throbs through your body, but there’s no time to truly go through it. Hoisting it into your arms you make your way to the hole, shoving it through. You don’t move on until you see Maru’s hands pulling it gently out of sight.

There are not many more boxes like that one. With some quick deduction work based on the similarities in appearance from the boxes and the items inside, you shove two more through before you move on to other categories of the basement.

An electrical buzzing shoots through the room, sending you and Leah whirling around to face Sebastian. He casually unclips a black device from his belt and holds it up to his face.

“What’s that Sam? Over.”

You wait.

There’s a muffling before you hear Sam’s voice over the little radio, “he’s coming.”

“Is Sam standing with a fucking walkie-talkie in the middle of the street?” You ask carefully.

Sebastian turns to you, his mouth in a flat line as if you’re the one being ridiculous right now. “No, he has a Bluetooth in his ear.”

Leah waves defeatedly at the ancient brick in Sebastian’s hand. “Then why do you have that and not a similar one?”

He’s quiet.

You smile, “is it because that one’s cooler?”

Leah’s giggle is unwavering as Sebastian speaks, “if you didn’t hear, Lewis is coming right now.”

***

“How are you going to get his attention?”
“The question is, how do I not get his attention,” Sam says in mock exasperation.

***

 

Sam, apparently, left his end open, allowing you to hear everything happening around him while you all hurriedly pass more stuff over to Maru. It’s as good as a front row seat to the show.

“Are you sure you don’t want just one more beer, Mayor Lewis?” Emily’s voice comes out surprisingly clear through the radio.

“No, I-… *Hiccup*… I have simply got to get ba- *hiccup* -ack. And I’ll have you know, young lady, it’s decidedly not appropriate – HEY! *Hiccup* Sam! Must I repeat myself – those tricks are a danger *hiccup* to our citizens.”  Lewis’ voice progressively gets louder as he nears Sam.

You know they must be standing almost right outside Lewis’ house by now.

He continues, “Do you want our vulnerable neighbours to come into harm? Do you… *hiccup*… do you want Evelyn to die?”

You wish you could say that the dramatics are due to the alcohol Emily has poured into him since he left the Shrine, but he’s said far worse regarding Sam and his skateboarding while sober as a judge.

There’s a slight noise of something slapping hard against stone, which you assume is Sam performing another trick, sending Lewis further into a blubbering rant on town safety. Hearing that among hundreds of stolen goods makes his speech rather ironic.

“I think we’re good. If we’re going to lap up the hole before Lewis gets inside his house, we’re going to have to move now.”

You barely acknowledge that you’ve heard Sebastian. For while they were loading up the last of their stuff, you peaked behind the sheet of what you discovered to be a display case. You don’t know what made you look over there, to be frank. If there was a slight chill as you passed, if the shadows seemed to caress the corner of the fabric you’re pulling on now, you weren’t completely aware of it. Inside this case is three artifact-looking items.

An egg black as night adorned with red jewels, like spots all around it.

Next to it is a circular object with four arms sticking out – it’s light, so bright without illuminating anything on its own. Its colouring that of a sun on a late spring day. All that is alive.

The third item sends chills down your spine. If the last item was life, this is certainly death. It appears to be sucking up everything around it, the colours of its display pillow muted in contact with it, its very essence compromised. Framed by black swirls, in its center it carries a purple hue. A void of everything. Next to each other, they give the sense of ying and yang.

From the shadows around your flashlight, forever out of sight, you hear a whisper, “My people…”

You hear your name called behind you. “Come on, we have to go.”

Ignoring Leah, you open the glass case pulling out a bag and start scooping the items into it. For a moment, as you let the dark object spill into the back with the rest of the artifacts, you worry that a meeting between the sun and the black hole will have some horrible consequence. Yet nothing happens.

There’s another crackle from beyond the hole where your friends are waiting.

“I’ll call your mother, young man!”

“Wait!” Sam’s panicked voice follows the threat from Lewis.

You turn, running for the hole and crawling through, just remembering to drag a barrel to cover behind you. “Sorry, guys.”

“What the hell was that important?” Sebastian demands as Maru gets to work, setting her machine into position.

In what must be a result from the sleep deprivation triggered by this event, you can almost feel the shadows caressing the bag in your hands. You put it down in the corner, almost out of sight. “Just something I’ve seen in a book once.” Turning to Maru, you note the frown on her face, the tension in her hands. “Will you be able to do it?”

“There’s a chance he’ll hear if he gets inside now,” she responds honestly.

Nodding, you move away to lean against one of the walls. When she starts the machine, it rumbles through the platform, vibrating in your teeth. Yeah, he’ll definitely be able to hear it once he’s inside.

Sebastian looks to you, chewing on his cheek before he unclips his radio again, interrupting the background noise coming from it as he taps the side button. “Do it,” he rasps.

There’s a brief silence.

“Roger that.” A pleased smile seeping into the blond man’s voice.

***

“What am I not allowed to do?”

You sigh. “Sam, you can do anything short of killing him.”

***

The sound of wheels rolling over stone comes through between bouts of boot slamming into the cobblestone. “Cowabunga!” He yells as you hear the high shriek of presumably Lewis, before a large crash comes through the speaker.

Maru’s machine is setting up the wall, speeding up the process of settling the stone perfectly within the hole. As you’re watching the repair becoming practically seamless, a scream of grief and horror bursts out from the walkie-talkie in Sebastian’s hand.

“MY SPANGLES!”  

You cast a smirk over to Sebastian. “The big plan was to ruin Lewis’ garden?”

“A thank you would be nice.”

You shake your head at the sarcastic tone, turning back around to watch Maru’s miracle work in action, catching a shared look of softness between the inventor and the sculptor as the latter gives a nod of approval at the craftmanship.

You all start the journey to Leah’s cabin soon after, arms filled with contraband. By your last trip down there, you assume someone else must have brought up the bag with the stuff from the display case.

Notes:

• If anyone can give me any tips on how they write in hiccoughs, they’ll be received with a kissed hand. It felt violently Wattpad-ish to add the * around the actions, but how else do you portray the suddenness of the sound in the middle of the dialogue?
• I know there are some people who we didn’t see a lot of, but that’s the shame of one POV. Unsung heroes who drink the mayor under the table before noon and crash into him with their skateboard.

Chapter 36: A clean success?

Summary:

You’re looking through some of the boxes and find a few surprising items.

Notes:

• Trigger warning: Family abuse / domestic violence / blood / alluding to death. It will be in italics, but this chapter in general will have some trauma and focus more on the farmer’s backstory. If you jump over this chapter, you won’t miss anything vital to the storyline.

 

The day is far from over. It’s not safe for Gunther to come by and comb through the items until in a couple of days, so the task of sorting and matching with pictures and descriptions falls to you. Sebastian and Leah have done a good job, but the hauling back and forth messed up the system they’d attempted to maintain in the sewers. And working at high speeds in the dark left room for a couple of mistakes.

“How’ll Gunther explain how he got all of the artifacts back?” Sam asks while peering at you through the eye of a jewel, making his face appear cartoonishly tiny.

You look away from him, hiding the curling edges of your lips. “We’ve talked about a few different scenarios. I think we landed on them being found at an auction somewhere. Not like Lewis can fight him on that without admitting why it’s not possible.” Gunther had also promised to install a security system to prevent the artifacts from “escaping” in the future.

Eventually, you allow yourself to dig through the boxes you suspect belonged to your grandfather. Your eye is caught on a purple cat statue, and when you pick it up, testing the weight in your hand, you realise it must be hollow. You put it back.

Maru speaks up from where she’s dismantling her machine, slowly getting rid of the evidence. “Is that one of your grandpa’s boxes? Does any of it mean anything to you?”

You make a thoughtful sound in your throat, letting your hand brush through all of its contents in hopes of spotting something of significance. Something you’d remember from your times with him. Turning to the next one you find a bunch of files on the top, which you assume is just general adult stuff that accumulates. When you happen upon a heavier folder, your curiosity makes you flip it open.

Oh.

It’s not a bunch of files. “I’ve found a photo-album.”

Your friends share a brief look before they all hurry over to you, looking over your shoulder. It doesn’t take long for a picture of you to pop up and that’s when all the very unnecessary ooh-ings and aaah-ings start. When you try to turn the pages on some of the more embarrassing memories, they hold you down until they’ve laughed their fill.

“Huh”.

“What now, Seb,” you inquire drily.

A long pale arm reaches over from behind you, flipping back and forth between pages as he slowly seems to gather his thoughts. “You came here every summer? To stay with him?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm…”

“Oh, just spit it out, dude,” Sam groans.

“It’s just, you always look so skinny when you start the summer. Were your parents poor?”

The weight of his gaze falls on you. You clear your throat, “something like that.”

Leaving them to flip through some more pictures, another file catches your eye. With a shaking hand you reach out to it, feeling the old plastic and paper between your fingers. The dusty smell from them hits you as you flip them open, trying to translate all of the legal jargon.

‘’Transference of Parental Rights’

In clear, bold letters. Unlined over and over again. The shaking doesn’t cease.

You never knew your grandfather had made a photo-album, never knew he’d even taken pictures of your days together. Never knew he’d tried to get you to live with him. You suppose you truly never had a clue about how much he cared about you. It’s not like he ever came to visit you after…

“Cool!” Sam exclaims.

Ripping your blurry gaze away from the papers, you find Sam hunched over your box, holding a golden pendant up into the light, watching the rays bounce off as it twirls.

Sam catches your eye and holds out the necklace for you, a wide smile in place as he encourages you to open it. The files are resting heavily in your lap as you accept the jewellery, the world waiting as you simply feel the cool metal between your fingers, snaking the metal chain around your hand slowly, as if you could pour the memories from it through your skin into your veins. As you open it, the satisfying click as the clasp releases, filling the silence, you force yourself to stay in the here and now, force yourself out of each memory pulling at your clothes, your hair. The memories trying to force you beneath the surface.

Inside is just one picture, an inscription on the other side.

My Heaven and My Earth

My Granddaughter

It’s you, missing a couple of teeth but grinning like you have all of them. Young, innocent, and unbroken. This version supposed to be completely unrecognisable from the person you’ve become, and yet… It’s you.

Leah, who’s still flipping through the album somewhere behind you, speaks up, “Dammit, the pictures stop before we get to see your horrendous teen years.”

Sebastian scoots forward, you see him in your peripheral but refuse to look away from the golden locket in your hands. Refuse to look away from what it means. “Why did you stop spending your summers with him?”

Oh, if only you’d had your old shields. But when a friend asks you a question so kindly, how can your brain do anything but look for an answer? Flip the pages of your mental photo-album and throw you into a vision from long ago, blurry at the edges and the colours unclear, age taking its toll on the image.

But you see it regardless. Know exactly what’s going on.

You see your father, standing above you, pacing on the floor and yelling about something. You’ve disrespected him. Your grandfather has gone mad. In circles his words spin until he’s convinced the entire house of the logic behind them. Behind his legs you see your mother chopping away in the kitchen, her eyes cast down and fixed on the rapidly moving knife.

“There’s to be no visit to your grandfather this summer.” His voice large and commanding.

“But I don’t understand why!” You hear the voice of a much younger you, feel the words leave you, powered by indignation.

Your father raises his hand, and you flinch backwards, falling to the floor in your hurry to get away.

“You question me? I’m your father! If I say it’s not to be, do you not believe that it’s for the best? For your own good? Ungrateful child. You listen to me – do you hear me?!”

His voice gradually morphs into a younger one – not by much, but noticeable none the less. Blue eyes take over, removing the ones you’ve inherited, but the cruelty in them remains a true likeness. The image now so different yet almost completely the same.

You see your mother lying on the floor from between his legs. “Are you happy now?” He screams, his voice a thunder booming through the dead quiet living-room. “You made me do this! How could you!”

Your mouth drops open, willing words to come forward. Your voice is much older now, but still the same. “I-I didn’t-“

He raises his hand and you flinch back, an arm raised to block in anticipation of his blow. An arm coated in deep red.

“Look at you,” he sneers.

You do. You see what he sees. See the sleep dress with red handprints running all over it, smearing it until it’s a colour you know you’ll never be able to reverse.

“You’re a danger to everyone around you. What if you do this again?” He clicks his tongue, suddenly much calmer. “No. It’s safer if you stay here.” He marches past you, going for another drink from the almost empty bottle on the sofa table.

“I already do.” Your voice is weak in your ears.

“I mean inside. No more gardening. We can’t risk it.”

“I like the gardens.” Your words a testament to how far you’ve gone from yourself. To how deeply the shock has settled in your bones.

In a blink you’re sideways on the ground, a throbbing starting at the side of your mouth. When you look back at him, you almost question if he’s been the one to do it, his face carefully shuddered in a neutral expression. “Give me the key,” he commands.

The key around your neck is ripped from you before you have a chance to obey, a part of you disgusted with yourself for how willing you were. It burns around your throat.

“Get up.”

And somehow you do. Your eyes flicker briefly to the backdoor, behind the-… behind the body. Eyes downcast, you stand before him. He regards you carefully, looking down his nose at you. He turns those cold eyes away from you, going to the cabinet in the hallway. You hear the familiar beeping of him pressing the code into the panel, followed by the electronic noise of approval when he presses his fingerprint to it. The sound of the metal key as it bounces against the other items lying in the cabinet wakes you from the haze. Things which you haven’t seen in years. Things you’ve watched him lock away with little fight. Your eyes fly back to the door as he starts talking again.

“You’re going to have to clean this up, but I’m willing to help you with the body. Can’t have you messing this up for me.”

Silently, your bare feet pad across the floor, heart thundering in your ears, louder than his voice could ever go.

He speaks again, moving somewhere in the hallway closet, but you don’t hear his words. You lock out everything but that damned door. The lukewarm liquid beneath you repressed so tightly you barely feel it. The body of your mother nothing more than a small obstacle you step over. Your eyes are fixed on that door, the fact that it’s open, the lock broken.

You push against the wood, somehow surprised that it yields to your will. You look out into the cold, dark forest. A forest you’ve been so scared of exploring. A forest he built a house next to for exactly that reason.

“Little bird,” he calls. He wants your help with something. Wants you to bring something out.

Your lip is throbbing still. Your heart beating so fast you wonder how much longer it will be before you spontaneously join your mother on that cold kitchen floor.

He’ll kill you if you do this.

The lifeless presence behind you presses against your brain.

He might anyway.

You step out onto the grass.

And run.

You blink, finding the photo of your younger self smiling up at you. “My father didn’t approve. I didn’t practice my singing and playing enough when I was with my grandfather.” You close the locket with an unsatisfying click.

Chapter 37: Alibi party Blues

Summary:

Tying up a bunch of lose ends and getting people back on track. You’ve thrown a party for the town to support your alibis and celebrate a well-done heist

The moon is halfway full. The last cycle of the summer before fall will officially be upon you. You sit in the sand, your bare toes sifting through it, battling against the summer night heat. The moonlight is just enough to aid the many string-lights put up all over the otherwise dark beach. There’s a single bonfire further down the beach, calling to you with the merry laughter surrounding it, that floats away with the dancing smoke underneath the stars.

And then - A scent. Of comfort and coffee. Of late nights and books. Of something so warm you fear you won’t have a choice but to put it to words soon or you’ll explode. Harvey sits down next to you, carefully letting his long legs stretch out next to you.  

“Are you okay?”

Brows lifted, you turn your face towards him. His eyes are on the ocean, on the waves pulling back and forth, seemingly never getting anywhere but moving much more than we can even begin to comprehend. “We did it,” you say.

He fidgets with the heel of his shoes where he planted them next to himself in the sand. As if he doesn’t know what else to say, how to ask for what he wants, he simply nods.

You breathe deeply. “I don’t know, doc.” An attempt at answering his question.

“Try again, sweetheart,” he says softly.

“Okay. No. I’m glad we got all of that stuff, but I don’t know where to begin with my part of the catch. And I have a million questions but all of the people who can possibly begin to answer them are all dead.” Your breathing turns shaky. “I mean, how fucked up is that? So much of my life could have been different and I’ll never know why it wasn’t. There are so many conversations I want to have and I just, I can’t, Harvey. I fucking can’t. Because you can’t bring back the dead.” You wipe angrily at your nose, your voice shaking as you continue, “And so many of them won’t know where I ended up. They all died believing the worst about my life and I can’t show them any different. I was never anything but a heartache, and I can’t change that. And I just- I have you and I have everyone here, and I still feel so fucking lost and alone at times. Why do I still feel so alone?”

Harvey pulls you into his arms, rocking you both gently side to side and you let the tears pour out, silently sobbing into his shirt. And he doesn’t stop until the tears dry, and your sniffles cease, until the sorrowful shaking melts and gives way to his warmth.

“I, um, I still have days where I feel alone too.”

You feel his words vibrate through his chest.

“My parents died so long ago now, but I still find myself reaching for my phone wanting to call up my dad with good news. Or ask my mom advice about love.” He clears his throat, his voice heavy, loaded with emotion when he speaks again. “Until you, I wasn’t that involved in the social scene. I never allowed myself to see how many people here were willing to be my friends. But even now I still find myself wanting to dial a number that doesn’t exist anymore.”

You wiggle your arms free from where they are pressed against him, so you can wind them around his frame. Clinging to him as much as he’s clinging to you.

“I know I never really talk about the woman before you. She wanted me to rise through the ranks at the hospital, wanted me to earn more, to create a better life for her and I. In the big city. But after being a mine-medic for so long, I just couldn’t handle the stress of that life. I’d changed. She’d changed. And then we started fighting. A lot. She said some things that I- that I still can’t forget.” There’s a shaky inhale from above you. “The point is, I have been lost and alone – when I was actually alone and when I just felt like it – and all I can say, is that you have to look to the things you have. Grab onto what makes it easier to breathe and remind yourself that life is not the worst thing we’ve got. That living for the people we’ve lost is our way of showing them. Of keeping them with us.” He lets out an embarrassed chuckle. “At least, that’s what helps me get through the day. I don’t know if any of it will be any help to you-“

You move out from between his arms, sitting on your knees to reach his face, letting your cool hand be heated up against his skin. Under the lights you can trace the path of his since dried tears, as you’re sure he can with you. He waits, his self-conscious words on hold as he takes in your reaction to what he’s said so far. What he’s left out for you.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

His brows draw in confusion.

“For choosing me,” you clarify.

His scoff is the best reaction he could have given you. As if the notion of doing anything besides choosing you is absolutely ridiculous to him.

Your lips press to his – heartbroken kisses exchanged until old wounds don’t feel so deep. Until the loneliness is only a shadow in the corner, and the light ahead appears much clearer. The flame of the bonfire on a once stranded island taking the shape of hands intertwined.

For a while after you sit and enjoy the view. Enjoy the laughter of your friends and others who’ve come to join what was originally a cover party.

***

 

Hand in hand, you stroll along the beach with Harvey at your side. It’s way past his bedtime, but if he’s tired, he doesn’t mention it. Surrounded by the stars and peaceful waves, you both simply exist in the now. Worries of tomorrow and how in the world you’re going to be able to drag yourself out of bed are far away.

Until you spot a lone redhead, her arms hugging her frame as tightly as her yellow shirt. Her skirt brushing against her, dancing on the same wind as her curly hair.

“Penny?”

She flinches, her body whirling slightly towards you before she turns away again, wiping at her cheeks. Harvey takes a step forward, but the scene a little further down the sand makes you grip him tighter, forcing him back to your side. He looks to you, browns drawn in confusion.

“It’s a girl thing,” you whisper.

He nods, kissing the back of your hand before he trails towards the bonfire. You watch his retreating back for a moment before you brace yourself, going up to Penny. You follow her line of sight once more, seeing Maru and Leah talking underneath one of the lights, the waves preventing their words from reaching you. Though from the way they’re holding hands, you can guess what they’re talking about. Penny flinches when Maru giggles, the high-pitched sound landing softly before you.

It must have been so hard for Penny these past couple of months. Having to watch Sam, a friend who she loves, be used and hurt, but loving Maru too and not wanting to betray her secrets, even if it’s to protect another friend. You guess you haven’t really checked in with her, checked how she’s handling it all. The quiet girl is a solid rock for everyone in her life all of the time, never demanding, never taking, never complaining.

What do you want Penny? You wonder.

“I feel really selfish.” Her confession comes so suddenly, her words don’t register with you at first.

“Why?” Your tone baffled.

She shifts in the sand. “I wish things were different. I keep wishing things were different. I’m happy others are happy, but I keep wanting more.”

“Like what?”

You see her eyes following the couple as they continue their walk along the shore.

You try, carefully, “I think Maru is done being in denial, Pen. Demitrius will maybe make a small fuss, but he will deal. Or face the rest of us. But I don’t think Maru will start pushing people away, I think this is it.”

Penny wipes under her nose. The colour of her eyes standing out brilliantly behind the unshed tears.

Oh.

You put an arm around Penny, and that’s when she crumbles.

You pull her in, letting her head fit in under your chin, holding her trembling body as she fights with the silent sobs. A memory comes to you, one of naïve assumptions and ignorant beliefs about small-town life. You’d seen Haley and Alex holding hands at the beach a year ago and presumed that there must be a certain simplicity in romance when it’s the same small number of people you’ve grown up with. Living here for over a year, you’ve realised that that is not the case. Far from it.

“Has it- I mean, have you always…? Has there never been anyone else?”

She shrugs. “Of course there has. But they were never ready, never fully there. Never ready for a commitment. Never loved me back. I thought… I thought she loved me back.”

“She does.”

Penny looks down.

“But not the right way?” You question, knowing the answer.

She shakes her head.

You could almost get a headache from trying to keep up with who likes who. Right now you’re just trying to take it in, to take in the life of the girl in your arms. Imagining the people she’s silently wished for, but who’ve never seen her. You wonder who the other person she was talking about is.

“Room for one more?” Sam comes up, his face falling as he takes in the vulnerable state of his childhood friend. “Hey, hey, hey, what’s wrong?” His hand lands on her arm, rubbing it comfortingly.

You admire how good he is at comforting others, how naturally it comes to him. There’s a reason he’s known as a bit of a player, his charms and instincts regarding others undeniable. She turns and goes into his arms. After a surprised beat, he wraps his arms around her, a soft look on his otherwise concerned expression making you miss Harvey fiercely.

“I’m- I’m going to go look for Doctor Becker,” you whisper.

Sam nods, not looking away from the soft red in his embrace.

Notes:

• I have a trend of keeping a bunch of the heavy emotional stuff near water in this story, and I don’t really know why. But there’s something healing and terrifying about the water – I’m sure our Farmer would agree with me about that. Whatever you throw to the bottom of the ocean stays there, at least for as long as you need it to be there.
• Another short but rather sweet one. I have a longer chapter ready for next week to make up for it!

Chapter 38: To the moon and back

Summary:

You finally say what needs to be said.

Notes:

• A long chapter of fluff and smut. Felt like it was well-deserved at this point – it’s been a while.

You dance towards him while Harvey takes you in, colour in his cheeks yet a clear want in his eyes, darkening them and setting them alight at the same time. You shine a smile at him, and he acts like it’s coming directly from the heaven’s gate, basking in it. Kisses from you rain down on him and he drinks them up like a wilted flower, pulling you to straddle him in his chair. He gives the wine in his hands freely, watching you take a sip and let the alcohol warm on its way down. Pressing your mouth to his, you share the lingering taste of it, and he devours the mixture of you and the grapes, like it’s life’s elixir, greedy for more.

In the background hums the CD Harvey put on; one you had long ago confessed to liking as he stitched you up after a dangerous outing with Willy by the seaside. On this early summer’s evening, happiness blooms like flowers on a vine, through your chest down your arms, intertwining with his. His warm hands slide up your thighs to the edge of where your sundress has ridden up, tracing the soft cotton of it and the silk of your skin. He hums deep in his chest, the pleased sound a song you know by heart.

Wordlessly, he pulls from the pocket of his slacks a necklace, a nervous but mischievous smile joining the lazy desire already on his face. Eyes falling to the shape hanging on the chain, your questioning gaze shoots to his. There you find a knowing look cradled in tenderness so intense your breath catches in your throat.  “I know you said ‘half the moon’, but I figured a whole one would earn me a little extra,” he jokes. 

Heart beating frantically, you hold out your hand for him to drop the necklace into.

“A star and half the moon, doc.”

Your voice comes back to you, a phrase you’ve said so many times over the months you’ve been here. Remembering the promise you’ve made. Every time you’ve wanted to tease him with the mystery of your thoughts, it’s been so easy to remind him instead that he’s missing the large stone in the sky, having already given you the stars all those nights ago.

It’s a small necklace, lightweight and easy to hide under clothes should you wish to. From the chain hangs the small circle, dotted in wonderful patterns and craters to look like the moon. The tactile backside of the necklace entices you turn it over in your hand, revealing a set of numbers. “There’s a date on it?” The statement a question on your parted lips.  

He nods, entirely too pleased with himself. “The day we met. But, more importantly, this means I finally get to hear what you’re thinking. Uncensored. Let it all out, sweetheart.” Large hands run up and down your body, a kind and soothing touch that feels so natural. It’s insane thinking how far you’ve both come in such a short time.

You pause, thoughts whirling around on a wild wind, uncontrollable, unwilling to yield. You’re completely stunned as you take in the jewellery spinning from the chain in your grip – what it represents. The mark of your time together, of a promise not forgotten. The fact that he looked at this beautiful metal and thought of you, thought of something that fits your lifestyle as well as personal style. The fact that he had it engraved with something meaningful under the guise of wanting to play along with the bit, just to hear your thoughts in the here and now. Thoughts you’re now having trouble collecting. You don’t know why your heart is beating so fast. Perhaps because he’s expecting something silly or dirty, eagerly awaiting your dry humor. As you look into the calm honey and chocolate of his eyes, there are no serious expectations to find. A lightness, perhaps. A teasing edge that’s impatient for you to contribute to the running joke, eager for your wit – for your next move. But he expects nothing more than what you’ve so far been willing to give, to say.

Yet the words flying in your head are oceans away from those. From a land unknown to you. A place you have before only ever been a trespasser.

“Thank you,” you get out from numb libs, nerves firing all the way through you. From your chest, an electricity that bursts all the way out to your fingernails. You come alive under it, under the realisation, under the pressure inside of yourself, building, building, building. An anticipation running down your spine.

Harvey miraculously doesn’t see all of this. He barks a laugh, the lines by his eyes deepening, making you ache for the ability to trace them onto paper. “That’s it? That’s all I get?” His amusement innocent and unassuming, happy to play along, to continue this game.

You suppose that’s what gives you the courage to finally say, “I love you.”

His smile falls.

Your hands are trembling, clutching the necklace in a tight grip, as if you’re afraid someone will take it from you.  Your heart is pounding in your ears. Stomach dropping and rushing, as if you’re on a rollercoaster instead of sitting in the lap of the man you hold dearest in the world. You’d rather be on that plane among the clouds, dropping for the unforgiving ground than here awaiting his reaction. If he wasn’t holding you, you’re sure you would have slid clean off him.

It only takes him a second to respond. He gathers you closer, pressing you against his chest, his eyes settling into yours.

“I love you,” he says, reverently. Like a plea hushed in the night. Like a wish on a shooting star. Like a prayer at an altar, by a hospital bed.

Like he means it.

You wrap your arms around each other in a fierce hug, hard enough to steal your breath if it hadn’t already left you. Pulling back slightly, you fall into a kiss. A kiss of peace and content Sunday mornings, morphing into one of adrenaline and desperation. You nip at his lip and immediately he stands from the chair with you wrapped around him, devouring your mouth and the sounds he demands from you.

Turning, you feel yourself being lowered to sit on the edge of the table. Your doctor takes the necklace from you so gently, so at odds with how feverously he moved before. It takes him a moment to figure out the clasp for a reason you hadn’t noticed until now. It’s a special clasp, one built into a sort of cylinder where you press on the button on the outside, which makes it release at the other end, allowing one to pull the chain from the grasp of it. Made for people who can’t work the normal ones.

You pause his movements, taking it back from him. An undeniable need to try it for yourself. Hope blooming in your chest, you hold the special clasp in your hands, moving it from side to side. You press on the button, supported by the solid structure of the rest of the clasp, and see it release on the end. Nodding to yourself mostly to avoid for the burning in your eyes to build into something not so sexy, you go to put it around your neck. Feeling around for a moment, you line it up until you hear the metal release. You pull at the chain, confirming it’s secure.

Wide eyes looking up at him, you hold yourself for a breathless moment before you pounce.

Lips and teeth fight to get a deeper taste of the other. There’s a tug at your dress and you allow him enough room between you to slide the material over your body. Feral eyes take you in, the shape of you in your underwear, gifted to you by Emily after she was feeling particularly inspired one evening. He swallows, hesitating, undecided between feeling the softness of you or undressing himself. You make the decision for him, pulling at his buckle. He snaps back into it, practically ripping at the buttons on his shirt.

The sound of something hitting the floor and sliding away stops both of you. Panting, you look up at him, his eyes on the loose thread now poking through his shirt.

“Did you just rip off a button?”

He meets your gaze, shock and bemusement visible. “Oops?”

You giggle, watching his eyes fall to your lips, the merriment falling away in them, giving space for the flaring of desire.

Breath hot in your lungs, you work on his zipper as you see him throw his shirt away in your peripheral. His hands frame yours, only just getting the belt off and the pants open before your hand disappears beneath the material, stroking the long, hot, velvet line of him. His surprised gasp is so sweet in your ears. Even sweeter are his hands roaming your body, frantic for the feel of you while at the mercy of your touch.

The groans spilling from him, the desperate way he kisses your name into your shoulders and neck, has you pressing your thighs together, aching for some relief. It’s a movement he catches, a movement that shifts his cravings to something your hand cannot provide. He herds you backwards until your back makes contact with the wood. He then leans over you as he begins to move your body into the position he wants. A man on a mission, he yanks you to the edge of the table, standing firmly between your thighs, holding you against him.

He looks down at you for a moment, his broad chest heaving despite having barely touched you or been touched yet. Eyes dark and cheeks flushed, he takes in every line of you, stroking himself through his pants a couple of times. You gasp at the sight, causing him to grin despite the blush further warming his face.

A hard unmoving line, he presses himself to your skin, meeting you in a kiss of teeth and fever. Moving to your neck, you moan at the sensation of his full lips against the contrast of his soft mustache. You’re desperate for him on your skin, the fire beneath it screaming, calling, for him. Your own hands struggle for the clasp on the bra, arching your back to have enough space to work, unintentionally signaling his attention on somewhere else. As soon as your breasts are freed he dives for them, taking the points into his mouth, gently lavishing them with his tongue, coaxing them into stiff peaks. It’s like a line directly connected to your clit, each suck from him sending pulse for pulse down between your legs. You squirm beneath him, thighs squeezing once more, desperation building. He notices this and hums around your nipple, earning a gasp from you, before he lets a large hand land on your thigh, pulling them higher up on his hips.

You sigh in relief as he settles deeper between your thighs, kissing his way up your collarbone again. You expect him to press his weight between your legs, settling the ache.

He does not do this. Harvey holds his hips just out of reach while keeping your legs apart, leaving you open and unable to do anything but take his administrations.

“Please,” you gasp when he perches by your neck again, mouthing at your throat. You arch your neck, wanting more than this, so much more, but unable to deny the contact he gives you.

It’s as if he ignores you, kissing up and down your skin, giving you hope for a second that his destination is the same as yours, before he moves up and around again.

Your legs strain, pushing against him from either side. The only hint that he notices is the groan he releases over your skin.

“Harvey,” you call. “Honey, please.”

Blearily, his gaze finds yours. Eyelids heavy with desire, mouth parted to accommodate his panting. The pure lust directed straight at you only a mirror of your own crazed state of mind.

You try again, pleading for him to touch you there or for you to allow yourself to soothe the throbbing. He leans up, meets your mouth in a deep kiss and finally, finally, takes mercy on you.  

Nails digging into the wood in sheer anticipation, you watch him. Watch those brown eyes on yours as he forces your legs further apart to make room for his shoulders, settling one thigh over one of them before one long arm comes to rest over your middle. With your bottom already on the edge, at perfect height as he kneels, the table offering you up to his sensuous smile, you’re ready for him. His own personal feast spread out for him.

With his mushed hair over his desperate features, he looks like your own statue of an angel.

He grins a wicked smile, leans down and traces from your slit to your clit in one long flat lick.

A fallen angel rather.

You don’t know whose moan is loudest. The vibrations of his sounds running straight through you. Your hips twitch underneath him and he just laughs.

Fucker.

His laugh is dark as he clamps his arm heavier down on your hips, preventing you from moving, from doing anything but letting him take.

Harvey doesn’t always take control like this in the bedroom. Most often more than happy to let you have your fun or let it be a joint effort of pure bliss and pleasure. And sometimes, it turns into this. He becomes overwhelmed by something and must have you, must taste your skin exactly enough, must drive enough sounds from between reddened, almost bruised lips. Insatiable. In a headspace you’re very, very willing to go along with. For the minutes he forces you to wait, he doubles the minutes where he gives and gives. Oh, he’ll take, but that is always eagerly offered and enjoyed.

And you can often expect a round 2 not far behind.

At times like these, you wonder if he has a domestic kink fueled by declarations of commitment and homey settings. And as he tortures you with broad slow licks, an idea of how to speed this up hits you while your brain hasn’t completely melted out of your skull. Being feral for this man makes it hard to be calculating at the same time.  

“Yes, Harvey,” you moan, trying to think as he drags the sounds from you. “Oh honey.”

The pet-name earns you a harder lick, a slight groan as his fingers curl into the flesh of your legs.

“Ah, ah- yes, you’re so good. Show me who I belong to- oh!”

His nose glides against your clit as he presses his mouth to your opening, letting his tongue fuck into you. One of your hands unfold from the cramped clench and goes for his hair, gripping the soft waves and curls and trying to move your body against him. More, more, more-

He groans desperately against your flesh, enjoying the taste of you, craving more of it. Forcing your body to give him more of it. And it does, oh how the flesh is willing. Your attempts at dirty talk falling away to what is now building.

It coils inside of you, higher and higher it builds. Higher and higher he shoves you all while keeping a firm grip on you, not letting you jump from the peak. As you get too close, he backs off, kissing your inner thigh.

“Not this, please, Harvey, I need it, please-“

A comforting hand pets your skin, almost unbearably hot against your boiling body.

“I swear, if you keep edging me I’ll-“ You don’t get to finish your empty threat. A startling sight stops you. Harvey lets two of his fingers run up and down through your folds, coating them in your honey. He then brings them to his mouth, swallowing it down, eyes falling closed on the taste of you. The now fairly moistened fingers are placed against your opening and without further stretching than from his tongue, he pushes those two inside of you. At the same time.

It’s a slow, wonderous stretch. Your head wants to fall back, a gasp locked in your chest as you body focuses completely on the sensation, on accommodating this sudden pleasure and overwhelming action.

Something ticks in his jaw, eyes locked on where his fingers disappear into you. “God, you feel so good, sweetheart.”

Someone could snap your femur right now and you wouldn’t even notice. You wish you could high-five his parents for giving him such long, strong fingers. No, that would be really weird.

“Look at me,” his request softly spoken from between your legs.

Your eyes snap open, focusing on him, on his hand slowly moving in and out of you. Secure in the fact that he has your attention, he leans forward, his lashes brushing his cheeks as he sets his sights on his next target. You’re panting, sweat trickling down your body, your legs shaking, and he somehow looks just as much of a mess as you. His lips frame your clit, not doing anything but holding himself there. Inside you, his fingers move up, finding that area that makes it feel like you’re being zapped. His fingers curl around it, pressing hard down on it. You barely get to moan before he sucks on the bud, his tongue moving against it in a way that should be illegal. And pushes you over the edge.

You lose all five senses: ascending to your sixth, opening your third eyes and transporting yourself out of your body. Back arching, your body searches for a way off the table, wanting to escape the administrations and get even closer simultaneously. However, it’s not your decision, because he keeps you firmly within his reach. You keep falling as he draws out your orgasm further and further.

One clear thought comes through as you hurl back towards your body; are you dead?

In reality, all of this was probably less than a minute. A few seconds of being suspended yet having no way to go back. Forced to look at the ground below, knowing gravity is going to shove you towards it so hard in just a moment.

And the pulses allow you to breathe again, shallow gasps while your eyes focus on the ceiling. Your body is still twitching when he hauls you up from the table and with your weak arms around his neck carries you to the bed. The soft sheets a relief against your back likely marked from twitching against the old worn table, when you hear the ripping of plastic. You feel him move up from between your legs. Briefly he leans down, brushing sweet whispers and kisses over the shell of your ear.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?”

You nod.

That’s all the confirmation he needs. Bracing his knees, he makes you take the length of him. You see the dents in the flesh of your thigh as he clutches to you desperately where you’re wrapped around him. Once he’s hit home he pauses, enjoying the feel of you still pulsing around him. Sweat coats his brow as he takes his position again, strong arms on either side of you, caging you in. The hungry kiss he presses to you wakes you, makes your limbs move again, makes you ready for more. Ready for what he’s about to make you take.

From below, you smile at Harvey, enjoying the surprise on his face before it curves into one of shocked pleasure. You’ve clenched your muscles, forcing him deeper, tightening around him. While he’s distracted, you arch up, licking the strained line of his throat, tasting his sweat and the gasps you elicit from him. Continuing with these kisses all the way down his throat, you stop to hover at the nape, teeth framing the straining muscle. A slight bite, marking but not hurting, rustles him from that soft space he goes to when you press your mouth to his skin. Harvey snaps his hips, bottoming out inside of you, marking the beginning of a decadent pace.

Where his hips rub against yours, shocks of pleasure rush through as he hits your clit each time. Somewhere far off you hear the headboard continuously slam against the wall, and for a brief moment you feel the worry of being overheard by the neighbours. Those worries absolutely melt from your brain when Harvey changes the angle, driving up against the most sensitive nerves inside of you.

You grip at his back, feeling his muscles strain under your touch with each desperate surge inside of you. As he forces you towards that heavenly peak once more, you grab him harder, molding him in your hands, clawing at his back.

“F-fuck,” he groans, slamming a hand on top of the headboard, using it to move harder, not faster, against you. You bare the slick line of your throat as you throw your head back on a moan. He takes advantage of it immediately, kissing and sucking at the exposed skin offered so willingly to him. His moustache tickling the back of your ear, his soft lips parting against the sensitive skin there, you feel more than hear his words, “Come for me, sweetheart.”

How can you refuse such a polite request?

As the stars explode behind your eyes, Harvey slams into you a couple of times more, falling into euphoric bliss not long after you do. His strained grunts almost shoving you over the edge again, his shuddering body so hot it makes you clench around him, earning another delicious sound. Post-orgasmic Harvey is definitely one of your favourite versions.

After taking care of some post-sex needs, you both fall into each other’s arms in bed, enjoying the fresh air soothing your overheated skin.

Fresh air?

“Harvey?”

He hums, kissing your chest, already gearing up for a round two.

“Is the window open?”

“Yes,” he murmurs against your skin.

You let the knowledge sink in, waiting for him to catch up.

He freezes just as he reaches your waiting nipple. “Oh.”

“We were pretty loud,” you mock-whisper, eyes tracking Harvey as he leans up on his elbows, looking down at you with a horrified expression. You try very hard not to laugh right in his very concerned face.

His eyes squeeze closed and he flops back down, burrowing his face against your chest as a mortified groan is pulled from him. You pet his hair comfortingly, “there, there.”

“I’m never going to be able to face my clients again.”

You’re enjoying this way too much. “I’m sure they know you have sex.”

He groans again.

“Of course, they probably didn’t imagine you had dirty, filthy, bed-breaking sex, but I’m sure it’s fine.”

“I’m going to have to move,” his words muffled by your skin.

“It’s okay, honey. If they ask about it, you can just tell them that when two adults love each other very much, they give each other a very special hug.”

He chuckles, lifting his head. You pause your stroking of his hair when you catch the light shining from his eyes. The adoration in them making it hard for you to breathe.

“Say it again,” his voice soft, intimate, bared for you and only you.

You resume the brushing of his hair, enjoying the way he’s practically purring, leaning into your touch. “I love you,” you finally say, wonder in your voice.

Harvey’s eyes open again. He crawls up your body, his smiling lips hovering above yours. “I love you.”

Notes:

• I googled “decadent” to make sure I had the right word. When I saw the description “(…) something that is damaging to ‘polite society’” I thought, hell yes.
• This may have been cringey, but this cute little scene in the beginning of the chapter is what I’ve been imagining since the start. I’ve had it loaded in my notes app since I began writing this almost a year ago, and it was finally time to put it out there. I love it, and I feel like we’ve been building to it long enough now. And for the coming chapters, I feel like it’s important that they’ve said it aloud to each other and have it to fall back on.

Chapter 39: Political Unrest

Summary:

A simple weekend night at the local pub.

The pub is alive, the music spilling from the jukebox barely heard over the conversation. Robin and Demetrius who would usually be dancing closely, not minding the distant melody and rather soaking in each other instead, are sitting in a booth, both sets of eyes fixed on the worn wood.

You’d quit working at the pub a while ago, giving space for Abby to take a few shifts a week. Now it’s your turn to sit, enjoying the sight of the crowd while the waitresses are rushing around. Abby still hesitates, still gets a few orders and tables wrong here and there, but no one minds. The blessing of a tight community. Willy limbed in not long after you arrived, going for one of the lower tables instead of his usual bar-stool. Harvey’s mouth visibly tightened at the sight, but he merely enjoyed another sip of wine, refraining from saying what his mind so clearly displays over his face. He sees you noticing, sighs, and takes your hand.

“You can drag a horse to water.”

You nod, understanding him. “Well, we’re not supposed to be talking about work anyway.”

For at least a week you’ve both been lying low, keeping out of sight from town and focusing on work. Both because you’ve each been needed at your respective occupations, but also because you’ve been trying to keep out of Lewis’ line of sight. According to Emily, he’s been huffing and puffing every single day after the beach party, having gotten up early the next day and apparently running in circles around himself, muttering under his breath.

This afternoon, Gunther received his “order” of artefacts, and you all agreed that it would be less suspicious if you hid in plain sight tonight. Also, that way Lewis wouldn’t be able to catch anyone one-on-one.

Anyways, due to the focus on staying out of sight, or in sight, or on sight, you and Harvey haven’t truly been together for a couple of days. Sitting at this table now, you finally feel the ache go away. It’s amazing really, how painful it all is. The whole day you wait for it, the moment where you’ll see him waving at you from across the street of wherever you’ve decided to meet. In the meantime, the days, the hours, the minutes, are dragging by so painfully. It’s a constant ache, this missing him. It’s shoots from your chest down your hands, into your fingers, up your jaw, down your legs. You feel yourself taking deep breaths just to loosen the firm grip around your lungs, to shake loose the hand holding you around the throat. The only release being his smile.

Terrifying stuff.

Which is why, when his pager beeps insistently on the table, you almost can’t fake your neutral expression. With a tight grip you keep the mask in place. Harvey doesn’t even attempt to hide his vexation. He closes his eyes, breathing deeply and gently before he unsnaps his monster-brick of a cell and goes outside, pressing a passing kiss to your hair before he’s out of sight.

“Workaholic,” you mutter after him, pleased by his chuckle before it evaporates behind a closed door.

The chair across from you doesn’t remain empty for long. Blond spiky hair, a buzz cut overgrown, is the first thing that catches your attention. Built like a brick-shithouse, Kent almost swallows the small table you’d claimed. It’s not a mystery how a man like this managed to become invaluable to the military. If only they’d take him back.

Sitting here, you stare at each other. He blinks at you, his ocean-blue eyes still startling familiar. So close to something you’ve feared most of your life.

Well, you’re not going to be the one to talk first. You take a sip of your wine, pretending you don’t see his eyes track your every movement.

“We haven’t really talked. Since.” He leaves the rest unsaid.

It sure is lucky you don’t have the same classy nature as him. “Since I saved your son from drowning after you froze up?”

Kent growls at you. Fucking growls. Like a dog.

You roll your eyes as you lower the glass, hoping the disrespect distracts him from the trembling. “Is that not what happened?”

“It’s not the way I would’ve told it,” his displeasure evident in the rough voice.

“I’m not in the mood to discuss semantics.”

His nostrils flare, but he doesn’t take the bait. You cock your head, analysing him for the first time since he sat down. Clearly agitated, he shifts in his seat but refuses to give in to the human nature to glance away.

“What do you want, Kent? Or should I still call you Mr. Neilson? I don’t know if we’re familiar enough for first names yet.”

“I know you’ve called me worse behind my back, why deny the force of habit.”

“Because there are children around,” you remark, letting a seemingly careless finger point in the direction of where you know Sam is sitting.

“Are you not his age?”

“We both know age isn’t what makes you old, corporal.”

His lack of reaction is getting on your nerves. Where is all the anger, dude? You take another sip, letting the alcohol wash over your firing nerves, calming your racing heartbeat, getting back the control. He’s not him, he’s not him, he’s not him, he’s not-

The scrape of the paper as Kent slides a picture across the table brings you from your thoughts. Flickering down, your eyes take in the object. You force any emotions from your expression, rising your gaze to the man across from you.

“Did you see this?” His question a demand, something you almost believe is unintentional.

“When?” You ask, voice perfectly aloof.

“You know when.”

You nod your head at the image. “What is it to you?”

“It belonged to my father. And his father.”

It’s a picture of a couple of men, but Kent’s finger is smack-dap in the middle of the photograph, bringing your focus to the medal pinned to the jacket of one of them.

“I’m not sure I’ve seen it around. Have you asked Gunther?”

He scoffs, “you mean since he got that shipment of artefacts? Yes. He couldn’t offer me anything.”

“What makes you think I can?” You’re very aware of the level of your voices, of the people around here who aren’t as morally grey, and keep it steady.

Kent leans across the table, pinning you with a stare you’re sure he uses to get what he wants. “I’m not a fucking idiot.”

Now it’s your turn to scoff.

He ignores your outburst. “I’d like it very much if it was returned to me.”

“I’m sure,” your tone is dry.

His patience is at last pushed to the edge as he hisses the words at you, “It broke my fucking- it broke me when I came back, and it was gone. It’s a very important militant artefact, but it’s also an heirloom. The only thing my old man left me.”

You’re silent.

“What? Nothing clever to say?”

“What are you willing to do for it?”

His head hangs, muscle in his jaw ticking as he fights to get the words out, “I’ll leave you alone. As long as you don’t do anything horrible, I’ll never bother you again.”

Yeah, not falling for that. “Define ‘horrible’.”

“For fuck’s sake, anything illegal.”

You blink, letting his offer hang between you, untouched. A large part of you enjoying the torture you’re inflicting on this man. After all of the nights he’s left you worried, the days he has harassed you, this payback is more than fairly earned. A year ago, you’d never have considered a request like this from a man like him.

The door opens behind you, a familiar heat coming up to stand at your side. “Everything okay?”

Kent slides off the stool, his gaze still on yours as he as friendly as he can answers Harvey, “all good here, doc. Enjoy your evening.” When you still refuse to acknowledge his request, Kent sighs and marches off.

Just as he passes, you mutter, “fine.” He barely pauses, barely stops to let you know he’s heard you. But when he moves again his boots don’t meet the floorboards as heavily as he makes his way out of the pub for the night.

Harvey takes the vacant chair, eyes on the retreating military man’s back.

No, a year ago you wouldn’t have been soft enough to contemplate his offer.  

You smile at Harvey, seeing him light up at the vision you present to him and grin right back.

But you’ve changed.

You nod at the pager now back on the table. “All good?”

He exhales sharply, going for another drink of his wine. “Yes, yes, just some side-effects from a medication that I had to explain a couple of times. Nothing urgent.”

Softening eyes take you in from across the table. You see the wheels spin behind his eyes as he regards the distance between you. His careful observant eye marks the risks before he reaches over, pulling the seat of your chair roughly until you’re sat next to him. The scrape of the metal against the wood barely interrupts the conversations in your immediate vicinity. Unsurprisingly, the display sends a rush of heat through you.

His smile aimed down at you is proud, goofy, and light-hearted. You’re sure yours is a mirror of that.

 

***

 

You’re waiting for Harvey to unlock the door to the clinic, when the thing you’ve been waiting for all week coughs pointedly behind you; glowing red with anger, a finger at ready and wielded like a weapon, Lewis stands before you.

What Marnie sees in him is beyond you.

“I know it was you!?” Despite the furious way he spits the accusation, he still manages to make it sound like a question.

The keys jingle behind you as Harvey turns around to greet the sudden guest, “hello Mayor Lewis.”

“Hush, you! This is between me and her!” His voice full of indignation, you’re surprised lightning doesn’t strike you as he refers to you with all of the venom he can muster. “Well!? Are you not going to say anything, young lady?”

Your gaze moves pointedly to the claw still shoved in your face. He reluctantly holsters his fiery finger yet keeps himself in a fighting stance. “I would, Sir, but I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you somehow refrain from sounding sarcastic, your tone remaining innocent and clueless.

“You know what you’ve done. He might know what you’ve done,” Lewis points that mighty finger once more, this time aimed at Harvey, before he loses his courage and packs it away again. “And I certainly know what you’ve done. I might not be able to do anything about it right now, but mark my words, young lady, one day I’ll get a chance to get back at you and I’ll take it. Whatever the cost, I will do it.” With those parting words, he marches off. And trips on the cobblestone before he regains his footing and hurries into the night.

You look up at Harvey, your little smirk disappearing at the concern you find aimed down at you. A comforting hand takes his, “He can’t do anything that bad, Harvey. Don’t worry.”

The reluctant nod doesn’t convince you, but nothing more is said until he closes the apartment door behind you. “I don’t like that a man like that is in charge of the town’s welfare.”

“You should run for mayor, then,” you shrug off your shirt and the statement together.

When no response comes you turn and find Harvey’s bewildered expression on you. You can’t help the burst of laughter.

“W-why me?”

You shake your head, trying to be serious about something you’ve said off-hand. “I mean, you’re well-liked and respected in the community. And it would do good to have a hot piece of ass up on that stage once in a while.” Not that you expect Lewis to have a peaceful transfer of all of his many stages as well as his power.

Harvey stutters over his words, “No-I-I well, no, I’m not good in front of a bunch of people.”

You take his jacket from him, trying to move him from the place he’s frozen mentally. “You did well at the flower dances.”

“I wasn’t thinking of the people. How could I, with you next to me in those dresses?”

You reach up, stroking his cheek lovingly. “Perv.”

He huffs, unbuttoning his shirt while keeping his eyes on yours.

Despite the distraction, you don’t let him off the hook quite yet. “And you’re good in an emergency.”

“That’s because there’s no room to think about anything but the patient. Trust me, I pay for that laser-focus later.” That’s true. You’ve seen it once or twice since you’ve started spending the night at each other’s places. Seen the way he crumbles and fights against the anxious thoughts plaguing his mind, weakening his system. Those nights, the only thing to do for him is hum softly while wrapped around him until he mercifully falls asleep.

“I notice you haven’t suggested that I run,” you say, more to allow him to shift focus than anything else.

“Hey, Sweetheart, why don’t you run.”

You snort at the insincerity, turning away.

Harvey grabs you by your elbow, swinging you around until you’re trapped in the cage of his chest. He attempts to hold your hand, interlocking his fingers with yours only for you to keep your fingers straightened out. He frowns, pushing them down only for them to bounce back up as soon as he releases the pressure. With an impatient scoff he pulls you in, his body shaking with deep laughter when he realises your arms are sticking straight out behind him, refusing to participate in the embrace. “Sweetheart, please,” he takes your face in his hands, seeing the playfulness behind the faux offense in your eyes. “You wouldn’t like all the administrative work it takes. You’re bored senseless just by seeing me do it. So, yeah, you wouldn’t be my first choice for the role.”

You kiss the inside of the hand holding your cheek. He senses the victory, pulling your arms around him again and smirking as you allow it to happen. “You’re right, I would hate it. It would also mean less time on the farm, which I don’t think Jolene would ever forgive me for.”

In silence you both get ready for bed. It’s not until you pull back the cover, letting the warmth of it as well as eager hands greet you that Harvey speaks up again, “who would be a good mayor? If not Lewis.”

Good question. “I don’t know, doc. He’s had the role for so long now, it would be so weird to see someone else on the post. And he’s not the first criminal to keep a leadership position.”

Harvey bumps your shoulder. In answer you playfully tug his hair.

“Okay, serious answer? I’d say Robin.” You go into detail about your answer but slowly trail off when you catch the wide-eyed look Harvey adorns. “What’s the matter?”

“Robin,” he says, as if he’s just thought of the last ingredient to a cancer cure. “It’s so obvious.”

“It would mean having to find another profession for Lewis. Him unemployed would be a menace on the town,” you point out.

Harvey shakes his head, his fluffy hair falling in a further mess around him. He really needs a haircut soon. “We should suggest it to her. We could be holding an election within the month.”

You’re shocked. It’s not like Harvey to be so spontaneous about these matters. Guess you’d underestimated how tired he’s become of Lewis’ antics. Being a willing accomplish to a fucking heist should perhaps have been the first clue.

“Could you do it?” He asks.

Pardon? “What?”

“Could you mention it to Robin.”

Again: pardon? “Why me?”

“You’re better friends with her.”

“You’ve known her longer,” you don’t know why you sound so defensive as you say it.

He sputters, “you’re both women.”

The silence that falls speaks louder than either of you can at that moment. Harvey immediately starts fumbling. “No- I meant like, as in you, as women, are closer. And me, as a man, well, if I were to suggest it – and also I’m the doctor, it would be inappropriate. What if she feels pressured?”

Gods have mercy. “Harvey.”

“I just meant-“

“Honey,” you say firmly but gently.

He clamps his mouth shut, his face a flushed a colour akin to vermillion.

“I’m messing with you. But thank you for explaining. I’ll get coffee with her sometime this week – let the whole business with Lewis calm down a bit first.”

Harvey exhales deeply enough to blow over a house of hay and sticks.

“Anyways, I think Marnie would love for Lewis to retire, she’d have the wedding dress ready within a week.”

Silence, then, “Marnie?!”

Notes:

• I’m sorry, but who hasn’t thought that Robin would be a way better Mayor. She’s much more involved in community issues and the whole board thing where Lewis took credit? Yeah, she’d be really good at it. It would also mean more people would come up to visit for their issues and stuff, so she wouldn’t be so isolated up in the mountain. Who do you think would be a good mayor?
• Just getting this out while my friends are screaming at me to hurry up. It’s finally getting warmer here, so we’re taking advantage of these 13°C and going out for the whole day. If there are more mistakes overlooked than normal, it’s because someone is literally pulling my leg as I’m typing this.

Chapter 40: Nightmares Coming Back

Summary:

You go through a few different options in trying to resolve your returning sleep issues.

 

The bell announces your arrival at the clinic. With hands full of hot beverages, you wield a hopefully charming smile at the receptionist with the ambition of acquiring her aid.

Maru rolls her eyes but stretches over the counter to relieve you of your catch. “Oooh, I spy with my little eye, a Frappuccino,” and she starts gobbling it down before you even have a chance to confirm it’s for her.

You shudder at the sight, “I can’t believe you like that stuff now.”

She pulls up a pout strong enough to bend the will of Orpheus. “Leah introduced me to it.”

Moving around the counter, tea and black coffee in hand, you shake your head at the image, “I can even less believe that Leah of all people would be a fan of that stuff. She’s so…” You wave your filled hands, “green.”

The honorary nurse shrugs, “the big city makes you nuts. She practically bullied Gus into serving it when she moved here.”

You push open the swing-door with your back, giving her an indulgent look before disappearing into the hallway. Standing in front of the office door, you knock with the back of your hand, waiting for scuffling to cease before you finally get the muffled, “come in!”

You have to give him credit for it, Harvey manages to not look like he’s just panic cleaned in the ten seconds you were waiting in the hall. Instead, he greets you with a smile, hands outstretched for you and the hot drink with equal enthusiasm. You’ve learnt to deal with the fact that while Harvey will remain loyal to you, he will always have a special place in his heart for his mistress of those processed beans.

It's part of the package.

You part after a too brief kiss. “You were up early this morning.” He tries to sound inconspicuous as he says this.

It’s not like you weren’t expecting this conversation. Harvey rarely allowed for health issues to remain unsaid for long. But you’re still surprised it only took him three days before he found it disturbing enough to bring it up.

“Well, doc, I haven’t been sleeping well.”

He regards you with that professional eye and you do your best to not squirm under it. “Is that so?”

“Mhm.”

His nod could not be in less of agreement.

It’s a wonderfully intense battle of wills; him leaned back in his chair while you’re perched on the desk, studying your tea more than it needs to be. “So when the birds start singing I figure I might as well get up.”

Aaaand you fucked it. Adding details only make you sound more guilty, and while Harvey is a shit liar, he recognises your tells inhumanly quickly. Some of them you rarely realise you do yourself. At times he’s too much of a gentleman to call you out on it, but you can sense the shift in him when he becomes more focused on the conversation, on each individual word and movement. That’s when you know, you’ve messed up somewhere.

Brown eyes squint. “Any nightmares lately?”

A huff, “With a dreamboat like you sleeping next to me? Impossible.” You resist the temptation to swallow.

When he blushes, you think you might have won it. Only for him to turn and bring out a clipboard, writing something down before he heads over to the medicine cabinet. The rattling of pills in various containers reaches you, but you force yourself to only appear mildly curious when he turns back to you. A piece of the paper from his clipboard is ripped off and placed in your hand along with a small container of pills.

“What is this?”

“A mild sedative. To help you fall asleep.”

You shake your head, already starting to list the reasons why you don’t want this. The sweating of your hands and the heat rising to your neck at the mere thought of them a clear enough signal.

Harvey interrupts you, “it will not make you drowsy. If you need to wake up in the middle of the night, you still can.” You don’t know what he sees in your eyes, but his concern speaks volumes as he moves closer to you, a hand on your shoulder. “I suspect you’re not completely honest with me about how little you’re actually sleeping. If you don’t get enough hours, you’ll be even worse off than if you took a double dose of those,” he nods to the pills.

He leans in, kissing your forehead, “This way you have them if you need them.” The chair squeaks as he sits back down. Giving you space, you realise.

You push off the table, moving to the door as unhurriedly as you can muster.

“See you tonight?”

His call to your back makes your shoulders sag beneath the guilt, beneath the twisted wires of different feelings inside of you. You chew at the inside of your cheek, fighting through the mental cloud using the red thread of pain before you turn to face him. “Of course, doc,” and then you’re on your way out. You don’t remember exactly what you say to Maru, walking on autopilot the whole way to Marnie’s and doing your shopping there before you come to again.

But despite the pills waiting patiently on the nightstand, they remain unopened. When you rise only a few hours after you’ve gone to bed that night, you willfully ignore them. You get dressed as quietly as you can as to not disturb the man gently breathing in the softness of your bed. Turning the handle of the front door, you cast a last glance at Harvey. He’s lying there, curled up on his side, a large arm reaching out to the now vacant space in your bed, dark hooded eyes open beneath a slight frown.

It’s dead quiet in your house, between you two. Without a word you turn, opening the door and closing it quietly behind you, as if he was still asleep.

***

 

You pretend to be busy during lunch the next day. Instead of joining your usual lunch dates, you find yourself knocking at the door of Leah’s cabin at an agreed upon time. You had called her after Harvey had left that morning, arranging a time to meet. Destroying yourself is not an option, so you’re going to have to swallow everything down and try something else to make these sleep issues go away.

Look at you, you’re growing.

Leah opens the door, her hair unbraided for the first time in, well, ever. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen her hair down. “Come on in,” she steps back, giving you plenty of space to enter.

You had been worried that Maru might have been here, as it is her day off, but you’re thankful to find you and the sculpturer completely alone in the isolated space.

“So,” Leah begins. “I found a couple of tools that can help you be a little more-,” at your swift look she stops, adding carefully, “-steady.”

Blowing out a breath, you go over to the kitchen sink and wash your hands, letting the cool water run over your wrists. Once upon a time, painting had allowed you to sleep better, to process what had happened during the endless days. It has been a while and things might have changed since then, but you are willing to try. Anything before those pills.

The easel has been lowered so you can sit down while you paint, meaning less strain on your legs and back. You take in the rest of the set-up, the tools laid out for you to try.

“I’ll be just outside. I’ve been working on this really cool wood-structure and it’s finally coming together. But it’s messy as all hell, so we’re keeping it out there.” She hands you a set of headphones, “in case it gets too loud, put these on. They’re noise-cancelling.” And with that she exists in a flourish, leaving you to the silence of the empty cottage.

A large breath leaves you. Setting down the headphones with a slight bonk against the wood, you wonder where in world you’re going to start with all of this. You pull out the special set of gloves, feeling them squeeze all around you as you force them onto your hands as best as you can. They’re supposed to steady your fingers by pulling at the muscles or something. You read the advertisement with unhealthy naiveté before you’d ordered them.

Leah has put in a little shelf on the easel which you can rest your elbow on, supposedly giving you more control over your hand. With these and a couple of sticks to try out, it’s up to you to figure out how to make it work with what you’ve got.

Fuck it, let’s do this.

The paint yields beneath the pressure of the brush, clinging to it as it moves up and hovers above the white canvas. You move the brush on a steady breath, watching it glide over the material as it leaves a trail of dark wonderous colour behind. It’s a start. You have a stick mashed into a clothed ball, bracing the weight of your arm against the canvas without ruining the creation on it.

The sound of it is its own melody. The brush gliding over the canvas, the paint thinning out and giving in to the whoosh of hairs rasping against the dry material. You take measured breaths, timing your exhales until the movements yield to your will. The strokes are clumsy, like two people trying to gather the puzzle pieces of memories from a day many years ago. But it’s coming together nonetheless. A picture of light colours, of rainbows almost flying through the river. The dust of water coming up against the turns casting similar colours above all the fishermen staring eagerly at the scene. You’re relieved that your eyes can see the memory almost as clearly as your mind now.

You don’t realise how much time has passed until the door closes behind you. “No need for the headphones then?”

You almost jump out of your skin. Carefully, you place the palette back on its proper space, using the rag to wipe your hands from the paint and the sweat that’s gathered beneath the gloves. You scowl at your palms; they look like raisins.

Leah comes up, leaning down to study the canvas over your shoulder. “It’s beautiful,” she breathes.

“It’s childish,” you correct, standing, turning your back to it.

“I get what you mean, but that’s clearly technique, babes.” She turns to you and claps you on the arm once. “You’ve been holding out on us.”

You sigh, “the shapes are something a child could draw.”

She starts to sound more frustrated, “It’s whimsical. Now, if you don’t mind, you’re talking shit about my friend’s painting, and I’d like you to stop.”

A huff.

With a smirk she turns back to the colours. “Although I didn’t think that this was your style.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just, you’re so hardcore and realistic,” she makes a little rock-on gesture. “I kinda imagined something dark and edgy to go with it. You’re like that studio Ghibli dude.”

“Hayao Miyazaki?”

Leah waves you off, “sure.”

You roll your eyes with a bemused sigh.

“No, but, he’s a gruff old man, yet he creates adventures and beauty and shit.”

“’And shit’, my, what a compliment from the artist,” you comment drily.

You dive, narrowly avoiding the robot plushie she throws at you. “You know what I mean.”

That you do. And honestly, you’re already feeling lighter. With half a day of work left, you’re confident that a full night’s sleep is imminent.

***

 

It was, in fact, not imminent. Two days later and you’ve had a collective four hours of sleep. Every night you get into bed after Harvey’s fallen asleep. If not in yours, you crawl to the clinic and let yourself into his. And then, when the first light comes, you’re out of the door again. Every time you both pretend that he doesn’t see you. But fuck, this makes you miss him. You barely dare touch him when you eventually do slide under the covers, afraid to wake him. Not because you believe he’d mind. You’re sure he wouldn’t. But if either of you acknowledge this thing, this problem, you worry what it’s going to do to you.

At this point it’s pure desperation that drives you. During the day you startle awake in the barn, nudged by Jolene or nipped at the ankles by one of the… many… ducks. When did you get so many ducks? Baby, your dearest cat, often comes to meow at you if you begin to lean on your hoe for too long. This is all beginning to resemble last summer way too much, and with the end of season harvest being right around the corner, you simply cannot afford to be sleep deprived. You’ve expanded your farm very well in the past few months, the before untamed land looking managed, except for the way leading over to your grandfather’s alter-thing. You don’t want anything to stumble over there and think you stranger than you actually are.

On the subject of strange, you find yourself knocking on Emily and Haley’s front door for a truly last attempt at getting yourself some rest. You’d mentioned the problem to Emily at the bar one afternoon, and she’d eagerly invited you over for an aura reading and a cleansing ritual. As friends do.

When Emily opens the door, you wonder if it’s too late to leave. Around her blue hair she wears a braided flower-crown with a purple crystal in the middle. The house is dark behind her except for the lights casted by flickering candles. In her hand she holds a sage, which she uses to wave you into the house. “Welcome, welcome! So excited to have- please take off your socks as well – so excited to have you here!”

You mutter, “good thing you’re burning all that incense,” and fold your socks into your shoes.

She has pushed back the furniture and made room around the living room table. You mirror her as she sits town, folding your legs in front of you. The table is covered in various encased jewels and crystals, as well as bundled herbs of all kinds.

“I have bound all of the different energies from the herbs and crystals, so that they don’t affect my reading. After I’ve read and cleansed you, we will see which of these your energy needs to find peace.” She sounds so authoritative and competent, you quickly forget how ridiculous this all seems. Emily in her element is an experience.

Waving her arms in the air, Emily immediately begins the ritual. She hums and mutters words you’ve never heard, some which you have, which disturbs you even more, some which you’ve never heard out loud yet somehow flash across your eyes anyway, as if you’ve read them somewhere, sometime, long ago.

From a pocket she extracts a set of cards, shuffling and speaking in a hushed voice to the painted cardboard before she promptly sets it down. Her blue eyes take you in with a certain level of intelligence and awareness you haven’t experienced from her yet. “Put your hand flat on the deck of cards.”

After moment of hesitation, you do.

“Now remove it again. Thank you. What I’m going to do is shuffle these cards, keeping your energy within them, and I will stop when I feel they are properly, um, well, coated in your energy.”

You scrunch your nose, “coated?”

“I know! Icky word. I just literally couldn’t think of something else to say.” You share a chuckle, breaking some of the tension. She picks up the deck and shuffle them once more. Eyes trained on her, you try to feel what she’s feeling. To sense what she might be sensing. Once, twice, three times she shuffles the cards, but it’s not enough.

At some point your brows furrow as she goes to shuffle one more time, your lips parting, about to comment if that last time was really necessary, but then she smiles at you.

“Once last time for good measure.”

You don’t know if you like the fact that you agree with her.

The cards are placed in a neat stack on the table. “Now that they are properly coated,” you both wince, “I’m going to draw three cards to get a clearer picture of what might be going wrong.”

She draws the first card and places it in front of you. The cards are minimalistic in the sense that they don’t carry a ton of colour. They are dark with gold detailing painting the picture, at the top there is a number and at the bottom a simple short text. This card looks to be a circle with different animals all around it and has the text “The Wheel”.

“’Wheel of Fortune’, as I call it. In short, the figures and how they’re placed around the ever-spinning wheel gives the whole, ‘what goes up will come down’ meaning. Life is made up of good and bad times – no one on Earth can escape that. It’s like- fate. The bad times don’t last forever, cheer up!” She giggles but then falls quiet. Her fingers play with the slightly raised detailing. “But of course, here it’s reversed. Like, enjoy what you have now, for bad times will come and take it away again,” her brows furrow as she mutters this, as if she’s confused herself on why she feels compelled to say it. As if in a daze, her hand goes to pull the next card.  

The image shows two cups with water shared between them, and in the middle sits and angel with a triangle on its chest. The text says, “The Temperance.”

“So, this one also came out upside down,” she starts.

“Are you sure all them aren’t accidentally upside down?” You remark drily.

She sniffs stubbornly. “If they are, then it’s meant to be.”

You shake your head, focusing on the card once more, waiting for her to speak.

“This is the card of balance.”

Great, you’re unbalanced.

“I know what you’re thinking, but it’s not a surprise! You can’t sleep, and the card reflects that inner imbalance. You may have some anxieties that need to be soothed. It makes you reckless, impatient, rushed, and more prone to failure. You should be mindful of this, and slow down. Take care of stuff.” Emily hums to herself for a moment before she nods, “yes, I think a certain meditation ritual before bed would be good. We can try it together before you leave.”

You sigh but nod. This is what you came here for.

“See! They’re not all so bad,” she says and flips the third card.

The last card is the right side up, which you at first think is good until you look closer. At the top is an eye, looking down on lightning surrounding a lighthouse. The text says, “The Tower”.

You carefully observe Emily’s face. “What does it mean?”

She chews her lip and weakly says, “it could mean anything, I wouldn’t worry.”

“I know,” you say, controlled measure in your voice. “But I want to know why you are.”

For a moment, she fidgets with her crystals, turning them over in her hands as she obsessively traces the card. “The tower,” she pauses. “The tower generally is seen as a warning. A great warning. You know, against loss and disaster. It could be job loss, financial loss, breakups.” When she sees your face she hurries on, “Or it could be for anything. It just means a collapse of… something. The end of something.”

“So, my anxieties are not baseless?”

“Anxieties are never truly baseless, but the end doesn’t have to be a bad thing. It leaves room to regrow and be rid of something that may not be working for you. You come out stronger in the end,” she insists. Despite her very nice reassurance, the pit in your stomach that has been gradually growing throughout the session is now out of your control.

She takes the cards and begins to shove it to the side to make room for the cleansing part of the evening, when another card falls from the deck. The same as when a magician pops a card out, fluid and barely caught by the unaware observer. Except here, Emily, the supposed magician, seems just as surprised as you. She picks up the card and you only just read it before she turns it away from you. “Hanged Man”.

After a moment she puts it back in the deck and faces you, her expression one of unmoveable stone.

“What?” You demand.

“Can’t tell you.”

“What!”

“I can’t tell you!”

“Why not, Emily?” Your own voice rises to meet hers.

“It’s not a good idea!” She insists, not giving you any clearer of an answer.

“Well why the fuck not?”

“Sometimes we are self-fulfilling prophecies. This is not something you should know. Not something you should look for.”

“You don’t think it could help me to be prepared?”

“This is not something you can prepare for; it’s just something you’re going to have to live through. I know you,” she takes your hand. “And I know that you can’t understand this in the way it’s meant to be understood. Just remember that we’re all here.”

“How is any of this related to me and my sleeping problem?”

“We’re going to do the cleansing and the crystals and the meditation,” she insist, as if any of it should be a comfort to you.

You look away, grinding down on your teeth.

Emily says your name like a plea which is the only reason you face her again. “Trust me.”

There’s a knock at the door before it’s carefully cracked open. “Emily?”

Harvey steps in and around the door, closing it behind him before he’s stops stock still, taking in the scene before him.

“What are you doing here?” You ask him, a bit unkindly.

He blinks. “I needed to discuss something with Emily. What are you two up to?”

“We’re doing a simple reading and a cleansing. You know, Doctor Becker, you could use one as well,” Emily chides.

Harvey doesn’t look away from your face, incredulousness evident in every fiber of him. “Is this just so you don’t have to take the pills?”

“I guess we’re talking about it.”

“We could have found a solution together,” he continues, ignoring the snide remark from you.  

You gesture at Emily. “I’m finding one with my friends.”

“You’d do all of this to keep avoiding me?”

“I’m not avoiding you,” you insist, the lie tasting bitterly on your tongue.

“Have you told her why you’re doing this? Truly, told her everything? How bad it is?”

Emily looks to you with concern, but you ignore her.

Harvey goes on. “If you’re so concerned about the sleeping pills we could have talked about it or, for heaven’s sake, found a plan that doesn’t scare you into doing witch-craft and inhaling enough very dangerous incense – I’ve talked to you about this Emily – to get you high. Or if you really believe in this, I could’ve gone with you. I would’ve supported you.”

“What is with all of this controlling, doc? Why do I have to talk about it with you? Why do you have to be involved in it? Does it have to be you who saves me or else you can’t get that hero-hard on?” You suck in air through your teeth, shocked at yourself.

He blinks rapidly. Nods to himself. Blinks again. He wipes at his nose. “See you two later.” And then the door clicks shut behind him.

The silence left behind is deafening, threatening to choke you more than all of this smoke.

“He’s just hurt that you’re not letting him in,” Emily amends, ever the diplomat.

“Since when are you the expert on everything?”

“I’m not,” she says, completely untouched by emotionless tone of your voice. “But you know, in old plays there’s this term called ‘dramatic irony’. It’s where the significance of words and actions are clear to the audience but unknown to the characters.” She begins to arrange some stuff on the table. “I’m not an expert, I’m just the audience.”

Notes:

• Sorry~~!
• If you’re undeniably curious, you can read up on what the Hanged Man represents. Unfortunately, our farmer cannot do that unless I let her. Or until someone or something else comes out and tells/shows her. Soooo until I let her.
• Sleep deprivation famously makes it hard to control your emotions and behaviour, as well as coping with any kind of change. It has also been linked to risk-taking behaviour.

Chapter 41: A Risky Business

Summary:

When is that damn ring ready?

You pull your jacket tighter around you, feeling the cooling wind curl through the bushes around you and caress you down your spine. It seems the days of intense waves of heat are over.

Craning your neck as you enter the clearing, you take in the tower looming from above the hill. The Wizard’s tower stands as untouched by the elements as the last time you saw it, yet this time it’s filled with life. From behind the windows scattered along the structure, you see movements and lights of different colours. You remember the last time you were here, and how abandoned it had felt then. Perhaps Mr. Rasmodius isn’t as opposed to visitors now as he was the first time.

You climb the steep steps leading up to the front door, waiting a moment to catch your breath before knocking on the heavy wooden door. It’s cool against your knuckles.

It swings open, yet no one is standing on the other side. Creeping forward, you duck under the frame and peak around, finding the mysterious man standing above a huge cauldron, murmuring under his breath as the liquid below illuminates his face bright green.

“Sir?” Your words fall on deaf ears. He does not turn to you. The only way you know he’s heard you is by the door slamming shut behind you.

The steam from the cauldron expands, reaching for the ceiling until it meets resistance, then slowly, horribly, it begins climbing down the stone walls, coming back towards the ground. To where you’re standing. Stiffly, and perhaps unwisely, you move closer to the man continuously muttering to himself.

You clear your throat, forcing your voice to remain steady as you speak once more, “I came to see if the ring was almost ready?” Green fog slithers across the floor, closer and closer. For a brief moment you’re relieved you didn’t ask Abigail to come along. If whatever this stuff is is poisonous, then she doesn’t need to be anywhere near it.

Almost as soon as the thought leaves you, the Wizard raises his head. Dark eyes bordering on purple fix on you. Fuck, that’s creepy.

He grins mischievously.

Scratch that last thought, that’s way creepier.

With a snap of his fingers, the tendrils of steam and smoke crawl back into the cauldron, getting sucked into the solid steel. You’d bet this thing weighs more than a car.

“Yes?”

You gasp, whirling around to find him behind you.

“A ring you said?”

Yours eyes flicker to the door now effectively behind him. “Yes,” you test your voice, note with a bit of pride that it doesn’t waver. “In exchange for the slime stuff?”

“I remember,” he says, his voice smooth as it glides past your ears. He steps past you, his movements long and slow, yet somehow he carries himself across the room so fast that by the time you’ve turned to follow him, he’s facing you again. “It is not quite ready yet.”

“When will it be ready?”

He cocks his head in an eery movement, quick like someone snapped it for him. “When I have time for it.”

You step back, shrugging your arms at the vast room. “It doesn’t look like you have any other pressing deadlines.”

“Is this?”

“Is this a pressing deadline?” You ask incredulously.

He waits.

You scoff. “I wouldn’t have stormed off to… kill… that slime if this wasn’t urgent.”

“Does it bother you?”

You hold in a gasp, turning to find the Wizard standing to your right, much closer than before. It takes you a moment to remember he’s asked you a question. “Yes, I’d like to have the ring. I need it.”

“Need it,” he repeats gently. “Need it. You do not need it, you have no intention of wearing it, is that not right?” He presses forward, apparently not in need of your participation in the conversation, “I meant, does it bother you that you killed the… slime?” He says the word ‘slime’ the way George says app.

You’re taken aback by the question. “Of course not, it wouldn’t have felt bad about killing me.”

“Yes, but unlike you, a slime is a less than intelligent life-form. Barely sentient.” He’s circling you now. “Incapable of feeling regret. It can’t feel anything other than hunger. And perhaps fear.”

You flinch. Barely, but you do.

He stops moving, chaotic swirling behind his eyes catching everything you’re not saying. “But you already know that, do you not? You have seen its fear.”

Fighting to stay in the now, you shove away the mental pictures of the slime writhing on the floor of the cave, howling for an end to the misery you’d inflected on it, not knowing it was you who did it. Never will it know who did it. That’s almost the worst part.

“It is, is it not?”

You don’t know what he’s asking, so you say nothing.

He hums softly, considering you once more.

You put your foot down, voice firm as you say, “Enough playing around, Rasmodius. It’s time to finish the ring.”

“But I so rarely get visitors,” he practically pouts.

Can’t imagine why, you think sarcastically.

The pout is replaced by a sharp grin. “Where is your little,” he pauses. You blink and the room spins. Somehow you’ve turned around, now watching him as he sorts through a couple of books from a pile on the ground.”-friend?” He finishes unbothered.

Perhaps it’s the contents of the cauldron that has got you so completely turned around in the head. Or the sleep deprivation has finally reached the point of no return. You’ve got to finish this up before you go completely mad. “Abigail? I didn’t bring her today. Which I’m sure was smart, because now you only have one person to play with. Getting bored?”

He doesn’t find that comment quite as amusing. “Bring her next time, then you will get the ring.”

“That wasn’t the agreement,” you protest sharply.

Like the slice of a knife, his gaze cuts to yours.

Fuck.

He rises from the books, throwing one to the side yet you never hear it land. “I enjoy your wit, but keep in mind who you are talking to and adjust your tone accordingly.”

“If you act disrespectfully, you get disrespect in return, Sir,” you hiss.

“You accuse me of being disrespectful? To you?” His voice rising with each word.

“Among other things.”

“What are you talking about?”

His question surprises you, so far he’s had no trouble reading you at all. Carefully, each words measured, you ask, “is there a specific reason you wish for Abigail to be here?”

He recoils, his cape swooshing behind him as he turns away from you rather dramatically.

“Oh, so now it’s too much for you? It’s not fun when someone pokes back, is it?” You don’t know why you’re taunting him like this. As you stand here in the tower, you feel acutely how isolated you are from any witnesses.

Though you’d been sure you were speaking to his back, you suddenly feel his hand clamping down around your wrist. His grip is ice-cold, his fingers long as they wrap around muscle and bone. The strength beneath makes your stomach drop as you turn to face him at your side. “And what exactly do you believe you are poking at here, Miss?”

You pull at your arm, getting no leeway. Blowing hair out of your face, you aim what you hope is a derisive look at the fury leaning over you, “I don’t know, but this sure is a pretty area. I wonder who else might’ve frequented this part of the woods some twenty odd years ago.” Rather than following the demands of your instincts, you take a step closer to the wizard, lowering your voice, “What secrets they may have left with.”

Purple eyes narrow. The air between you further tightens with every second the stand-off continues. Your heart pounds away in your chest, your breath fighting for space that isn’t there.

His lips part, “A ring, you said?”

Surprised, you nod and he lets go of your arm, turning his back to you as he slowly makes his way to a room out of sight. Intense relief floods your system, but you keep your back stiff. It’s when you let your guard down that you get yourself hurt.

Blinking, you find the Wizard in front of you, twirling a ring in his hand, examining it with innocent curiosity. “I should let you know that it only protects against harm the same way magnets of equal magnetic poles repel each other. Do you understand?”

Wordlessly holding out your hand, you allow him to drop it into your palm.

Despite everything, a crooked smile makes it way unto his face, his beard twitching over it. “You remind me of your grandfather.”

Without another word, you turn your back on the Wizard – about as easy as turning your back on a wolf – and leave the tower. It’s not until you step a foot onto the stoned path of the town center that you finally release the tension in your body.

***

Harvey’s nowhere to be found. You look for him in his usual spots in the clinic, his apartment, and in the library. Pierre’s closed today as usual, so for a long moment you find yourself, fists at the hips, wondering where he might be. Where would he go on a day like today. Perhaps to the beach? Maybe he’s at the pub already? Probably not though, you know he has inventory early tomorrow, so he won’t want to stay out late or risk a headache from the alcohol. You still manage a few steps towards the pub before you stop. Head craning over your shoulder, you glance somewhere behind the clinic. With a sigh, you start up the hills.

You find him by the fountain. Weeds crawl all around it, the benches surrounding it long overdue for a spruce, yet Harvey gazes at it all as if it was the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. You come up from behind, and though you’re sure he can hear your footsteps in the tall grass despite the rushing of water, he doesn’t turn. As you sit next to him, you’re acutely aware of the fact that he’s not ignoring you, but he doesn’t outwardly watch you either. Like you’re a flighty animal. And that shit hurts. Not for the supposed insult, but it hurts because he has to go through that, be careful like that. Because you’re the one putting him through that. You don’t want Harvey to be in this kind of relationship. With the silence between you holding the ache.

Putting out your hand, you wait as he takes in the item in your palm.

“Please,” your swallow, getting rid of the rasp. “Please wear the ring. If you want to break up, we can. It would probably be for the best, but-“

“What are you talking about?” His voice harsh.

“The ring can-“

“No, no, I don’t care about the ring. What do you mean “break up”? Why would I want that?”

Eyes cast down, you avoid his gaze. “I said- It’s just, we fought,” you explain.

“We had a fight. How we solve it is what shows if this is worth it or not. If everyone broke up every time they had a disagreement, the world would be a really lonely place.” He says all of this as patiently as he can, but you can feel the wall still. Not a strong one, nor a tall one, it’s barely a sheet between you, but you know how much it costs Harvey to hold it up.

You open your hands out, your eyes catching on every scar, every bend that doesn’t look completely right. With these hands splayed over your knees, you say, “I don’t know how to solve it. I don’t know how to do this.”

He breathes deeply, his eyes shimmering enough to bruise your heart. “I barely do either.”

“Can I?” You hesitantly reach for him.

With a small sound he pulls you in. In his lap you cling to him.

“I painted,” you confess weakly.

You feel the surprise he tries to conceal, “Oh. How was it?”

Your words are mumbled against his chest, “Really fun.”

It’s not until nighttime that you find yourself able to pull away from him. You’d decided to go to bed at a decent hour with him this time, but after you leave the bathroom of his place and see his form under the covers, you begin pilling blankets and pillows on the floor. Silently, you shift beneath the fabrics.

There’s a huff somewhere behind you and footsteps hurry over to you. You turn to meet him, ready to explain, but your words halt in your throat when you’re lifted into his arms. He stumbles only a little before regaining his balance and moving you both towards the bed.

“I didn’t want to-“

“I know,” he interrupts.

The covers give in underneath you and he crawls in from the side.

You protest, “I normally sleep closest to the door.”

He grunts, “this way you’ll have to wake me up to get out.”

“But-“

“I miss you.”

Whatever argument you had at ready falls away.

“Please wake me up,” his words so incredibly soft.

There’s a silence between you. It waits patiently for you to gather the courage to speak. “I love you.”

He tugs you in tighter to his body, curling his big form around you, as if he can shield you both somehow from the struggles you face. But what can he do, when the demons live inside of you? “I love you,” he replies, the words matching yours in weight.

You wish you weren’t doing this to him. You wish you could somehow untangle the strings that tightly bind you together, if it meant giving him some peace. But it would mean dividing up each vein with surgical precision, burning away skin that holds you together. It would mean cleaning out the blood that calls to the other and train a heart to beat on its own.

During the night, as nightmares descend upon you, Harvey is so tightly wrapped around you that he wakes with you, whispering words of tenderness against your hair as you cling to him until you can tell what is now and what was then. And before long, in the safety of his embrace, you fall back asleep.

It would be so easy to say that you slept through the rest of the night, that that was all it took for you to find rest. But it wasn’t and you didn’t. You woke many times throughout the night, startling the man carrying your heart equally each time. But at no point did he accept your offer to go to the couch and at some point you stopped asking. For the first time in days, you spent the whole night together, and when painfully early morning came and you awoke to Harvey accidentally shoving the alarm-clock to the floor, you felt more well-rested than you had in a while.

Notes:

• It’s exam season once again! Wish me luck. And good luck to anyone in the same boat.
* I've gotten weak, because I really can't handle these two being mad at each other for long.

Chapter 42: An actual display of democracy

Summary:

The first political debate in years.

Notes:

• I’d just like to say, that I honestly am not an expert on how debates like these would go. So I kind of just followed the chaotic element that all of these town events seem to carry and placed it on the political process as well.

***

You’re in a field. The stalks of wheat going many kilometers out, yielding to the breeze dancing over them. A bell rings far away. A door opens. From the house comes a flood of people dressed in their best clothes.

A crow takes flight, screeching over the wind.

The people move down to the field, the wheat parting for them. Serenely they walk, float, to you. You turn around and run, arms pumping at your sides. In the distance stands your childhood home, perfectly, untouched. You stop.

Behind you the flock comes closer and closer. In front lies the house the crow is now circling from above.

The people begin to sing. A lullaby, you realise.

Faster and faster you run for your house, not getting any closer, the singing getting louder. The breath of the flock down your neck.

Suddenly, you stand before the entrance. The people surround the porch, humming softly to you. Trembling you open the door behind you – there you find your mother as she sits on the couch, watching her own clenched fist intently.

“Mom?” Your voice sounds strange in your ears. Younger.

Without looking at you, she points a bony finger behind you. With a gasp you turn.

The flock has stopped singing.

And there is your father, shaking the hand of a blue-eyed man.

You startle awake.

***

 

“Vote Robin for mayor!”

“Hello! Can I talk to you about Robin as candidate for mayor of our town?”

“Here’s a pin, vote Robin for mayor!”

Taking it in shifts, you and your friends stand in the square, handing out pamphlets of information and pins with slogans that are so cheesy they could give you heartburn. But this is important. The town’s people haven’t had to be involved in a vote for mayor in so long. It has become a given that Lewis would govern their homes, but now there is new blood in the mix and the people are being forced awake once more.

Evelyn giggles as she takes the flyer from you, even George pauses his grumbling at her side to crack a grin. He turns his wheelchair to you, “it was good knowing you, girl.”

Evelyn lightly smacks him, “don’t say that! I think it’s wonderful that the youth is getting involved in the community. Especially our brave young girls.” But as they walk away her words drift back to your group, “if they go missing, we know who to suspect.”

You share a look with Penny before catching another neighbour, bright smiles in place.

Robin had jumped on the idea of becoming a mayor almost immediately after you’d suggested it. It took very little coaxing, and once you mentioned a few of Lewis’ transgressions she was practically ready to bring out the pitchforks in the name of justice.  A few other people in town put their hat in the ring, but scarcely any were serious for long and none of them were as well-respected in the community as Robin. In truth, it’s looking like a close tie between Robin and Lewis.

“Democracy!” Cries Sam from your side. Sebastian shakes his head, going over to calm the shocked townsperson. Some of you are clearly not as skilled in what to say to the voters as others. Shane was banned from face-to-face promotions within five minutes of trying – his talents have since been moved to some of the more handy positions.

You turn forward, charm loaded and aimed at the next incoming citizen, when you realise it’s a bemused tourist. “Sorry,” you amend quickly. “We get a little excited about the local elections here.”

He gives you a tilted smirk, hand out for a flyer. Reluctantly, you give him one, which he reads over briefly. Eyebrows fly to his hairline as he reads, “’After more than twenty years, it’s finally time for new eyes to watch over our city’ – the current dude’s been mayor for twenty years? I’m not sure that’s even allowed in our region.” 

You shrug, “we don’t go into semantics like you do in the big city.”

“Oh, right, my bad. Don’t want to impose my pencil-pusher corporate ways onto the good folk of the valley.”

“Damn straight.”

He gives a little laugh, moving slightly closer to you.

You take him in from behind your sunglasses. “The noble fight for democracy appeals to you?”

“I fight for it every day.”

“You do?”

He sighs, “Running the risk of blasphemy, I have to confess something.”

You grin, “I’m not so sure I can be trusted with your secrets.”

“I think you’re exactly the type of person to be trusted with secrets. Mine is that I’m a lawyer. Defense attorney. I fight for rights every day.”

“Criminal defense attorney?” You ask, sounding not at all suspicious.

He barks a laugh. “Why, do you need some help getting out of trouble?”

Waving your clipboard, you put on the fakest voice you can, “Nooo, I’m an angel, can’t you tell?”

He slowly takes you in from your boots to your eyes, and you realise with a start where this conversation has headed.

You take a step back, “anyway, you can look at the local news for further information on the count.”

A reluctant nod, “uh, right, yeah, maybe I will.” And with a glance over your shoulder, he leaves.

You blow out a breath, turning around to the still face of Sebastian and the wide grin of Sam. “What?”

“That guy was ready to knock boots, farmer-girl,” Sam quips.

Sebastian aims an eye-rolling at the blonde standing a little behind him, before he focuses back on you.

You wave him off before he has a chance to say anything, “Yeah, yeah, I know. It snuck up on me. I brushed him off as soon as I realised.”

“Do you think Doctor Becker’s going to kill him?” Does Sam sound kind of happy at the prospect?

It’s impossible for you to stop the snort coming out of you, “Harvey? Harvey wouldn’t hurt a fly, much less some guy hitting on me.”

Sebastian and Sam remain silent for a beat.

“Tell him, then,” Sebastian suggests over the sound of Sam’s giggles.

“C’mon guys, he’s not going to care,” you protest, shuffling through some more pins and flyers.

Sam pipes up again, “then it can’t hurt to tell him, right?”

Exasperated with a fist at the hip, you turn to the eager energy aimed at you, looking back and forth between glimmer of young men being up to absolute fuck-all good. “You seriously want me to tell him some rando briefly flirted with me?”

Their nods are almost synchronised.

You sigh, “fine. I’ll tell him tonight at the pub.”

“Please wait until we’re there,” Sam pleads.

Your eyes narrow.

“Right-“ Sam says, hustling away.

“Back to work,” Sebastion adds, pretending to be busy on the street again.  

***

 

That evening, there is a debate to be held before everyone will gather at the pub for a wind-down drink and some dancing to engage in the community at the end of a busy week. Not that Robin needs an excuse to dance – except these days she’s been hustling the other moms onto the dance floor instead of being glued to her husband.

The podiums are set up in the town square, and Robin is practically vibrating with excitement at the turnout. “They actually care enough to show up.”

“It helps that nothing exciting ever goes on around here,” Shane murmurs.

You, Sebastian, Abigail, and Emily share a look, mumbling incoherent agreements.

Maru steps forward, strategizing with her mother, both hovering over the note cards. The rest of the group moves out from behind the stage – another Lewis Special – and go to the designated area for the campaign assistants. Penny is to your side, nervously picking at her shirt until the blond skater behind her gently takes her hand and guides it down to her sides. When neither of them let go you look away, focusing on the moderator who’s presenting the final candidates.

“Welcome. Robin and Lewis will both be answering moderator decided questions, and at the end there will be time allotted for a Q&A from the audience.” Then the very grey man goes to sit down, grunting a bit as he settles into his seat.

There’s a half-hearted applause all-around, the confused murmuring drowning it out. You shift your weight a bit as you join in.

“What a ray of sunshine,” Shane mumbles behind you.

You half turn to him, “you’d know.”

He’s not amused, which honestly just underlines your point.

“I’m just saying, he could’ve at least hyped up the crowd or something. I’m gonna fall asleep standing if this keeps going.”

You shift on your feet.

“What’s the matter with you?” Shane asks, apparently distracted enough from the complaining to pick at you.

“Nothing.”

Eyes flickering to him, you see that he wouldn’t buy your bullshit even if it was half-off. You blow out a breath, “My legs are killing me for some reason.”

“Well, you’ve been on your feet all day,” Shane’s voice lower now that the candidates begin to settle in on stage.

You match his level, “When aren’t I? Forget it, I can deal with sore for a couple of hours more.”

“Don’t forget the afterparty.”

Head falling forward into your awaiting palms, you take a few moments to breathe. For a second you’d forgotten about the party. “Helpful as ever, Shane.”

“Anytime, Paulie.”

The memory of the devil chicken comes forth. The nickname has been a way for Shane to assure himself that it’ll haunt you forever. “Is that bird dead yet, by the way?”

“Don’t sound so hopeful. And no – she’s going strong. Giving a lot more eggs than your ducks.”

“You wish, chicken-boy.”

You see his head turn towards you out of the corner of your eye – can practically feel the disapproving glare he’s prepared just for you. If it wasn’t for the start of the debate, you’d have laughed directly in his face.

“We will start with you, Lewis, as our current mayor. Tell us your initiatives to better the local community.”

Lewis is dressed in one of his best suits, which hangs off him as if he were a sleezy salesman. He smiles broadly out to the crowd, pointing at a few different people before he clears his throat directly into the mic. You, along with the crowd, smack your hands to your ears in order to protect them from the blast of noise over the speakers.

“Woops, Sorry!” He looks flustered. “Um, right! What I will do for the community is what I’ve always done. I arrange the festivals. I arranged for the Quest Board to be put up – even the Special Quests Board! I’ve kept the town running smoothly for twenty years with no complaints. I have kept the beaches and the town clean, and I have, despite push-back from ungrateful youths, kept the peace in our town. Voting for me is voting to keep your lives as comfortable as they have been all this time.”

An applause rings out over the crowd, a moment Lewis soaks in with all his might before the same question is directed at Robin.

“Comfort is the killer of progress. How long have we been saving up to build that bridge on the beach, yet nothing has been done? And these alleged clean beaches, perhaps you can explain why there’s so much trash further down the ocean at the edge of our forest?”

A wolf-whistle rings out.

“The festivals have the same set-up every year. That gets boring. Predictable. I’ll make sure to retain traditions while also breathing fresh air into it – making the old festivals feel new again. Keep you wondering about the set-up each year. And those boards, Lewis… Really? You know good and well that you can’t do anything with a hammer. I built those,” Robin continues.

“I came up with the idea!” Lewis protests.

“And yet you have come up with nothing on how to fix our community centre.”

He scoffs, “Here we go again. This is where your lack of experience betrays you, Robin. The community centre is not a realistic goal. The bones are rotten, it’s inhabited by rats, fungus, insects – even Linus won’t go in there!”

“It’s a way to keep the youth entertained in a safe environment, stop isolation for our elders, and give us a place to host parties outside of Marnie’s barn.”

“Ah-HA! Do you all hear how Robin wishes to take away business from our dear Marnie? This is her livelihood you’re challenging.”

Robin tries to march on. “And I’d make it more difficult for Joja-Mart to spill waste into our river and dump trash in our forests.”

Lewis waves his hands, “Now, now, Joja-Mart has as much of a right to be here as us.”

“So you’re not worried about what they’re doing to Pierre’s business, but rebuilding our community centre will doom Marnie – am I getting that right?”

“No – No!”

The moderator finally successfully cuts them both off.

The crowd seems to collectively blow out a breath. Shane leans in from your side, “give me ten golds and I’ll ask Lewis a question at the Q&A.”

Hmm… Tempting. “What kind of question?”

“If he’s single and ready to mingle.”

“That’s dumb.”

“Shut up. I’ll think of something professional but that’ll get him flustered.”

You consider it. “I think that counts as sabotage.”

Both of you look at Lewis as he once again begins to yell his answers to a question into the mic, his face going red with the strain of it.

Shane shrugs with one shoulder, “can’t get worse than this.”

You fish out the worth of 10 golds and slap them into his hand.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” and then he’s off into the crowd, going to stand in queue. You can’t believe that that man is practically a parental figure. Just as the thought pops into your head, Jas appears from the crowd, running at him with her arms up and ready for when he volts her over his head, letting her sit on his shoulders.

You rub at your chest and turn towards the stage.

“Admit it, Lewis! You’ve let it fall apart to make room for Joja Corp!”

“I’ll admit to no such thing! And it’s Mayor Lewis to you, young lady!”

Ah, they’re back on the community centre.

“Then where are our tax dollars going, Mayor Lewis,” she spits his name, “if the bridges haven’t been built, the town’s trashed, and the community centre is untouched – where is all of our money going? It’s not like it’s going to the fund for our weakest – we pay out of our own pockets for healthcare. And where are the ramps you wanted to put up for George ten years ago?”

Lewis sputters, “You say all of this as if it’s so easy. Try getting the permissions from the governor, get the right materials, find the budget for the workers needed, and-“

“I will!”

He stops. “What?”

Robin, determination fixed on her expression, her shoulders back and her eyes boring into the man beside her. “I will fix that damned centre, and I’ll do it before the election night. It’ll be a symbol of how much you have failed this town due to selfish interest and laziness these years.”

Mouth agape, he just stares at Robin.

The moderator, sensing the moment of quiet, jumps in to end the debate, announcing the time for questions from the crowd.

Neighbours step up to the microphone, some young, some old, asking good questions and bad questions. Testing the waters on the new candidate. Some trying to assure themselves that they haven’t been complicit in letting Lewis run the town into the ground by highlighting Lewis’ accomplishments rather than actually asking anything.

Worryingly enough, it looks to you like it’ll be a tied vote, with a few people still unsure of what to do.

Finally, it’s Shane’s turn to step up. Jas has escaped at some point. Leaning forward, dark stubble framing his face and hair lazily falling into his eyes, he speaks softly into the mic. Hands behind his back like he’s perfectly innocent. Merely a member of the town, eager to put his vote in the right place. You know better, of course. “I’d say whoever we choose has to be a representative of the town. And I believe that close-knit community, family, if you will, is exactly what represents our little town. How do either of you fit that image? Especially you, Lewis, as a renowned Bachelor.” He catches your eye and sends a wink at you.

You roll your eyes and shake your head.

“I’ve been busy, taking care of all of you. Devoted to you,” Lewis smiles a sleezy smile.

You bite your cheek. Shane nods thoughtfully, then pauses, “I mean, hasn’t Robin been raising a family and keeping her business going? And been an active member of the community?”

“Well… uh… well…”

“If you can’t balance it, Mayor, maybe it’s time for you to take off the crown and start your own life.” Shane manages to sound like he’s genuinely concerned for Lewis’ well-being. But you see the twitch of his lip, the slight darting of his eyes.

A laugh bubbles in your chest. You breathe it away.

“I have a life!” Lewis protests.

“How so?” Shane tilts his head.

Sam snorts into his hand.

“I’m- I’m… I’m getting married!”

The crowd falls silent.

Shane’s brows lift, like he’s only mildly surprised. “To whom?”

He did not just use the word ‘whom’.

Lewis’ eyes fall somewhere in the assembly. Collectively, you all turn to look for the person he’s talking about. Marnie stands with her tongue out, frozen and hovering above an ice-cream.

“To Marnie. Marnie and I… are getting married.”

Marnie finally seems to realise what’s going on. Her eyes well up and she runs through people, throwing herself onto the stage and tackles her fiancé. She pecks him with kisses, until the moderator commands everyone to quiet down.

Both of the candidates look equally worried as the moderator concludes this debate.

Notes:

• Btw, you guys continue to blow me away with your support and kind words. I’ve also received a lot of constructive feedback, which I like to think I’ve incorporated as best as I can. It’s been nice seeing what you like and what I can give you more of. Honestly, I just like to gush about how great a community this is every chance I get. This has been a wonderful place to escape to with all of you, and I can’t imagine not doing this every couple of weeks. I mean, shit, it’s been over a year of this now.
I was shaking the first time I posted on here, seeing every mistake only after I’d hit upload, and convinced no one was going to read it. Now when I look at hits, bookmarks, and kodus, I freak out. I also can’t believe so many of you’ve stuck around since the beginning. And all the new readers who come in and see the waayyy too long fic and still manage to get invested in it.
I’m sure it comes as a surprise to no one that this has been a needed positive change in my life. Anyways, I’ll stop being all sentimental now. Thank you. See you next chapter.

Chapter 43: A Vote of Confidence

Summary:

A break after the big debate

***

You’re running around on your grandfather’s farm, visiting for the summer. It’s somehow gotten smaller since you last were here.

“Don’t go too far into the woods, my girl,” your grandfather calls from the chicken coop. “ Or the junimos will steal you away!”

You laugh, dancing at the edge of the forest, excited and scared at the fantastical threat your grandfather paints. Round and round you dance, further and further out you go, deeper and deeper into the dark embrace of the forest.

You stop dead in your tracks. Your hair is hanging around your face in messy clumps. Howls of anger and pride surround you. You’re theirs. You’re His. You’re bigger now, but these strange woods are much, much greater.

“Sing for them, little bird,” a voice whispers around you, dancing. Dancing like you were. Light as a feather it whips around you. “Do as your father tells you – sing!”

“Yes,” a deep voice agrees. Out from behind the trees He comes, standing underneath an arch with dead flowers clinging to it. The ring on his finger reflecting the moonlight, he beckons you over “Sing for us, little bird.”

***

 

Upping the ante has caused the fire of the election to become even bigger. Robin has promised to fix up the community centre and Lewis has promised to get married, all this before the election. Totally unrelated, they have both graciously agreed to push the official vote until a few weeks. Just after the end of season harvest.

Emily serves you a soda, which you sip as you listen to an animated and overly dramatized retellings of the debate, when suddenly a light feeling passes through you. Warm and sending your pulse up a notch, you completely lose your train of thought mid response.

Elliot flicks his eyes behind you, and a large grin takes over his face. “I should’ve known,” he quips.

Huh? You turn in your chair, facing the door.  Harvey stands by the entrance, a few drops of rain staining his glasses, which he swiftly removes to clean with a rag from his pocket. The way his face scrunches as he puts them back on the bridge of his nose, adjusting them until they sit just so, is incredibly cute. His gaze roams to pub until they fall on your group, which he promptly makes his way over to.

Leaning down he blocks your view of the rest of the table, supporting himself with a hand against the table surface. His other large hand finds a way to your hair, tilting your head up and back for him. Hooded brown eyes are on your lips, a smile curving his own. The smell of him wafts over you – rain and soap, the papers and ink he surrounds himself with all day. Beneath it hides his own personal smell, which brushes over you as he leans in closer, teasing you by keeping his mouth of reach just so he can selfishly take you in.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he whispers, his lips grazing your own as he speaks. A drop of heat goes through you at the sound of his voice, slow and deep after an exhausting day yet so intimate and close.

You bring a hand to his messy hair, feeling droplets of water in it before you can dig in further and push his head towards yours, closing those delicious few centimetres. His eyes fall close at your touch, a move which you follow. Finally, your lips meet, softness and tenderness masking what vibrates beneath the gesture. The memories of what those lips have done, what they will do later.

Proprietary urges you to pull away too soon. You extract yourself from each other and the group makes room around the table for him to slide in. You remain seated on a chair at the head of the booth, comfortable on the side of it all.

“Finish the story, dear,” Elliot calls to you.

“Right, yeah, Robin came straight for me before I even got a chance to move towards the pub. Long story not so short, I’m recruited for the restoration as well.”

“Knew it.” And everyone bursts into laughter.

Harvey takes your hand. You notice the ring gleaming on his little finger. “You’re going to help Robin?”

You nod. “Yep, and apparently be a bridesmaid for Marnie.”

“Big day for our farmer,” Sam pipes up from the booth on the other side, his head popping up and a secret smile in place as he looks pointedly at you. Sebastian slowly comes up on his other side, expressionless but somehow still carrying the same message.

Harvey looks between you and the guys. “Did something else happen?”

For a moment, you hesitate. You don’t know why. It’s silly to be nervous, isn’t it? You know Harvey won’t be mad at you, because there’s nothing to be mad at you for.

And you know that Sam and Sebastian aren’t trying to get you in trouble – they aren’t even considering that the anger could be directed at you. Logically, you know all of this. It’s supposed to be funny, and it will be funny.

It will.

You fiddle a bit with a knuckle of Harvey’s hand. “An out-of-towner was interested in the election here.”

“Interested is right,” Sam falls into Sebastian’s neck, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

“Oh?” Harvey inquires, still confused, likely trying to piece together why this would amuse Sam so much.

You sigh, fessing up, “The guys think it’s funny, because the man was very clearly hitting on me.” Wolf-whistles and hoots sound all around the table. You wave them off, “alright, alright, settle down.”

Elliot props his chin on his hand, “why, of course he was. You’re a beautiful, delectable, no, magnificent young woman. We can’t blame the poor man for being captivated the first time he saw the moon, right?”

You fiddle with your necklace, shifting your gaze to Harvey. He looks mildly out at the table, listening as your friends go further and further with the compliments until they’re just plain ridiculous. He even laughs at some of them. Huh.

Behind him, you find Sebastian and Sam still hovering over the back of the booth, catching them as they glance at Harvey more than once, sharing whispers and slaps. You shake your head, grinning into your drink as you take a sip.

“Want to share the joke?” Your doctor speaks lowly into your ear.

You aim your smile his way, “It’s silly.”

“Even better.”

“The real reason the guys were laughing so much, is because they were convinced you were going to be jealous or something. But I was right, you aren’t,” you say smugly, leaning in for your kiss of victory.

He huffs against your lips, melting into the easy affection. “You didn’t bet on it, right?” He murmurs, going in for another kiss.

“No, why?”

He doesn’t answer.

You pause, pulling back. ”Why, Harvey?”

Harvey looks down at you, and for the first time you notice the tension around his eyes, the way his jaw is firm and his shoulders set in a perfectly straight line.

Mouth falling open, you ask loudly, “are you jealous?”

“No,” his answer comes too quickly.

You note the halt of the conversation around you, but you can’t look away from the redness spreading up over his ears. “Fuck, are you actually?”

He scoffs. Pauses, “No.”

“I can’t believe it.”

“I can,” Sam pipes up. You hear a swift slap against his jacket and a protesting “ouch!”.

Harvey continues to protest, “I’m perfectly calm.”

“Then why, my good man, are your knuckles white?” Elliot chimes in.

“Told you,” Sebastian whispers to you, leaning over the back of the booth from behind Harvey.

You’re absolutely shocked by this. “How come you guys knew this about him and I didn’t?”

The two young men share a look. Apparently, they have unlocked a new level towards omniscience and can now telepathically communicate, which is insanely annoying when you’re trying to get answers out of them.

You take Harvey’s hand again, relieved at how easily he wraps his fingers around yours. The teasing around the table barely needs either of your participation for it to continue, so you lean into your chocolate-eyed man and ask so softly, “Do you get jealous easily?”

He seems to battle with how to answer you.

“Honey, it’s fine, as long as you’re not actually… mad at me or something irrational like that.”

“No, no,” he assures you hurriedly. “No, it’s just- I get a little irritated. At the other person.”

You study him for a beat. “Has this happened before?”

He does the same to you. “Yes.”

“When?”

His pupils dilate a bit despite the embarrassed pink warming his skin. “A couple of times.”

You look around at the table, “anyone here?”

He doesn’t answer.

Fine, you don’t need those kinds of specifics. “Why?”

“Why?” He chuckles. “Are you seriously asking me why I get jealous?”

You nod.

His chest flares on a deep inhale. “Let me preface this by saying I completely trust you.”

“Thanks,” you say a bit drily.

A huff, “but when I see you with a man, especially one your own age, I get a bit…” he searches for a word, “restless. And there’s probably a deeper reason, which a therapist would have field day with, but I don’t like some smug young man to come up to you. With his adventurous spirit and knees that don’t pop.”

“You’re not that old, doc.”

He searches your eyes for a beat, “did you do that on purpose?”

You nod, biting your lip to keep your smile constrained. His eyes fall to the move, a familiar heat in them mixing with this new exciting one slowly being brought into light.

“You don’t mind?”

You shrug one shoulder. “Not really. I’m surprised, but it’s not a bad look on you.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “You like it?”

Another shrug. “I like that you’re a bit possessive. But there’s no need for it, you know. I’m all yours. There’s no getting rid of me now.”

“All mine,” he rasps.

A breath hitches in your chest. The way he holds the word pokes at the embers inside of you.

He hums in his chest, “I like that, sweetheart. Say it again.”

In an attempt to regain some control, you smirk, shaking your head at him. “You’re ridiculous.”

Leaning forward, Harvey lets his lips stop just at the shell of your ear. Your eyes fall closed at the sensation of his hot breath caressing down the side of your neck. “How soon until we can get out of here?”

You glance out over the table. Putting your lips near his own ear, “Make a good excuse, and we can go right now.”

He swallows, leaning back and away from you to feign interest in the conversation around you both. Challenge accepted. But it’s going to be hard, now that Harvey has become the focal point of the teasing.

“Don’t worry, old sport, as long as that clinic is going well, our farmer isn’t going anywhere,” Elliot says unhelpfully.

Sam joins in again, having apparently completely abandoned his own table in favour of the conversation on yours. “Yeah, at max she’s going to have a little on the side. But why would she need an out-of-towner for that when she has season tickets to the gun-show.” And then he pushes up his t-shirt sleeve to show off his biceps.

“Keep this up and I’ll take the long way the next time you fall off that skateboard of yours,” Harvey threatens, more amused than actually annoyed. Still, his hand finds it way down to your thigh, lightly squeezing. You shift in your seat.

Sam snorts, “That’s medical malpractice…probably. You can’t do that!”

“Can’t I? Shoot. I guess I’ll have to come up with something else.”

“…Like what?”

Harvey takes a sip of your soda, “what do you mean?”

“What else could you come up with?” The younger man asks, looking slightly pressed as he tries to read the smooth expression of the town’s only doctor. Perhaps realising that last fact a bit too late.

He frowns, “I don’t recall saying I’d ‘come up’ with anything. Come on, Sam, that’s not like me. Right, everyone?” Harvey looks out over the table.

A choir of agreements and serious faces nodding appears all around the table.

Sam waves out in front of himself, “You guys can’t be serious!”

“Doctor/Patient confidentiality, bro,” you say, watching Sebastian give him a sympathetic clap on the shoulder.

Baffled, Sam looks out in vain for someone to prove his sanity, “what does that even mean?!” When no answers come, he dives back down to his own table, Sebastian not far behind.

You rub a gentle hand over Harvey’s arm, looking over the rowdy group. “Sorry to disappoint, but I’m unfortunately too enamored by your doctor to have anything on the side, or anywhere else for that matter,” a smirk as clear in your voice as it is on your face while you say it.

Hands reach for the bowl on the table and soon after peanuts fly at you two. You bark a displeased sound at them, and Harvey is practically giggling at your side. When it’s safe to put your hands down from your face, you find Harvey with a large grin and light in his eyes. His chest is almost puffing out and you’re sure the tall man has somehow grown even further. He pops an ammunition-peanut in his mouth and laughs at your blink of disgust.

And for a moment, there is no hurry. No, for a moment everyone is carrying a smile or at the very least an amused eye-roll. The music is playing loudly in the background, but the conversation drowns it out. Sodas and drinks flow to and from the table in between tales and wild debates. Friends come and go, adding their own bits to the stories which are used as fuel for a wildfire of jokes on someone’s behalf. You all stay late, not because you fear tomorrow, but because you can’t think to pull yourselves away. You’re home. There’s food on the table, caring company surrounding you, and love by your side.

You’re home and his warm hand is cradling yours.

Notes:

• An early chapter to fit into my exam schedule
• Damn, those nightmares are kind of specific, huh? I wonder why they’re coming now. Oh well :))))
• It almost makes you wonder what’s the real plot-line right now

Chapter 44: A Unique Campaign

Summary:

You continue working on Robin’s passion project for the election, when something distracts you.

Notes:

• Trigger warning – a hint of domestic violence begins with the ***

There’s a beat of silence.

A crinkle of paper. Someone turns over their lists, and gasps follow as it reveals a continuation of the front.

Sensing the deflated motivation, Robin claps her hands. “Okay! I know it seems like a lot, but that’s why we’re going to divide and conquer, people!”

Sam turns his list over to Penny, who, with a small sound, points at an item which makes him nod solemnly.

“Did you do these while high or something?” Shane questions, a scowl on his face.

A commotion proceeds until Robin expertly gets everyone to quiet down.

“One two three, eyes on me!”

“One two, eyes on you,” the crowd calls back like a hoard of hypnotized zombies.

With horror you look around.

An arm bumps you and you turn to look at Penny. “Didn’t you do this at school?”

You shake your head, “I was home-schooled.”

“Oh, that’s nice.”

“Sure,” you manage.

Before long, Robin dismisses the group, hauling ass up to the community center with a select group to get it ready for renovation.

People pair up and take off until you and Harvey are the only ones left. You watch him rub his mouth and moustache as he takes in the wide selection of items.

“I know. This list is so – detailed? I mean, what in the world does Robin need apples for?”

He adjusts his glasses, looking over at you. “She wants me to get something called ‘void essence’ – what do you think she meant?”

“Just get her a thermos of your best coffee.”

Your reward is an indulgent look and an adorable head tilt. For a moment you get an overwhelming urge to bite his cheek.

But you won’t. Because that would be psychotic. You shake your head.

Get it together, girl.

 “Where do you want to start?” He asks, wholly unaware of your thoughts.

You know where you’d like to start. Instead, you ponder your list for the millionth time. “Hmm, looks like we can get a lot of this stuff in the forest. And I’m cultivating at least half of it on the farm.”

As he reads the stuff you point out as you walk down through the town, Harvey’s eyebrows rise to hug his hairline. “Okay the stone I get, but do you have any idea what she needs a piece of cake for?”

“We’re obviously building the candy house from Hansel and Gretel.”

“Right, my mistake.”

“Right, you should know better.”

“Should I?”

You leave the town, walking past Marnie’s farm. There’s a flurry of motion inside, and you think you spot white fabrics being thrown around. Your wisely turn your head back to Harvey. “You’re a doctor. Isn’t that house a huge health risk that you should be aware of at all times?”

“That would be more of a dental centered issue. Unless you’re diabetic, of course.”

“Are you qualified to operate on teeth?” You ask curiously.

His nod is serious, “yes.”

You give him a dubious look, “really?”

“Oh yes, if you don’t mind being completely toothless afterward.”

You pretend to consider it. “It would make certain things easier.”

He frowns, but you remain silent, giving it time to sink in. When it does, his eyes flare and a blush spreads over his face. “Tease,” he throws at you, his voice slightly breathless, avoiding your eyes as he looks at the ground for stuff that you need.

You shrug off your backpack, shoving various plants into it and crossing it off your list as you go. While sitting on your knees, Harvey walks past you. From a tree he reaches up, grasping at another mushroom growing from the bark. As he does this, his sweater and the short-sleeve underneath both start to ride up, exposing a few centimeters of bare midriff.

“Sweetheart?”

You flicker your gaze up to his. “Hm?”

Hands now full, he sinks down onto his soles. “Did you hear what I said?”

Oh, wow, not even a word. “No, sorry, what did you say?”

“I said, ‘at least we’re not responsible for the huge quantity of lumber that she needs’.”

“Oh,” your head bops. “Right, yeah no, that would be worse.” You force a chuckle.

He gives you a look, “are you alright?”

“Hm? Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

Coming over, he pours the contents into your bag. Then he swiftly presses the bag of his hand against your forehead. His fingers are cool from the early morning air. You brush his hand away.

“You’re flushed,” he states. “Are you alright?”

His sudden focus only makes said flush worse.

Evidently having no qualms about turning the forest floor into an impromptu office, Harvey crouches down in front of you.  He takes your face in his hands, looking deeply into your eyes. Except you know this isn’t him being romantic. He’s in doctor mode and there’s no stopping him now.

“Harvey, I’m fine.”

“I know you probably believe that,” he murmurs, looking from one eye to the other. “But your eyes are slightly glazed, and your skin is hot.” He takes your wrist into his hand and looks down at his watch. Strong capable fingers press into your skin. A memory of them pressing elsewhere shoots through your mind. Your chest begins to rise and fall quicker.

“Your heartrate is high.” His words almost an accusation as he looks you in the eye again. Except this time, you can’t bring yourself to look into his for long.

“My resting heartrate is a little above normal.”

“I know,” understanding briefly taking over the assertiveness. “But this is a little above your normal. I think you’re getting a fever. We can continue this some other time.” He rises, taking your hand to bring you with him.

You sigh, “no, Harvey, I’m not sick I swear.”

“Sweetheart, you aren’t seeing what I’m seeing. Your hands are warm, pulse high, eyes glazed, your focus is off and-“ He stops, watching you as you shift on your feet while looking down and away. “What?”

“Please,” you whisper, incredibly embarrassed. “Just- I’m not sick. Can we just get the rest of this stuff?”

He moves closer, the scent of him embracing you as concern is etched into his face. You have to close your eyes to brace against the surge of heat that goes through you. “What’s going on?”

You lick your lips, considering, trying not to breathe too deeply.

“Sweetheart?” His voice low and coaxing.

You could honestly moan aloud just from that voice. You probably look like a cat in heat at this point. “Please don’t laugh.”

His shoulders release some tension. “Of course not, tell me.” His hand does a slow – and at another time probably comforting – glide along your arm, making your clothes feel heavy, restrictive.

“I’m just…”

“Yes?”

You blow out a long breath. “I’m just unbelievably horny, okay?” Defensiveness clear in your voice.

He blinks, mouth dropping open. He might be having an aneurysm.

“Say something.”

“Why?” He sputters.

You scoff. “I don’t know! It started when you looked at me in town and I just wanted to bite you-“

He huffs.

“-but it seems that every little thing you do just makes it worse. I mean, I’m always a little warm around you, but this is obsessive.” There’s a soft smile is on his face when you finish, one you regard with skepticism. “What?”

“I can relate to that.”

“What, I just randomly do things that turn you on inconveniently?”

“Oh, at times you barely even have to be there. You’re a craving that crawls up my spine and tightens my stomach with just a smile. I’m glad to hear it’s mutual.”

You let your head fall into your hands, hiding your face. He chuckles, pulling you against his chest. After a bit you feel the embarrassment lessen and dare to snuggle deeper into his embrace. Then something stops you. A hardness strains against you from behind his slacks. The breathing above you comes in shallower, and you’re painfully aware that yours is catching up to his once more.

You pull away, finding his hooded eyes on yours. Molten fire drips through you at the sight, at the feeling of his hands tightening around you. Even the birds around you seem to have stilled in response to the charged energy filling up the forest.

He swallows, daring to break the silence. “So.”

“So?” You breathe.

“You said- I believe you mentioned something about biting me?”

A sharp intake of breath, almost a gasp, a shudder of lungs as you desperately try to process the situation. “Harvey, we’re out in public. In the woods. Anyone could come by.”

“You’re right,” he says, though he’s begun to herd you backwards. “But you see, I can’t get that image out of my head.”

Neither can you. You imagine him pounding into you desperately while you cling to his skin with nails and teeth. You imagine how his moan would feel framed by your lips. Where is the spray bottle when you need it?

“And if someone hears us? Sees us?”

A wolfish grin finds it way over his face. “Well, they’ve already heard us.”

You almost laugh. “I think it’d do you well to remember how mortified you were after.”

“Probably. But I can’t seem to think about much right now.”

Hand out behind you, you feel the bark in time to dance around it, eyes still on Harvey as he trails you. “Well, can you remember how you didn’t want us to run around in the forest last time, because you were worried I might fall?”

He shakes his head, “If you stopped moving, you wouldn’t fall.”

“Oh,” you laugh breathlessly, “I know what will happen if I stop.”

He halts and the suddenness of it makes you pause as well. “Tell me,” Harvey rasps. “Describe it to me.”

His request is so sincere, the words leave you with almost no shyness.  So eager to give him what he wants. “You’d quickly take me in your arms and hold me against a nice firm tree. You’d maybe wrap my legs around you, push me up so you can reach every bit of skin.”

As he stands before you, a tremble runs over him.

“If you can’t get me to bite you at first, you’d nip at me until I did. Taste my skin, remove my shirt so you can mold my breast into your mouth. Nip me there too.”

His hands twitch at his side. You don’t notice if yours do too.

“You’d drive me beyond sanity until I had to bite you. But when I did it would be game over. You’d have to take me there, against the tree. And I don’t think you have any condoms on you, do you?”

In a measured movement, he shakes his head.

“Right. You’d have to slip into me, skin meeting skin. And once we do that, can you honestly tell you would be able to go back to how it was before? After you’ve felt me without, had me without. We’d be even worse than we are now. The craving will never stop.”

And Harvey, your careful doctor, doesn’t have any care left. He marches up to you and with a squeal you turn and go to run, but a large arm grabs you around your middle, hauling you off your feet. You squirm against him until he plants you in front of a tree, intent on doing everything you’ve just described to him. Swooping down, he brings hot kisses to your neck. You melt against the bark at your back, mouth falling open on desperate breaths, and eager hands find their way into his hair. You see him swipe off his glasses, putting them in his shirt pocket.

Harvey’s in sports mode.

Expertly he sucks at the skin under your jaw, filling the forest with your moans.

A hand in his hair, you drag his head to the side. Obediently, he follows, so ready for what you’re planning on doing. Instead of giving it to him immediately, you bring hard kisses to his skin, feeling him squirm against you. His whimpers take over for your distracted moans.

He crawls closer and closer to you, as if he’s trying to rub his skin into yours. Not that you’re any better. You kiss him harder, desperate for him to be even closer. He weakens under your feral touch, grabbing for your leg and hoisting it up and around his waist, satisfying the roaring craving.

You winch.

He straightens, looking at you with panic and interrupted desire. “What – what happened?”

“My leg,” is all you manage to grunt.

Kudos to the medical school for giving him the sense to not just drop your leg right then and there. He carefully lowers it to the ground, intent on your expression the whole way down.

You test your weight on it, relieved to find it strong enough to carry you.

“Was it- I mean, did I pull it too hard?”

You’re already shaking your head before he has a chance to finish the question. “No, no, it’s been aching on and off for a couple of days now.”

With the hard-earned patience from thousands of hours of experience with difficult patients, Harvey barely twitches a muscle on his face as he takes this in. “Days?”

“Huh?” You say, rubbing at your knee.

“You’ve been hurting for days?”

“Not all the time, it just comes on randomly.”

Pointed silence.

“It’s fine,” you insist.

“Oh, well, if you say it’s fine.”

Your eyes narrow at the sarcasm.

“We’re going back to the clinic to get that checked immediately.”

“We’re not even half-way through the first list,” you protest.

He stands tall in front of you, arms crossed over his chest.

You blow out a harsh breath, “you stubborn man, we need to do this for Robin. Unless you want another twenty years of Mayor Lewis.”

You might as well be speaking to Jolene. He doesn’t even attempt to argue with you, just stands there like a horse brought to water.

“I can wait all night too, buddy.”

He huffs, “and you’re calling me stubborn. Pot, have you met Kettle?”

“Oh, so I’m stubborn for not going along with your caveman demands?”

“Perhaps paleontology is a missed calling of mine.”

A sound of frustration breaks from you. “Come on, Harvey! We’ll never finish this if we spend the whole day in the clinic just cause of some aching knee.”

His eyes flick down and back to yours, the wheels turning in a way that sends your alarm signals screaming; ‘HARVEY IS UP TO NO FUCKING GOOD’. “You didn’t stomp your foot.”

“What?”

“You usually stomp your foot when you get fed up with me.”

You wipe a hand down your face. “Wow, what an attractive trait you’ve disillusioned for me.”

“Why didn’t you stomp it?”

You shrug, “Gee, I don’t know. Maybe because I’m all grown up now.” Your tone so dry it could be mistaken for Lewis’ infamous stand-up.  

“Stomp your foot with the leg that apparently doesn’t hurt, and we’ll move on.”

The silence is heavy between you.

You march past him – not stomping – and he follows dutifully all the way up to the clinic, only slightly laughing at you as you murmur about nosy doctors.

***

You blink awake, finding yourself in a room with pristine wallpaper and perfectly arranged furniture. You’re on the couch. You try to sit up, but a large hand is holding you down. Following the hand, you see a face drenched in anger hovering above you.

“You ran away. Again.”

You struggle, slithering under the pressure of his hand.

“Try now. Run now. Go on, little bird. Why won’t you run?”

A whimper fights its way from you, but it comes out strangled. He puts more of his weight onto you. You can barely breathe.

“The K9 found you this time, such a good little dog catching these wild birds. Are you a wild little bird? An ungrateful, bitch of a bird?”

You wheeze, fighting against the hand crushing your chest. His wrathful face comes only closer.

“Try and fly now, little bird. Come on, what’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?”

The edge of your vision blurs, darkens. In the shadows you find more faces, grinning with pleasure at your suffering. They laugh with him; they laugh at you.

He leans down, his eyes a whirlpool of hate. So much hate. Such controlled hate. “Maybe if I cut off your wings, you’ll finally stay in your cage.” He reaches for the bat. “What do you say to that?”

You take deep, purposeful breaths into your tea. Harvey comes up sleepily behind you, wrapping his arms around your frame. Leaning back, you keep your eyes fixed beyond the window, on the birdbath just outside of it.

***

Notes:

• Eeeeehhhh you thought there wouldn’t be another nightmare? Sike! (Very sorry for that)
• I mean, the list of what you need to make the community center is so ridiculous, that I thought it would be funny to have the towners’ reaction to it, if they had to be the ones building it – Now, I realise the junimos are the reason it gets built, but I had to find a way around that to fit into the campaign stuff lol

Chapter 45: Wedding Bells

Summary:

All the while his hand moves underneath the table. Further and further up it traces along your inner leg, circling your knee in a lazy movement with two insistent fingers. Heat rolls through you in wired anticipation. Which is why, as he attempts to sneak further, you clamp your legs together.
The side of his mouth quirks.

Notes:

• A looooong chapter to celebrate the end of my final exam season! I hope it’s not too overwhelming, but I couldn’t find a comfortable place to divide it. I hope the variation of events will keep us all entertained until I have a moment to sit with it again.

***

 

Two men are arguing. Eternal pillars of arms leaning on the table between them, words and venom flying across the space. The room is dark except for a light hanging above the table, illuminating the fury carved into their faces.

You creep closer, picking out their words with the ease of hearing underneath water. The closer you come, the clearer the speech.

A closed fist takes its frustration out on the table surface. “I’ll turn you in! I swear to all that’s holy, I’ll get you all arrested, Pete.”

Uncle Pete smiles at this, “Turn us in to who, old man? The law enforcement? I’ll tell ‘em you said ‘hey’.”

The man across from Uncle Pete yells into the empty room, a bark of hopeless heartbreak. You move closer to him, wanting to comfort him. “This is child abuse!”

“This,” your uncle stresses, “is the way things have always been. You move out of the city and suddenly you’re against it?”

“It was never this extreme,” the man protests.

“Perhaps not,” Uncle Pete concedes. “But it is the purer way. It’s the righteous way. And the only way to save her soul. Where were your protests when my sister was promised to your son?”

“They were in their twenties and engaged! How is that the same?!”

A scoff. “It is this sort of ignorance that will keep you in the fires for eternity, while we, along with the kid, will dance in forgiveness.”  

“I’ll fight you people on this,” the man says, fury on every word. “I swear to you now, I will fight until my dying breath.”

Your uncle leans in, a laugh barely covering the familiar cruel glint in his eyes. “Looking forward to it.”

You turn you head to the side and see man in a sharp hat and a cape dark as the void staring right back at you.

***

 

“Don’t go.”

“Harvey,” you sigh.

“After all we’ve been through?”

“Don’t do this.”

“I can’t live without you.”

You roll your eyes, zipping up your jacket. “And the Tony goes to…”

He groans, flopping back onto the couch where you’ve left him – a half-finished puzzle spread out on the sturdy coffee table that Robin gave him at the start of her campaign. It left the dining table free for other activities. Like eating.

Oh boy, eating.

A lazy arm goes up to rub at his eyes, momentarily pushing his glasses up his forehead. “I still find it difficult to believe that Marnie asked you to be one of her bridesmaids.”

You scoff, “Ouch.”

He sits up, watching you as you come around to get your bag. “No-no, that’s not- what I meant was-“

“I can’t believe it either, honey,” you interject. “I’m mostly just surprised she actually said yes to him all.”

“According to rumours, she’s been waiting for him to settle down for years now.”

You bend to get your purse when he catches your arm, dragging you down and over him until you straddle his long shape. Gathering yourself, you take in what he said. “Rumours. You mean the information Maru and I gave you?”

He hums in his throat, content in his mis-guided idea of a victory to settle for a little teasing.

You continue, “I meant, the proposal wasn’t exactly romantic. It was a desperate political move.”

“Maybe it’s less about the actual proposal, and more about how he announced their relationship to the entire town?”

You give him a deadpan look.

“But… You’re right. It’s a shitty proposal. But surprising nonetheless.”

You have to agree with that. “Marnie sure looked surprised. After all these years, I don’t think she ever expected he would do something like that.”

Harvey considers this for a moment. “Is there something about me that’s surprised you?”

You search his eyes, the merriment in them. Honestly, what hasn’t surprised you about the man under you? That you can’t get enough of him? That he can’t get enough of you? The fact that he managed to convince you, without even trying, to stay in this town, to fight for a home. That he’s time and time again forgiven you before even knowing you needed to be forgiven. That he saw you in that pub that first afternoon, saw your hurt and your walls, and decided that you were worth the effort. Despite his shyness and hermit-tendencies, he went out of his way to make sure you weren’t alone. You don’t know exactly when he decided all of this, if it even were a conscious choice, but you’re surprised every damn day that he did.

Maybe the fact that he can dance – that one surprised the fuck out of you. You still remember that Flower Dance, the way he guided you under the sun, the way you were so sure something was bound to happen, you just didn’t know when, just from the way he was holding you that day.

You finally settle on an example. “I thought your dirty talk would be more…,” you search for the word. “Technical.”

“Technical?” He questions, curiosity and confusion mixing hilariously.

You assume your Harvey impression, squaring your shoulder and deepening your voice. “I’m touching your vagina,” you state clinically.

He snorts, eyes wide as if he can’t believe what you’re doing.

You go on, “Oooh, you like it when I suck your labia majora?”

“Stop,” he begs. His shoulders shake despite his protest.

“May I insert my phallic-shaped penis?”

He’s full-on belly laughing now, flopped back on the red couch and sending every howl to the ceiling. Soon he trails off into giggles and just when you think it’s over, he re-focuses. His brows narrow and an expression of faux pleasure appears on his face as he moans, “Oh yeah, fondle those testicles.” And then he’s off again, shaking underneath you, making you bop a bit where you’re sitting. At one point he even squeals a bit as he tries to get more air in – though he’ll vehemently deny it later.

Pushing up his glasses he wipes away a tear.

Gosh he’s beautiful. The little nerd. “You done?”

“You know,” he begins, “it never occurred to me to talk like that.”

You brush some of his hair out of his face. “No, honey, you have a surprisingly foul mouth for someone who blushes when I kiss your cheek.”

Harvey immediately sends the accusation back, “you blush too.”

A statement which evidently offends you to your very core. “I do not!”

“Oh yeah?” He challenges, sitting up, going nose to nose with you. The hands that were leisurely roaming your backside find their way up your sides, a slow trip that allows for kneading and greedy groping of every softness he finds. His eyes dip to your lips as he licks his own. Your breath catches when, finally, his hands find your nape and jaw, holding you, capturing your gaze in the deep chocolate and coffee of his own. “You are so beautiful,” the words whispered against you, reverent in their tone.

“Damn it.” You push his hands away and he falls back onto the couch. “Wipe that smile off your face. If we kept a tally, you would still be so far ahead of me in the lead, that- that dead stars to you would still be alive to me- back here.”

He huffs, “what?”

“I can’t work a good comeback when I’m flustered, shut up.” You lean down, giving him a kiss before you right yourself, getting off the couch and heading towards the door. Shit, now you’re really late. “You’ll still meet us in the city?”

He nods. “As soon as my meeting with Dr. Jamerson is over.”

“Good luck with that, Harvey.”

“Thanks, sweetheart, see you later.”

And with that, you let the door to Harvey’s apartment close behind you. With a deep breath you march into the oncoming battle, unsure whether you’ll make it out alive or not.

***

It’s so… white.

Rows and rows of dresses upon dresses, stacked like marshmallows glinting underneath the unflattering fluorescents. You reach out to touch one when a pointed cough from behind the register stops you. Turning, you eye the woman staring shamelessly at you.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“Uuhh-“ You hesitate.

Just then, sent from the heaven’s themselves, a voice calls your name. You turn to see Emily bouncing up, her arms out to drag you away from the laser-eye only a bridal-shop clerk can manage. “There you are! We’re all gathered in the next area. Marnie has already said no to three of my suggestions, but I know you’ll love them!”

“Why did she veto them? Are they tie-dyed or something?”

“Your psychic abilities are becoming fruitful, my dearest,” Emily praises without any irony at all.

Oh lord.

Coming around the corner, you see the party well under way already. Women from the town are spread out over every available seating space, debating loudly about the different qualities a wedding dress should have. Haley seems to be taking the lead in those. Some are sitting back, confusion marked into their faces as they try to understand the terms, one of which is Maru who you beeline for. Sliding down onto the floor next to her chair, you tap her arm lightly. She flinches but recovers quickly when she sees you.

“Bless you, you’re finally here.”

“You look like you’re swimming in deep waters.”

She shakes her head. “I honestly don’t know why I came. Maybe because we haven’t had a wedding in town in forever and I was curious about the procedure of it all.”

“Aww, you little scientist.”

Eyes narrow behind thick framed glasses. Apparently, she doesn’t appreciate your humour today. “I’ve come to really regret it. Marnie had us all pick out an option for her, but she hated everything I touched. In the end I had to snag one of Haley’s throw-aways just so I could stop looking.”

You glance around. “It is very white,” you agree.

“I swear on my dad’s life, I thought I was about to get photophobia.” She makes eye contact with you. “I appreciate how hard you’re trying not to roll your eyes.”

“If I roll my eyes, I’ll forget which way is up or down and I’ll fall headfirst into a wall.”

Maru snorts and slaps a hand over her mouth to cover it.              

A curtain is dramatically pulled back, and out from behind it steps Marnie. She’s dressed in a classic piece, modest neckline but it still looks good with her wild hair down. It brushes down over her figure and trails along the floor in a long line of lace. The shop assistant holds Marnie’s hand and helps her up onto the podium to stand in front of the pocket of mirrors. Marnie swishes side to side for a moment before she turns around, uncertainty drawn into her face. “What do you think?”

Without pause the room erupts into a choir of well-deserved gushing. Marnie looks gorgeous. But you can see from her face that this isn’t the dress, and sure enough, soon after she turns and heads for the dressing room, assistant in tow.

“You think you’ll ever need one of those?”

Your eyes are still on the curtain. “I have considered a farmhand for when I expand production next year.”

Maru snorts. “Not what I meant.”

Softly, you reply, “I know.” You turn away from where Marnie disappeared, seeing Maru’s curious face. “Harvey and I haven’t been dating long enough to think about that kind of thing.”

“It isn’t time that defines this type of stuff, you know. It’s what you’ve gone through together. I remember mom would say that, you can’t marry anyone until you’ve seen them have the worst time of their fucking life.”

You bark a laugh. “Are you kidding me?”

“Dead serious. She said something about how anyone can fit together when everything is going well, it’s how you fit together when everything has gone to shit that matters.”

Shaking your head, you feel your smile slowly fall away. Reality comes crawling in from underneath the pretty dresses, souring the bubbling champagne and rotting the expensive chocolates. It clings to you, unsettling your stomach and changing the steady beat of your heart. You swallow heavily, “No, I don’t think I’ll ever wear one of those.”

Overhearing you, Emily pops up from behind Maru. “Poppycock!”

“Poppycock-?” Maru repeats.

At the same time, you add, “I’ve never heard someone say that unironically-“

Emily continues, “you can wear one right now!”

You and Maru share a glance.

“Come on!” The blue-haired woman encourages. “If not now, when? I doubt these tight-assed clerks will ever let any of us back in here again. I’ve already tried on a couple.”

“Fuck off, no you haven’t,” Maru gasps happily.

You throw your head back on a laugh.

Emily nods solemnly. “It was a religious experience. And now it’s you gals’ turn.”

“I don’t know how Marnie is going to feel if we run off and try on dresses. Today is rightfully supposed to be about her,” you remind them gently before they get ahead of themselves.

“If Emily can get away with it, we can too,” Maru points out.

Emily could get away with burning this place to the ground and is therefore not a realistic comparison to make, but you can see it in Maru’s eye that this idea has gotten its claws into her, and there’s no way you’re going to stand in the way of that.

“I’ll watch but I won’t try anything,” you warn.

They both nod eagerly and jump over the furniture to look for options. You rise, following them into the maze of endless satin.

None of the dresses they grab at surprise you in the least. Emily goes for the most eccentric styles – just when you think it’s a typical dress, she turns it around and reveals an intricate weaving of colourful feathers across the bust. Maru’s style is way more practical: a strong neckline, never poofy, and nothing without straps. You’re only really surprised at how in love with lace she is. At one point she fishes out a dress with a lace pattern of strawberries raining down the skirt – but if you step back, you can’t really tell what it’s supposed to be, giving it a secret sort of feeling. A hidden treasure, so to speak, of strawberries.  

The only thing they have in common is that they’re all so beautiful.

While they both rush behind a couple of racks to slip on the dresses, your eyes fall to a particular dress. It’s hidden in the corner, squished amongst others unlike it. You’re not sure what exactly draws you to it, all you know is that you have to see it. Hand under the hanger, you find the dress heavy as you lift it from the rod. The material whispers across the floor even as you try to keep it up high, making you think that those clerks have to weight train like crazy to carry multiple of these at a time. You drag it with you over to one of the mirrors in the other corner, shielded by white. A bubble to yourself. You hesitantly bring the hanger over your neck to line the dress up with your silhouette. A terrible sort of ache works its way into your lungs, down into your hands.

An ache driven by wanting something that you cannot have. Residue of smoke from when a home burned down years ago still lies somewhere in every exhale. The ashes remain in your gritted teeth, on your tongue, the taste of it following you no matter how far away from it all you run. You may not be able to see the flames anymore, but when you can still feel the fire, how will you ever be able to live as if it’s not there?   

“Sweetheart?”

As you go to remove the dress from around your neck, a voice from around the corner makes you jump. You turn just as Harvey comes into the nook you and the two others have hidden away in, and watch him with wide eyes as he takes you in.

“I can explain,” are somehow the first words out of your mouth. Before you have a chance to regain function of your limbs from the stunned embarrassment of getting caught, Harvey steps closer to you.

“Wow,” is the only word he allows.

“We were just looking at dresses for Marnie,” the lie hurries smoothly out of you.

From behind the dresses come Emily and Maru, who, dressed head to toe in white and with arms extended theatrically, yell, “ta-daa!” They promptly freeze as they take in the addition to the party.  

You and Harvey watch them for a beat. He swings his head back to you, mildly waiting.

Another beat. “Okay,” you relent. “So, we were fooling around too.” Turning to the fellow faces of shame, you stick out a thumbs-up. “Looking good, ladies.”

Emily bows and Maru pulls her back with her behind the curtain, presumably to hop out of the dresses before anyone else sees.

Long fingers sift through the fabric against you, slightly fluffing out the skirt to get a better idea of the shape of it. “Is this the one you like?” He asks carefully.

You’re already shaking your head. “I was just curious. It’s silly-“

“You’re magic,” he breathes.

Searching eyes take him in. You see the pink traces over his ears, kissing down past the collar of his shirt. You soften at the thought that he would be ashamed of the compliment – even if it was a bit out of the blue, you still think it was sweet. Going up on your toes, you guide his face down to press a kiss to his warming cheek, while hiding your own. “Thank you,” you breathe over his skin.

You hang the dress back up, turning your back to him. “Are you already done with the meeting?” Your eyes search for a clock around the room. How much time has passed? It feels like an eternity.

“No, no, I’m way too early, so I figured I’d say hi really quickly before I head on over to the hospital.”

Redressed, Maru and Emily reappear. “Is this about the new machines?” Maru asks.

His head bobs. “Yes. If we get funding for this, we can start larger scale treatments at the clinic, something the smaller towns around us can’t. And it will lessen the wait times that these larger hospitals have right now.”

What he doesn’t add is that this will be a way to secure the future of the clinic. Harvey’s been working hard to keep it afloat for some time now, and this would allow him to keep the clinic in the green – maybe even hire occasional help so he could take some days away from the Valley if he wanted to.  He’s been really excited about this meeting, and you really hope it will go well for him.

He guides you all back to the rest of the group and with a kiss and a wave goodbye he leaves you once more.

You sink back onto the carpet, ready to focus on Marnie’s fiftieth dress of the day, when a prickling sensation runs over the back of your neck. Turning, you find the eyes of almost everyone on you.

“What?”

“What’s he like in bed?” Asks Haley. One of her friends slap her on the arm with a giggle.

“Excuse me?”

Another chimes in, “We’re just curious. He’s so… reserved. But now we’re hearing rumours that he’s wild in the sack, so, how is he?”

Maru scrunches her nose, “ew. That’s like hearing about my dad.”

The fuck. “Your dad?”

She shrugs. “He’s so much older than me. And he’s kind of like a mentor to me in some ways. I don’t want to know his humping rhythm.”

You could have lived a long and happy life without ever hearing those words in that combination. “I’m not telling. The only important thing is that we’re very happy.”

“I bet you are,” purrs Haley, sending the others into a fit of giggles and laughter.

With a small smirk and a roll of your eyes, you send a silent thank you to the sky when Marnie chooses that moment to come out, effectively derailing the conversation.

***

 

Once Marnie had the dress, it was time to pick everything else. The colour scheme, the flowers, the save the date cards, ect., were all things you just had to look at while the feeling of the dress was still fresh in her mind. So, bridesmaids and innocent bystanders in tow, Marnie went all over the big city to hash out deals with each shop that came close to being relevant to wedding stuff.

As you all walk down the street towards the restaurant for a late lunch, you see Jodi lean into Haley. She can’t whisper if she wants to be heard over the noise of the big city, so her level is loud enough for you to overhear.

“Who’s paying for the wedding?”

Your ears unintentionally perk up.

Haley shrugs, “I’m sure either one of them can afford it.”

Jodi, wide-eyed, inquires further, “I hope Lewis is the one to pick up the bill. That’s just good manners.”

“I don’t,” Haley disagrees, her nose wrinkling at the thought. “That would mean our taxes are funding this. I’d have to kill myself if I helped pay for this tacky wedding.”

Another woman giggles, more grazing Haley’s arm than slapping it. “Haley! That’s so rude.”

A flip of the hair. “I just call it like I see it.”

In your peripheral, you see Maru shaking her head.

The restaurant is a classy establishment with a dark and intimate atmosphere. Really the wrong place for the loud group marching in and claiming to have a reservation.

You turn to Maru. “Can I borrow your phone?”

Without a word she hands it to you and follows the rest of the party to the deepest part of the restaurant. Away from everyone else in the restaurant, you note. Sending off a quick text to Harvey, you slip the phone back into Maru’s hand when you all go to take a seat.

They leave the chair next to you empty, which seems to invite more questions about you and Harvey. You try more than once to direct the attention back to Marnie, but she seems just as happy to get the scoop on the hermit town doctor.

“When will he be here?” One asks.

A glance at Maru has her pulling out her phone, “he should be here…”

“Hello, everyone.”

Speak of the devil. Harvey is shrugging off his coat as he nears the table and is greeted with innocent smiles and cheery words, as if they hadn’t just spent the past fifteen minutes trying to guess his dick size from his hand size.

“Thank you for letting me crash the party,” he says oh so graciously.

Marnie waves him off, “It’s no trouble, Doctor Becker. It would be too sad to have you eat all alone.”

Harvey presses a kiss to your hair before taking the vacant seat by your side, hustling to get his order ready before the waiter can get here. Except, that façade is a big, fat lie. Beneath the scene of propriety is a wandering hand trailing along the outside of your thigh. A sneaked glance and you find Harvey with a neutral mask firmly in place. If it hadn’t given you away, you’d have dunked your head under the table to make sure it’s really his hand that’s creeping towards the inside of your leg.

He’s getting better at this, which also makes him more daring. Is he really doing this in front of everyone? Of course, you’ve once sucked him off at his desk, so you haven’t exactly earned the right to be shocked.

“How was the meeting, Harvey?” Maru asks after the waiter has relieved you all of the orders and menus.

Harvey raises his head to look across you. “Really good, thank you for asking. We got the approval and with a little elbow grease we can have the new machines up and running in less than six months.” He attempts to sound excited about this, but there is a tense breathless quality to his voice which your brain hones in on. His eyes flicker down to yours before sliding off, completely giving him away.

Through narrowed eyes, you study him ever closer. What are you up to, doc?

He manages to ask inquisitively about the day you’ve all had, spending too much time on the little details of every experience. You notice too late that it’s an attempt to get the group riled up again – to get them talking until they no longer need him to do it. It’s a calm technique he employs in the way he instigates every point of discussion until the table is more than alive.

All the while his hand moves underneath the table. Further and further up it traces along your inner leg, circling your knee in a lazy movement with two insistent fingers. Heat rolls through you in wired anticipation. Which is why, as he attempts to sneak further, you clamp your legs together.

The side of his mouth quirks.

 “I still can’t decide between these two invitations,” sighs Marnie, graciously accepting the consolations of her vast bridal party.

Emily turns to you, “what do you think?”

Following suit Harvey angles his body towards you. In the limited space around the table, you feel the pressure of him keenly through his suit jacket. “Yes, sweetheart, which one would you choose; golden or dark green?”

Startled at the sudden focus on you, you release the tension in your legs for a moment – a moment Harvey greedily takes advantage of. His large hand slides decadently over and around your leg, settling high up in the apex of your thighs. You can feel the heat of his hand through the material that separates you.

Half-lidded eyes eagerly await your answer.

“Um, the dark green.”

Haley rushes out in a louder voice to be heard over the agreements, “but isn’t gold so much more luxurious?” The nods that follow has her lifting her chin in pleasure, leaning back in her seat to relax now that she has been reaffirmed.

However, you barely register the apparent power struggle, too focused on the pupils blooming down at you. With the low lighting, Harvey’s intense gaze appears almost black.

His hand turns. Just slightly. Barely. But already nestled up high, that movement places him right where he’s been wanting to go. With the ease of sinful indulgence, Harvey rubs his hand against your core. If you hadn’t been holding on for dear life, anticipating this move, you would have bucked clean out of your seat. You desperately grab for a glass of water, soaking up the coolness of the glass against your lips, taking refuge in the cold liquid moving down your body.

And he doesn’t stop. Not as the drinks are all laid out, not as the discussions heighten and plans are finalised. Not when someone asks your opinion and you have to pretend you’re choking on a piece of complimentary bread. You can’t help but subtly rocking into the motion, heat surging up as he meets you with renewed vigour at your participation. The pressure is too good, it’s perfect, right where you need it. Which is exactly the problem. As his ministrations continue, no intention of stopping or slowing down, it dawns on your that his goal might be to make you orgasm right at this very table. You may have a good poker face, but you’re not that good. Yet higher and higher he pushes you. A desperate grip around his working wrist does nothing to deter him. In fact, it seems to encourage him.

Suddenly, you shove your chair back. The sound of it screeching on the floor halting all conversation around you. Everyone looks up at you as you search for something to say.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” you announce. And then you hurry off. In the wrong direction. You have to walk back past your table which hasn’t recovered from the sudden interruption yet and is still very much silent. Your cheeks burn from more than just arousal, and it’s a relief when you can disappear behind a wall. You lean back against the cool brick, fighting for your breath, but every time you think about what happened back at the table, your walls flutter and your core pulses. The threat of coming right then and there hovers somewhere in the back of your mind, proving just wired you’ve become.

The bathrooms are separated into a room where the sinks are stationed against the wall, along with four doors leading into the actual toilets – not exactly stalls, as they provide more privacy and keep any possible sounds from reaching the dining area. With all the doors ajar and the rooms behind them therefore empty, you take the opportunity to let down your guard and collect yourself for a moment. You’ve just turned on the cold water from the faucet, when the main door is shoved open.

Harvey stands in the doorway, chest rising and falling, his gaze locked on your shocked form.

“Harvey, this is the women’s rest room,” you scold in a whisper.

He frowns, leaning back to examine the sign posted outside the door. “It’s unisex.”

The door falls shut behind him with a heavy thud. He rushes to you, greeting you with eager kisses. Desperate and excited to taste you, he wraps his body around you to take and give as his needs demand, hard kisses falling. Turning your back towards the sink, he takes advantage of the position, rolling his hips against you, rubbing hard enough to provoke a restrained moan from you. He answers your call with a groan.

A groan which wakes you. You break away from his lips – a move he doesn’t take it too hard, already drawing a path down to your collarbone with unyielding kisses. “Harvey, we don’t have time.”

“I need you,” are his only words.

“They’re going to wonder what we’re doing. Scratch that, they’re going to know what we’re doing.”

He finds the spot on your shoulder which never fails to send pulses of fire through you. Every drag and hard kiss weakening your knees, forcing you to lean on him. “Who cares,” his harsh breath over your skin. “Let them know.”

“What has gotten into you?” You ask, only mildly concerned as he herds you towards the privacy of the toilets.

“I’m always like this, sweetheart. Any time I see you. This time you’ve just pushed too many buttons for me to hide it. I can’t wait.”

“I’ve pushed your buttons?” You ask incredulously. He has been the one to shove his hand into your pants every chance he’s gotten. “When?”

He’s silent as he begins tugging your skirt up around your hips.

You mind wanders, searches, now that he’s too busy undressing you to make it melt out of your ears. Finally, it clicks. The blush you’d caught earlier. “You mean in the wedding dress?”

He unbuckles his belt, looking bashful even as he plans to fuck you in a public bathroom.

Oh, you’re so going to tease him about that later.

He’s manoeuvred you against one of the walls, an arm planted next to your head as he uses the other to hook your thigh around his waist. His skin burns where your fingers greedily feel him, eyes falling closed and his destination momentarily forgotten as he stretches into your touch.

It’s madness. Madness driving you, madness keeping you both always so ill with lust that there’s no cure except the closeness of each other. Nothing except him sliding inside of you.

He holds his fingers up to your face and you dutifully take them into your mouth, licking and sucking on the skin offered to you. Harvey hisses through his teeth, lips sealing shut to keep his moan from reaching too far out beyond these four walls. Smirking at the opportunity to tease, you pull back from his fingers until just the tips rest in your mouth. His eyes closed to focus on the sensation, he doesn’t see what you’re planning on doing. Not until you’ve taken the soft pads of his fingers between your teeth, nipping luxuriously at them.

He jumps, eyes flying open. Hardened exhales break from him as he watches you. You don’t let go. Moving one of those strong hands to your nape, he pulls your head back slowly, just enough for it to sting at the root of your hair. You release him with a lick. His mouth drops open and he catches yours in a deep kiss.

Closer and closer he moulds his body to yours, cradling every sound in his chest as he works his hips against yours. He hasn’t removed your underwear yet, keeping his cock tantalisingly out of reach behind the thin barrier. Yet you still feel him, feel his head catching on your clit, sending sparks through you. Driving you higher and higher until you’re both feverous with want, he finally takes mercy on you. Pulling your underwear to the side, and with a last lick of his own, he lets two of his moistened fingers pave the way inside of you. The way you stand, with so little room, you feel every knuckle as it slips into you. As they spread and coax your body to soon welcome a larger object.

Your head falls back against the wall, a whine expelled. He leans down to catch it in a kiss.

“We have to be quiet.”

In this moment you could care less about the warning. But you force yourself to bite down on your lips, exhaling purposefully to keep the sounds to a minimum within your chest.

Finally, he pulls his fingers from your cunt, sending shivers through you as they catch on every nerve on the way out. A quick ripping of plastic, and then he hikes up your thigh, mindful of the past injury despite the frenzy, pressing himself as close as he can. And then he slides home.

Despite being the one to warn, Harvey moans soundly, the echoes of it enveloping you. The forearm that was braced against the walls slides back to you, cradling and angling your head until every centimetre he needs of you is open and available to him. A feast of you.

He moves his hips in a strong, fast rhythm, taking care to curl his hips on the way in and out, hitting your most sensitive wall more than not. That, along with the minutes of torture from the table, has you rapidly approaching ecstasy. From the hitched breaths falling against your neck where his moustache scrapes and kisses, you’re instinctively aware that Harvey’s not far behind.

The need inside of your curls tighter and tighter. Higher and higher he shoves you, until you’re clawing at his back, mewing both to get away and to get closer. A hand falls to your bundle of nerves, circling it and pressing with just the right amount of pressure.

A sudden light pinch, and the world falls away. Your chest heaves and a gasp gives way to full body shudders. Beyond it you hear him, hear the flesh of you both slapping together, hushed moans and dirty whispers exchanged until he finally stops, driving as much of himself inside of you as he can. His body trembles against yours, his breath hot in your ear.

The small space is filled with panting breaths, with hearts trying to calm after the race. And then, with laughter. Hushed giggles and glances of adoration. Harvey caresses the side of your face, the devotion in his gaze inviting you in, allowing you to draw all of the comfort that you need. For a moment, you’re suspended, before you drop back into your body.

Against his lips, with now kisses much softer, you feel his words more than hear them.

“I love you.”

And life feels a little easier.

Until, of course, you have to face the smug looks of everyone at the table.

 

***

A man unfolds his crossed arms and takes a step towards you. His fist is clenched and quickly aimed down at you.

Somehow, you’re on the floor. You can’t breathe, you can’t see. The room is turned upside down. He yanks on your hair, lifting you from the ground. Your scalp burns. You still strain for air.

You can’t tell how long he’s been doing this. Has he just begun? Is he at the end?

Silly little girl.

It never ends.

 

You blink. Reaching out, you trace the pattern of freckles on Harvey’s shoulders until your heart has calmed, and your eyelids once again become too heavy to lift.

***

Notes:

• The domestic kink is explored once again. Harvey is hot for reader in a wedding dress – go figure. World Record of Commitment… Commitment kink? Is that a thing?
• To those who have ever been inside of a wedding boutique, you’ll know how overwhelming it is. Those assistants are a life-line – a lighthouse in a storm. I got lost once on the way back from the toilet and ended up cheering for the wrong bride.
• Two nightmares in one – my, how frequent they are getting.
• I’m going on a hiking trip. I’m praying to the developers for my safe return, and to keep the Ao3 curse away from me. If I get eaten by a wolf, I'll sue.

Chapter 46: A Hairy Tale

Summary:

You make a few deliveries and Harvey gets a haircut. And get a taste of jealous-Reader.

Notes:

• So sorry I didn’t upload within my usual 2 week window. I honestly just slept through the entire last week and didn’t realise how much time had passed lol.

The short walk into town has already robbed you of your breath, and you’re coming to regret the deal you’ve made with Pierre.

In hopes of getting the most out of the end of the season, Pierre has pre-sold a lot of your harvest, hoping to sell as much as possible as soon as possible. Something he’d neglected to inform you of before he did it. Now everything is ready and packed up, and in the spirit of cooperation, you’ve agreed to deliver them. Even though Pierre was supposed to do the selling part, while you did – well – everything else. You don’t know how that guy keeps getting away with this stuff. And yet, it’s better than giving into Joja Corp., who continue to pester you to take their deals.

Or at least that’s what you tell yourself as you set everything down, wiping sweat from your forehead. Right as you’re about to wish harm onto Pierre’s bloodline – comforted by the fact that no one in town belongs to it – a voice calls your name.

Harvey emerges from the clinic, running out in his doctor’s coat and stethoscope around his neck. As he comes to stand before you, he can’t seem to stand still. He shifts a little on his feet and rubs at his neck – even inhaling deeply before he manages to rapidly get out his greeting to you.

“Hi- hello, hi, sweetheart.”

You feel yourself cocking your head to the side, taking him in. “Hey, is everything okay?” You drag the words; concern laced within them.

He takes off his glasses and starts to clean them, lowering his gaze to it and stammering for a response. You place your own hand over his to stop the obsessive wiping of the now very spotless glass. “Harvey. What’s on your mind?”

 With a large exhale, he pushes some of his hair out of his face. That haircut needs to happen as soon as possible. Tomorrow, you decide as you wait for him to gather his words.

“Before we celebrate with everyone else on Saturday, I was wondering if you’d like to meet me by the railroad tracks?”

You blink. Was that it? “What for?”

He hesitates, a red tint matching the leaves of the bushes around you. “I’d very much like to show you something.”

“Is it dirty?”

He flashes a smirk at your suggestive tone, but he quickly recovers his serious sense, urging you to do the same.

“Yes, Harvey, of course I’ll meet you by the tracks. What time would you like me to be there?”

“Around three in the afternoon would be good. It’ll give us a couple of hours.” A couple of hours for what, he didn’t say. But the way he wrings his hands, his eyes shining into yours, communicates its importance to you. Shit, now not even a storm would be able to keep you away – and a week’s notice will give you plenty of time to warn any of your friends and neighbours against getting hurt and possibly interrupting the afternoon Harvey’s planned for you both.

Too caught up in the next step now that he’s secured your acceptance, Harvey completely forgets to kiss you goodbye. At the sound of your protest, he shuffles back, plants one on your forehead before hurrying off. Bemused, you watch him almost trip over George on the way back to the clinic.

Equally afflicted with distraction, the scuffle in the bushes around you are beyond your notice. Your gaze remains fixed on Harvey, too preoccupied to see the shadow falling over you from behind. Head in the clouds, you would have remained there if not for the sudden burst from behind you.

“Do you think he’s going to propose?”

You startle, hand to your chest as you whirl around. “Shane, do you have a fucking death wish or something?”

“Killing me would be really stupid, Paulie, even for you. Lest you forget, I have an army of chickens at my disposal, all ready to avenge me.” Alleviating you of one of the baskets, Shane settles in for a stroll with you through town as you make your deliveries.

“Do you have a degree or something? Learned to read recently?” You demand.

He huffs a laugh, letting you evade his question in favour of this new and more interesting subject, “why?”

You gesture vaguely at him, “you keep using all these fancy words and phrases. You even used “whom” correctly once – where the hell have you been hiding that kind of vocabulary?”

“I’ve always talked like that.”

“That’s a bold-faced lie.”

A chuckle. “Alright, fine,” he concedes. With a heavy sigh, he sheepishly confesses, “I’ve been doing Jas’ homework with her – and it’s taught me a thing or two.”

It takes a solid two minutes of straight laughter before you can even think to stand up again, crumbled in a crouch on the ground. Shane regards you with little amusement, waiting impatiently for you to cease the mocking. As fucking if.

“I can’t believe you’re laughing at a man trying to educate himself.”

You wipe a tear, “I’m not. I’m laughing at you.”

“Right, I feel better now. Do you want to get up or do you want to carry this shit yourself?”

“Alright, alright, untwist your panties,” you say, moving to the door of the first house.

You both get as far as Lewis’ house without incident, when a phone suddenly rings and stops just as quickly. Rounding the hedge, you spot Lewis with his back to you, his tiny garden shovel resting on his hip as he listens intently to the person on the other end. You and Shane both watch him as you slowly pass by his house.

Apparently hearing you, Lewis sharply looks around until his eyes fall on you, wide as if you’ve startled him. You give him a slight wave, lifting your arm and the side of your jacket along with it. His gaze falls to your chest, something in it hardening and dimming all at once. The usual rage-fed fire turning to ashes as he takes you in. You look down, finding you’ve accidentally exposed Robin’s campaign button.

“A little over a year ago – why? What do you know?” He asks into the phone, turning his back on you and heading into the house without returning your gesture.

A cold breeze passes by the house, raising the hairs along your arms. You gather your jacket closer around you, watching the house where Lewis disappeared with an eerie feeling tightening your chest.

“I can’t wait until we don’t have to deal with him as our mayor anymore.”

You turn to Shane, brows furrowed, “because you’ve had a lot of dealings with him before?”

He turns his head towards the road, away from you. “I liked you better when you were an anti-social loser.”

You laugh sarcastically, shoving your foot out in between his and watch him stumble forward.

 

***

 

The afternoon is stretching into evening, the sun hovering much lower than you’ve gotten used to, and a group of you are gathered at Emily and Haley’s house for a movie. Emily’s popping popcorn on the stove, a mess all around her as she’d forgotten to put on the lid the first time she attempted this. The cushions sink as Maru plops down on the other end of the couch, Leah quickly taking the seat next to her. For a moment you watch the red hair cascading as the artists leans her head against Maru’s shoulder – you feel happy for them, but a part of you can’t help but note Penny’s absence. You hope it’s because she has plans and not because she’s avoiding scenes like these.

In the corner, the sounds of scissors snipping away can be heard in between hushed conversation. Alex is strapped into a chair, his eyes trained on the beautiful blond circling him with sharp tools.

“You’re going to be done with the buzzer and stuff before we start the movie, right, Haley?”

Said blond makes a noncommittal sound, earning an eyeroll from her sister. But what Emily doesn’t see is how Haley glances at the clock, then at the popcorn process, and lastly back at the task at hand. Yeah, you’re not worried about the two activities overlapping.

Leah turns to you, her fingers interlaced with the arm casually slung over her shoulders, “I can’t believe you’ve never watched Casablanca. Who raised you?”

You swallow heavily before you scoot forward, grabbing the neck of your soda bottle. “Blasphemous heathens, apparently.”

The comment earns you a laugh and the conversation mercifully moves on to other classic movies. You nod and feign reactions that match the others’ while your nerves progressively tighten – the ruins of your old walls gradually rising around you the further into unknown territory the discussion goes.

The violent popping against the metal pot persists somewhere behind you, each blow trying to coax a visible flinch from you. The click of plastic sounds as Haley assembles the buzzer, followed by the loud whirring as she mows the sides of Alex’s head. The laughter rises and rises. Words are shouted across the house. Your fingers tighten around the glass bottle, lifting it to your mouth in mindless attempt to soothe with bubbles. Through clenched teeth and a facade of peaceful smiles, you fight to slow your breath. What is going on with you?

The world fades in and out. Hidden behind a fog travelling past you intermittently. You blink it away, trying to crawl your way back into the conversation only to be ripped back down by your neck. Unfolding your legs, you plant them on the ground too loudly. It gains the attention of the people sat around the sofa table.

Someone says something. You realise they’re addressing you. You realise this. But you can’t see who’s spoken, you can’t hear what they’re saying.

Through numb lips, you say, “what?” Or, at least, you hope that’s what you said. The sounds echo back into your head, as if you’ve said them while wearing headphones. And a million ants crawl on and bite at your legs, but when you try to wipe them away there’s nothing there. Out of options, you rush up from the couch.

Shifting on your feet, you’re suddenly indecisive about where to go. Where to go. Where can you go? You can’t leave, that would be weird. Why do you want to leave? You don’t have the answers, you just know what your body strains for.

Just then the front door opens and a cold breeze rushes in, momentarily clearing your gaze, soothing your body as it shoves its way into your lungs. You inhale deeply, the scents of outside breaking through your haze. The door closes again as Harvey steps through, immediately shrugging off his coat. Deep brown eyes look around, greeting everyone before they settle on you. Not completely in control of your faculties, you pray you don’t crush anyone’s feet as you move towards your doctor.

With your movements a tad too jerky, you see the slight alarm in Harvey’s gaze before he allows you to wrap your arms around him. His own trunks frame you, pulling you in close to his chest. Inhaling a deep, purposeful breath, his chest expands against yours. Like a moth to a flame, you follow his movements immediately.

And the world…

Slows…

Down.

Nosing where you can reach on his neck, you fill your body with his smell, focusing on it. The same scent that wraps around your pillow and covers, waking you and wishing you good night. The same one that comforts you as you fight through the unconscious world. That holds you in moments of happiness, of sadness. The scent that now wraps around you, keeping you steady as you find your legs once more.

His lips tickling the shell of your ear, he whispers, “are you okay?”

You nod and pull back to kiss him softly, acutely aware of the audience behind you. Taking his hand, you lead him over to your spot on the couch, cramming his large form into the limited space you had reserved. Emily shrieks as the lid momentarily shifts to the side, forced to dodge as a wild popcorn come flying out. Laughter and teasing follow, and soon the debate is back to its highest point once more.

Your fingers press into the hand calmy holding yours.

He squeezes back. And you continue to breathe steadily.

A harsh bark of a laugh sounds behind you, encouraging you all to turn to Alex. His focus is locked on Harvey, as it so often is. He almost always finds a way to single him out. You feel your blood rushing to your head in preparation for what he might say to your doctor. Defence at ready to blow this guy’s fucking head off.

“Looks like you need a haircut more than me, Doctor Becker,” taunts Alex.

Good natured Harvey chuckles and brushes a hand through the wilderness of his hair, appearing to ignore the tone aimed at him. “You might be right, Alex.”

“I can cut it for you tomorrow, if you’d like,” you suggest.

Harvey turns a grin to you, mouth open and ready with what you assume is a grateful acceptance when he’s interrupted by Haley.

“Or I can just do it right now.”

Emily bears a frown and two bowls overflowing with popcorn to the sofa table. Despite her usually fantastical and at times naïve world-view, Emily is visibly sceptical of the offer from her sister. She turns to her, hands on her hips as she watches Haley brush the loose hairs off of Alex’s head and shoulders. “That’s surprisingly nice of you.”

Haley scoffs, tossing a glossy golden wave over her shoulder. “I am nice. You’d know that if you ever stopped nagging me for like five seconds.”

“Thank you, Haley,” Harvey intercepts quickly before Emily can spew a retort. “I’d like that.”

A part of you twinges with disappointment, but you comfort yourself with the promise of being the one to do it next time.

As Haley releases him from the cape, Alex stands and moves from the chair. He gives Haley a quick peck on the cheek and, thankfully, leaves, gym bag in hand. Harvey takes the now unoccupied space and you distantly watch as he’s strapped in.

Haley swoops the glasses from his face, placing them on a surface area near her. She doesn’t see the startled look on Harvey’s wide eyes and slight recoil before he settles in again. She starts by brushing his hair, creating a cloud around his face which earns him a round of snickers and teasing, which he receives very stoically. You lean your head on your arms that are resting on the back of the sofa, enjoying that he’s facing you directly. You scrunch your nose at him, hoping for a little reaction, but realise quickly that you’re too far away for him to see you.

Dainty hands run through his hair, analysing it and parting it in her preferred way. Your sharp gaze tracks every stroke she gives him. It takes your friends a few tries before they can get your attention and even then you fall back into a trance almost immediately after you’ve answered. A foul feeling rises in your stomach. Knots and twists that keep you from reaching for the popcorn. Why can’t you stop staring?

“Sweetheart?”

“Hm?”

“Are you looking at me?”

“I sure am,” you answer, a slight purr underneath it.

“I wasn’t sure. I can just see the general shape of you right now and it’s very eerie.”

You let out a dreamy sigh. “Who needs a sonnet when you have a boyfriend that describes you like this?”

A snort sounds from Leah. “Sonnet 130 vibes.”  

You give her a begrudging fist-bump of respect for the reference.

Haley hums a small sound. “It’s so weird to hear someone refer to Harvey as ‘boyfriend’.”

“Why?” Demands Emily.

A shrug of pearly shoulders. “I mean, no offense, but it’s like hearing your teacher has a life outside of the classroom.”

Snip of the scissors cut through the thoughtful silence. Haley adjusts his head positioning by tipping his chin and you almost swallow your tongue, a sudden rush of blood to your head.

“Haley, mind if I give it a try?”

Snapping her head up from the task, Haley looks at you with mild surprise. Her mouth forms a small ‘o’ and her delicate brows rise ever so slightly. You don’t blame her – your request coming from seemingly out of nowhere. She looks down at the barely half-finished work and then back at you before shrugging, placing the tools on the table.

“Then you clean it up.”

“Deal.”  You hop up next to them, quickly taking over.

But first.

You lean down, placing a lingering kiss on his cheekbone. When you rise you see the red bloom over his ears.

The haircut goes by fast. Though you would’ve liked to savour it, there was an audience and people waiting on you to finish so they could start the movie. Instead, you take what you can get. The soft feel of his hair through your fingers pleasing you to no end; the scratching of your nails over his scalp sending his eyelids fluttering. At one point his hand sneaks out from under the cape, coiling possessively around your thigh. He caresses you through the jeans – not somewhere indecently, but bordering on it – causing you almost to stap yourself in your half-distracted state.

You tug a little at his hair, just enough to scold. Harvey clenches his jaw in response, eyes falling closed. Worried you’ve done it too hard, you check his gaze for pain. But when he opens his eyes you almost gasp at the bloom of pupils you find aimed up at you, the honey swirls gone leaving only the darkest edges of his coffee eyes.

Alright, time to finish this up so you can watch that fuck-ass old movie and get him home.

***

 

 Harvey locks the door to the farmhouse behind you. A silence hangs heavy over your home, filling the air between you with tension so thick you at last can’t stand it.

“And another thing-“

Harvey laughs, dropping his work bag by the dining table. “I knew it.”

You continue, “It’s not just a tragic little love story between the dude and the girl.”

“Rick and Ilsa,” Harvey reminds you lovingly.

“It’s like a love letter to the idea of the free world. I mean, the directors didn’t know for sure that they would win the war yet, so it just carries so much hope. And that Rick guy loses the girl, but he finds this cause that he thinks is worth killing for. We love personal growth.”

While you continue your rant, Harvey has taken a seat by the dining table, watching you pace the room with bright eyes. As you finish, you come to stand before him, placing your hands on his shoulders while his own find your waist.

“Okay,” you sigh. “Now I’m done.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed the movie.”

“I really did. Sorry for talking your ear off the whole way home.”

He shakes his head, his much shorter hair now barely moving with him. “I could listen to you talk about it all night, sweetheart. I just wish I had brought my camera. You looked beautiful under the moonlight. I loved how you just lost yourself completely in the details.”

You flush, stepping back out of shyness and seeking shelter in the kitchen. He can flip you like an omelette in bed, but God forbid he tells you you’re pretty. But you guess he was right.

Despite the mini-anxiety thing earlier, you were so absorbed on the way home that you didn’t even check behind you or look for any of the signs of a disturbance on the property. Sloppy, but also kind of a relief. Perhaps the sky won’t fall down if you allow yourself to be careless.

Perhaps you can start to hope that… maybe he won’t find you. Maybe he’s dead somewhere. Shot in the line of duty. A drunk driver hit him and killed him right there on the side of the road. He had an aneurysm. He fell down the stairs and bled to death. His arms and legs were amputated. He went blind, those blues turned milky-white – or better yet, someone scooped them out with a watermelon spoon. Maybe, just maybe, it’s safe to let go a little.

You bring out two glasses of water and find Harvey roaming around near his work bag. “Oh, please tell me you didn’t get called out.”

He looks over his shoulder at you before he fishes out the pager, studying it with a frown. “Apparently not. I just- I thought I heard it beeping.”

“Workaholic,” you fire, the glasses making a thud against the table as you set them down.

“Like calls to like.” He smirks, pulling you in. Your arms go under the jacket of his suit, wrapping around him. The heat of him through the clothes melts your brain and sends your heartbeat running around the room – the excitement and steadiness of having him near is like downing a sleeping pill with an energy drink; your body unable to figure out just what the fuck to do.

Have Baby purr at your feet while you sleep on his chest?

Or throw baby outside and lick your way down his chest?

Choices, choices…Sophie had it easy.

Your hands pull out from under his clothes, reaching up to run through the new length of his hair. You grimace slightly.

“What?” He laughs the word. “What’s that face for?”

A sigh is pulled from you. “Your hair.”

He covers one of your hands with his own, feeling the shorter strands through your fingers. “What? I think you did a great job with it. Did you miss a spot or something?”

“I guess I’ve gotten used to the long hair. It’s almost the same amount of grief as if you’d shaved your moustache.”

“My dearest darling,” his voice low and soft, he pulls you into the warm embrace of his gaze, securing your attention. “You’ll never see me without my moustache.”

You give small pout. “You promise?”

“On my honour as a doctor.” Unable to keep the serious pretence any longer, he huffs and lowers his head down to yours, kissing you until you yield as well.

His tongue runs along your lower lip, and suddenly the rosy bubble is popped. You open your mouth, deepening the taste with little warning. The surprised whimper from him fuels you. He clutches you further to his chest, almost picking you up in attempt to have you closer. Your fingernails run down his scalp to his neck, enjoying the moans he so freely spills into you through kisses. Surging forward, you grind yourself against his hardening front.

You pull apart, panting breaths shared, both eager to get just enough air in to survive another burst.

Harvey dives for another kiss, when suddenly his face gathers in a painful grimace.

“What-what? What the fuck?” You say, watching him fall to one knee.

From behind him, you see Baby hanging on by her claws, venturing to climb Mt. Becker with blood, sweat, and tears – none of them being her own.

You hurry to unhook the beast from your boyfriend, placing her outside with a little kiss to her forehead. After one or two worried nights, Shane built her a little house outside where she’s very safe from danger and the elements. And any remaining guilt at throwing her out is immediately doused when you turn back to Harvey rubbing at place behind his leg where she must really have peeled back the skin.

Still standing, you take his lowered head and squish it against your body, caressing his hair while cooing words of comfort to him. “There, there.”

“I probably asked for it,” he mumbles into you.

“At least it wasn’t as bad as that time when you walked naked to the bathroom.” Baby seems to believe that everything that swings is a toy.

His shoulders shake at the memory, and you fight to keep in a snort.

“Have you had enough time to recover or is the mood ruined permanently for tonight?”

His head shifts as he looks up at you. You still have your hands on the back of his neck, fingers reaching into his hair – getting used to the feeling of it. “My ego and pride have been severely wounded.”

You consider this. “Want me to kiss it better?”

And kiss it better you did.

 

***

 

 

“He’s too close, I can’t give you a ride out of the city.”

The storm is brewing outside, the wind pushing at the window frame, testing it. The danger outside pressing in, wanting to swallow the small light illuminating the desk you’re leaning against. Rain and blood soak the carpet underneath you.

She’s moving around the room, desperately putting things into your bag. Anything she can think of. You’re on borrowed time and she knows it.

You pant, arms shaking with the strain of holding you up, but the relief of keeping pressure off your bad leg too sweet to let go. She offered you a seat, but for some reason you’re very concerned about the very permanent stains you’ll be leaving on her expensive chairs.

She comes around the table, ripping open drawers and dumping their contents onto the table between you. She looks up briefly – then does a double take.

“Holy fuck,” she whispers. “And you’re sure you can’t go to a hospital?”

A sneering smile steals over your face.

“Right, you’ve tried that before.” She doesn’t mention your state again.

Your backpack is heavy with rain as she helps you shove your arms through it. A hiss of pain leaves you as it scrapes against your back. She guides you out to the large road just outside her house, to the bus stop. She’s gives you the same directions she’s been giving you for the past half hour.

Take the bus to the city and then walk back.

All the way to a small town. The deed to your temporary shelter nestled in layers and layers of stuff, in hopes of keeping it from falling apart or moulding before you get there.

“I’ll let you know if he’s on your trail. I’ll call.”

You turn once you reach the other side of the road. Watching her as she stays just within property lines, watching her stand in her colourful robe, expensive earrings in even after she’s just come out of the shower, and an equally impressive stone around her neck. One she always fidgets with when she’s worried – once she’s obsessively touching now.

 If all goes well, this is the last time you’ll ever see her.

“Thank you, aunt Medea.”

 

***

Your eyes fly open. It’s quiet. Soft breathing beside you. The covers slide over your body as you rise from the bed. You pull on your clothes. Where it usually creaks, the door yields without a single sound. You stand on the veranda, looking up at the brilliant moon. Following its light down, you see a dark figure standing ten meters out. The dark hat points towards the sky.

He turns and leaves.

You close the door and follow.

Baby stays, shifting uneasily, watching you go.

Notes:

• Hope you guys enjoyed this week’s fluff! Making it count
• Damn, Lewis, who are you on the phone with?
• Where the hell are you going bro? And why is Baby – who has, in the past, always been eager to follow you into the darkness – decided to stay behind? Can we all just chill? no I will not

Chapter 47: The Long Night

Summary:

Ice drops into your veins. Stone cold sweat breaks from your skin, running from terror inside of you, slowly filling every single cell of your being. “You talk to him? He knows I’m here?”

“Am I awake?” The words echo out around you, calling back to you from unknown parts of the forest.

Up ahead, in between rows of trees, you see a shadow pass. “Does it matter?”

Something brushes over the dry leaves hiding the forest floor, and you turn in that direction. “I think so.”

“Try again!” The demand sharp and loud, as if spoken right next to you.

You turn again. Nothing but a shadow running in your peripheral.

Is this a dream?

No.

“Yes.”

A dark chuckle calls from the treetops.

“What do you want then?” The voice calls. “For your little dream.”

“You came to me,” you counter. A branch snaps behind you and you whirl around. There’s a burst of laughter which drifts upwards and out, like a bird taking flight.

“This impatience has been building in you for too long. I have seen you; the glances towards my tower; the letters addressed to me which were never sent. There’s something you want to know. Ask it.”

There is something you’ve wanted to know for a while now. Questions and wonderings, and endless nights pouring over a simple document. A box that sits in your throat like a too large pill. You’d sit at a table surrounded by friends and all of a sudden your soul twists; it writhes within your body, seeking to escape the crushing wave of what was and what might have been.

You expel the words on a gasp, “What happened to my grandfather?”

The moss-covered ground shifts beneath you. With horror you watch as it stirs, inflating, growing, stretching. The earth groans with it, trembling, as it opens and swallows you whole. You try to scream but are cut off by your throat being filled with dirt and leaves. Violent coughs break from you, but your efforts are in vain. Your lungs strain under the pressure.

A match strikes.

A thousand candles light up all around you, revealing tall stone walls. You heave onto the wet ground you’re sitting on, clawing at your mouth now that you can finally move your limbs. In shock you look down upon your empty hands, shaking, not a speck of dirt anywhere on them.

Actually, you think this might be the cleanest they’ve been since you took up farming.

The immediate danger of choking alleviated, you frantically look around the illuminated space. You hear water rushing all around you, and with the dirt gone the stench of the place finally penetrates your panicked mind.

“The sewers.” Wonder and panic unsteady in your voice. You rise. “Why are we here?” You ask the man standing against the newly made wall.

Rasmodius pushes himself off the stone. “As you have seen, girl, I understand the world a little differently than you do. I see and do things adjacent to where you see me now. That is how I have kept chaos under lock and key for many, many years now.  It is how I can fulfil these wishes you townspeople have. Make deals.”

You keep quiet, watching him warily as he takes up a slow pace around the room.

“Your grandfather, no matter the hardships, never came to me. Not even when I offered.”

A scoff. “Why would you offer anything?”

Dark eyes fix on you – age and knowledge swirling around behind them. “You may call it curiosity. Nonetheless, your grandfather refused help. He seemed to believe that hard work and starvation was truly the only way to repent.”

“Repent... For what?”

“Oh, you know what.” The silence stretches between you. He turns his head with a lingering look and continues his pacing. “When you became old enough to visit the farm on your own, the abuse you suffered was quite clear – do not look so surprised, girl, more adults than you realise knew this the moment they saw you – and so, he strived to gain full custody of you. I offered my help, and - for a second time - he refused me.”

You suddenly have to squint against the sun beaming down on you, the cover of darkness from the sewers gone. Raising an arm, you attempt to block it out as you look over a property you vaguely recognise. You’re standing by the edge of the woods, far enough away to not be noticed by the little girl practically flying through the flowers and fields around her. The little girl turns towards the house and stands up in her tiptoes to wave with her whole body at the older man siting on the steps.

Your heart beats faster, urging you on as you take a hurried step forward.

The scene dissolves, falling apart until you’re back in the sewers. The Wizard watches you calmly as you fight for deep inhales, your hands curled into tight fists.

“That was cruel,” you force out in your coldest voice.

He merely smiles and continues his speech. “He eventually did come to me. Knocked on my tower door in the early morning hours, coughing up a lung. He pleaded for my help. And I was glad to give it to him.”

He notices the frown on your face.

“You see, I had never gotten to use this particular trick before, and I was excited. I had only done something akin to it back when I saved a small creature from a war you humans never even noticed.”

A cold feeling crawls down your back. With a glance to the side, you realise a couple of the candles have gone out, leaving a few spaces in complete darkness. In a shadow.

Trying to hide the tremble in your voice, you force venom into it as you spit your words at the Wizard, “I’m not interested in how you get your rocks off in that creepy little tower.”

His unblinking eyes widen as a toothy grin curls into his cheeks, turning up his beard. “I will allow it this once because I find it amusing, but refrain from using vulgar comments like that with me again.”

The warning settles and he moves on.

***

The old man is wet, drenched to the bone in broken jacket. And yet the cough he spews is far deeper than any mild infection.

“Have you come to beg for your life, old friend?”

“We are not friends.” And then another fit of coughs. I allow him to gather himself, wise of his wish to continue. “And I’m not here to beg for my life. You must help me save my granddaughter.”

Finally. At last the chance to dive into the energy of a stubborn man like him. And just in time. What a shame it would have been to waste all of this when he passes. “How would you like me to do that?”

For a man I have reluctantly called smart once or twice, his hesitation now disappoints me gravely. My smile falls. “I would suggest coming up with something yourself. My ideas are rarely beneficial for the recipient.”

He takes the seat by the door. I turn back to my reading, getting lost in the ancient histories of my diary when he speaks up again.

“Let her find a way to this place and make sure it will always protect her.”

I consider this, having already calculated my price as I ask him, “what will you give me in return?”

I can see this question shocks him. His mouth falling open and closed as he fumbles for something to say. “You’ve pestered me about this for so long, I figured-“

“That I would be so grateful I would do it all for free? No. You should have taken me up on my offer when I gave it freely. You came to me this time. Therefore, I ask again, what will you give me in return?”

***

“I thought you said you were happy to do it!” Outrage clear in your voice.

He smiles, snuffing out a candle with a single finger, as if shushing the flame. Ew. “I had to make sure he was ready.” The darkness around him grows. It moves, shuddering in the corners.

You drag your gaze back to him, eyeing the smug man carefully. “Ready for what?”

***

 

“I will give you anything. I will do anything.” His voice is desperate, yet he remains seated. His weakness betraying him even now in the most crucial time of his short life. And he is dripping all over my floor.

I move towards the bookcase, finding a tome light as a feather. It has only the purest, stripped to the root instructions, awaiting eagerly my own personal notes and additions to make it more complex. More detailed. More beautiful.

“A protection spell of this magnitude demands constant energy.” I turn the pages over in a manner as delicate as a lover’s touch. “Only something that desperately wants it can keep it fed. And my apologies, but I do not care about this little girl enough.”

The man looks out into space, his grey hair hanging in wet clumps around his head. He knows what I am going to say. Yet, partly due to properness and partly for my own pleasure, I say it anyway, “It will require your soul being chained to this place.”

***

“Binding a soul to something is the highest adrenaline rush. But binding a willing soul? You cannot even imagine the euphoric experience of it.”

You’re sitting on the ground, leaning against one of the walls. You watch as the flame from the candle above you flickers, causing your own shadow to dance along the floor. “Did it hurt him?”

It’s not until you’re brave enough to look Rasmodius in the eye that he answers, his tone gentle enough to soothe a newborn. “I made sure it did not.”

You turn back to stare off into space, nodding your head.

Large boots with a cape dragged behind it come into your field of view. He crouches down, an inhuman grace that creeps you the fuck out.

“The story is not as bad as you fear it to be.”

“My grandfather’s soul has been in purgatory for years, just so you could practice a little spell. You took advantage of a scared, dying man. And he allowed himself to be driven that far because of me. If this is your idea of “not as bad” I thank the stars I’ll never have to live a day in your mind.”

“He wanted this,” the Wizard’s voice booms through the room. You barely manage to reel in your flinch. “He was relieved knowing he was finally able to do something. Every year you did not come, I asked him if he wanted to be released of his duty. He always said no.”

Ice drops into your veins. Stone cold sweat breaks from your skin, running from terror inside of you, slowly filling every single cell of your being. “You talk to him? He knows I’m here?”

He nods.

“Can I-“

“You cannot speak with him. Not yet.”

You curl into a ball, hugging your knees close as your head drops into them. “Why are you telling me all of this?” The words coming out muffled, afraid to be answered.

“For a myriad of reasons; because you are finally stable enough to bear it, for one. To remind you of the frailty of spells, to remind you of the importance of choosing your words just so.”

“What do you mean?” Your voice almost a whine. He’s beginning to make less and less sense, the world around him tilting nauseatingly. You wish he would look away, you wish those dark eyes would stop flashing purple. At this rate you’re going to puke all over the floor.

“I’m helping you now, in respect for your grandfather. He asked for this place to protect you, and it will. When you are in that house, nothing can hurt you.”

“That was all his soul was worth? The square meters of the farmhouse?”

“Watch your tone, girl.”

“Fuck you.”

He exhales sharply, the air parting his beard. He watches you from narrowed eyes, still crouched in front of you. You’re giving as good as you’re getting, shooting fires of hate at him, determined to be defiant to the end.

“There are other places where his soul can reach, places where creatures like me live. Who have heard his words and pleas and are willing to help you. Let your instincts guide you when it’s time.”

You roll yours eyes. “Oh, screw you and this cryptic shit.”

“I see you are unwilling to hear more. I so often forget the limitations of human mind.” He cracks a smirk. “Remember what I said. Remember the specifics.”

“Yeah, yeah, if I step into the road his ghost won’t shove me out of the way of oncoming traffic,” you mock dismissively.

A fast hand snatches your chin, holding it in a punishing grasp. You gasp, clawing at the skin shaking with fury.

“The place will protect you, girl. Not the people. Be careful of the enemies you’re making.”

He shoves you back. Where you expect the brutal crack of your head against stone, there is nothing. Nothing to help you as you flail backwards, falling through the earth once more. Down becomes up and up becomes down. Time falls away and there is nothing but your endless struggle for air.

When you finally manage to open your eyes, you’re curled into the embrace of Harvey. You startle, quickly running your gaze around the room before you settle back on him as his murmurs of comfort finally penetrate your mind.

“You’re okay, you’re okay, it was just a bad dream. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

You take one of the hands cradling you, brushing your fingers over his knuckles. You don’t find comfort until you see the ring still on his little finger.

It was just a dream.

No.

Yes.

Notes:

• Had to tease with the summary, sorry about that.
• Gosh, I wonder who and what your grandfather has been talking to. And why in the world is the Wizard interested in helping you anyhow? And why now? What could possibly have happened?
• I hope the chaos and jumping back and forth wasn’t too much. I was trying to show just how scattered a mind like the Wizard would have is – without completely running off the road on the way to the point.

Chapter 48: Honey, I’m Home

Summary:

A regular day, getting shit done.

Harvey is sitting hunched over the equipment by the window, adjusting the radio for frequencies far out. His brows are furrowed behind the thick frames of his glasses; his moustache set over a focused mouth – the passion and eagerness in every movement so controlled as to not accidentally mess up a line he’s just happened upon.

You’re leaning against the door, sandwiches and coffee in hand, enduring the heat of the cardboard cup in favour of watching him. Balancing the gift under one arm, you rap a knuckle against the door, but as expected he doesn’t turn. This visit is a surprise, and so the headphones are pulled over both ears. Usually, he would leave one ear free to listen for you, jumping up before you’ve made it halfway through the clinic at times.

No, today you’ve got plenty of time to take him in as he’s bathed in early fall sunlight streaming in through the windows, completely absorbed by his project. With his green sweater flung over a chair behind him, Harvey’s left in a brilliantly white tee. He’d decided to dress more “modern”, which really just meant buying the same wardrobe over again after having used the same stuff for over a decade.

He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a strong finger, before the same hand writes some notes on the pad in front of him. A flutter spreads through you with every beat of your heart, bringing a small dose of what feels like cocaine with it for every round trip through the veins. There’s a pep in your step as you wander into his apartment, setting the items down on the dining table to not risk injury to his equipment.

A gentle hand places itself on his shoulder. You expect him to flinch, to tense underneath the sudden touch, but his shoulders remain lowered. He looks over his shoulder, a smile already ready for you, before he glances down to finish his thought. Off comes the headphones and you’re pulled into his lap.

“Harvey, honey, air,” you clap at his arm, but he only squeezes you tighter, encouraging a giggle from you.

“That’s the sweetest sound in the world,” he murmurs into your hair.

You scoff. “Sweeter than when you make contact with a plane?”

He hesitates.

You glance up at him, and his expression forces another giggle from you. His look of conflict so clearly overdone and fake you try to push him off you for his ridiculousness. His arms let up a little but are kept around you as he keeps up his charade. “How ever will I choose?”

You stick out your chin. “Him or me, Harvey. I can’t be your mistress any longer.”

“Him?” He asks incredulously. “What makes it a him?”

A finger fights it way up from the cage of his arms to his face. “First of all, you call it your equipment.”

He huffs.

Another finger. “Second of all, you somehow only talk to other men through it. Where are all the women pilots, Harvey?”

He wisely doesn’t answer that one.

“And third of all, because, well, look at it,” you wave at the machinery. At the drab appearance of the radio and the lack of uniform in the appearances of the devices. Really just the way a man would set it up.

“Hey, okay, now you’re just insulting the poor guy.”

He kisses the giggle right out of you before you eventually extract yourself from him.

His questioning look follows you to the table, where you pick up a small square wrapped in newspaper and tape. You hand it to him carefully, unable to meet his eye.

“What-“ He asks for a beat, before it dawns on him. The sound of paper carefully ripping fills the silence, slowly revealing what you’ve brought him.

“Oh, sweetheart,” the endearment leaving him with a hundred emotions you can’t possibly begin to discern from one another. However, it does give you the courage to look at him as he takes it in. His eyes are not flying all over the place like you’d expected, but rather they slowly peruse every detail and stroke you’ve placed on the canvas.

You bring your arms across your chest. “You asked for it a while back.”

“Can I touch it?” He asks.

“Of course, it’s yours,” you fiddle with the jewellery around your neck.

His fingers run over the long since dried paint protected by a varnish. “It’s the moonlight jellies festival.”

The need to explain overwhelms you. “I just, I felt inspired after the latest festival. And I remembered the first time and I, well…” You wave at the painting.

It portrays the vast darkness of the sea and sky meeting, few details illuminated by a single lantern, the rest lit up by the jellies as they travel through the port. Sitting on your knees on that bridge are you and Harvey, the stars and galaxies so clear in the sky above you. Harvey is fully lit up by the jellyfish, and the only light that hits you is what comes off of him. The canvas is not that large, which meant you had to prioritise which details you wanted to highlight. Honestly, you just wanted to paint it as you had seen it.

“It’s beautiful,” he at last exhales, eyes still roaming over it.

You move forward, “no, see, because you can tell that I was trembling at this part, and my hands got really tired here, and then-“

Harvey brings you down over his chair to straddle him and delivers a long searing kiss to your lips. Emotion and possessiveness poured into every drag of taste and delicious movement against each other until he, with a shaky breath, pulls you apart.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you.” He says deep into your eyes.

A calm washes over you. A quiet moment of absolutely believing the man before you.

“You’re welcome, Harvey.”

***

 

 The bells of the clinic door signal your exit, bringing the attention of passer-byers briefly to you. Your eyes clash with those dark-blue you’ve come to really hate seeing around – but you suppose meeting him now is better than having to go hunt him down later.

Your hand drifts down to your coat pocket, framing the object hiding beneath the fabric, before you call out to him. “Kent, wait up.”

With his back to you, you see him look towards the sky in clear exasperation before he turns around. His hair has recently been buzzed again, making the angles of his face stand out in an intimidating way. You stick out your chin and square your shoulders before you cut to the chase, shoving forth the item. His eyes stay on yours for a beat before they drop.

There isn’t much of an expression on his face. The annoyance is still so clearly there, it’s hard to spot the miniscule movements relaying the underlying emotions. The brief clench of his jaw, the slight widening of his eyes, and the sure, almost eager way he takes the small object from you. For this guy, he might as well have fallen on his ass in surprise.

He fiddles with it, fingers caressing the details of it. When he starts flipping it over, still not saying a word, a flash of irritation rushes through you. “It’s not a fake.”

Gaze rising from the medal, it narrows as it lands on you. His nostrils flare slightly, but he’s still obsessively tracing the family heirloom. “Apparently not.”

A beat of silence.

“So, you’ve had it all this time?”

“You sure know how to say ‘thank you’.”

“I asked you a while ago.”

You smirk. “I know.”

His left eye twitches, but he reels it in with a deep inhale and exhale. “What made you give it to me now?”

“Can’t you just accept it and move on?”

“No.”

Great. You blow out a breath.

He continues, “I thought that – if you had it – you would keep it forever. Especially after I asked for it.”

“Nah. I figured that since I’m not miserable any longer, why go out of my way to keep other people miserable?”

He gives you a deadpan look.

“I’m joking, lighten up, Private.”

The side of his mouth lifts. “I haven’t been a private in a long time.”

“Give or take a decade, huh?”

“Yeah, it seems a lot has changed since then.”

A pressure lifts itself from your chest. “Do you really mean that?” You hate how a trace of hope can be found on your voice. Does this mean he’s decided he will leave you alone? That he will keep his meeting with you to himself?

He tilts his head before righting it. “I certainly can’t judge someone on their worst moments.”

On an exhale you bring out your hand. “Truce?”

For a moment there was almost a smile on his face. An expression which has never been directed at you – not with the sincerity it holds now. It has always been carried by a bitterness, a taunting that, despite your best efforts to remain unaffected, has kept you on edge around him.

But then something flickers in his gaze. A thought that makes him drop his eyes and fiddle with the medal. “Listen, kid. I have to tell you something.”

You drop your hand while only slightly bristling at the nickname.

“I-“

A stick breaks next to you. Both of you whip around to the tall hedge that surrounds the small park on the west side of town. Sharing a look, you both go around it to search for source of the noise. Rounding the area, you find nothing. You figure it must have been a squirrel or a bird or something. You share a shrug of the shoulders and after an awkward goodbye you part ways.

Next stop is Emily’s house, which you’re hoping you can get done before the dark clouds hovering somewhere far out begin to move over the town. My, what a day of errands. You don’t know why, but after last night you’ve had the inexplicable urge to get a jump on all of the things you’ve been putting off. The painting that’s been dry for a while finally got wrapped up and the medal that’s been stewing in your drawer now back with its family. All you’ve got left is giving these crystals and rocks you found while in the mines to Emily to be examined. You could very well get Clint to do it, but for some reason you trust Emily’s expertise in it more than his.

With a glance down at your watch, you realise you’re a little early. Not that it should matter much to Emily. You knock on the door and let yourself in as Emily had told you to do, closing the door against the cool breeze following you everywhere these days.

The place is pretty much spotless. You’ve never met the sisters’ parents, but you suppose that they must have focused on householding a lot when they were raising their kids. Or the sadder truth, which is that their parents have been so absent all of their lives, the young women been forced to learn on their own. When you watch them move around the house, they’re always so good about picking up after themselves immediately. Not like you, who have a tendency to leave a mess lying around longer than is probably wise.

That’s why the scatter of a few items on the sofa table catches your eye almost immediately. A couple of closed books and one open; beside them a few crystals and a stack of what recognise as the tarot cards.

“Emily?” You call out, not taking your eyes off the items. “Haley?” You try when there’s no answer.

Sinking into the couch, you reach for the deck, letting the cards spill out into your awaiting hand. You shuffle through them before turning them over. You quickly find the cards Emily pulled for you that day. The Wheel, The Temperance, The Tower – of course, two out of three of those had been upside down when she pulled them. In the deck, however, all of them are the right way up. How in the world do they flip around? Is it something Emily unconsciously does?

At last, you get to the card that inspired this search. The Hanged Man. The minimalistic traits of the card leaves little to interpretation. A man hanging upside down, a rope around his ankle. Around his head is a halo of golden detailing, though his face is twisted into a grimace.

This was the card Emily didn’t want to explain to you. You head whirls towards the stack of books on the table, scanning the titles for anything that might sound anything like “Tarot Card Reading for Dummies”.

Yielding no results, you head for the bookshelf. She must have been a beginner once herself – there has to be an introduction of some sort. Maybe a little handbook that came with the deck? Perhaps she carries it around with her everywhere, ready to whip it out a moment’s notice.

You honestly wouldn’t put it past her.

At the bottom of the shelf you find a whole line of what you’re looking for. You pull out a little brown book, flipping to the index for the right card.

There. “’The Hanged Man’,” you read aloud and hurry to the right page. And your confusion starts there.

In actuality, there is so much information about this card that at first you can’t wrap your head around what it means. You go over it once, twice – focusing on the section where it compares what it means against other cards that likely appear with it. Here’s what you catch among the many phrases you don’t really understand:

‘The purposeful sacrifice. Like a since forgotten religious figure, the hanged man bears his punishment for the greater good - the sacrifice of oneself will lead to the evolution of their situation and those around them. The true pain that the Hanged Man will experience represents the end of the person they are, leaving room for the person they will become. The true sacrifice will be in facing who you are, the consequences of that, and accept the rebirth.’

Rebirth. Deliverance for the pure.

You shake your head, forcing the old lessons away, trying to continue reading beyond the old familiar voices that are waking up.

‘Hanging by the ankle symbolises a punishment coming, but one that the receiver of the card must learn to bear with the patience and divinity that the Hanged Man does. The world will demand the death of who you are now to move on – to no longer be suspended in time, as the Hanged Man is.

• The Hanged Man in combination with other cards: The Tower.

The Tower is associated with sudden change and upheaval of the life the receiver has. This combination does not necessarily have to mean something negative for the receiver, but it does symbolise a powerful and sudden change to their future away from the path they’re currently following.’

You feel sort of silly. It’s not like you believe in any of this stuff. And yet, certain of the words flung from the page manage to stick to you. Sacrifice. Change. Choosing the right path. Something is coming. Something that will destroy your current way of life. A punishment for who you have been. It’s coming. It’s coming. It’s coming.

A prickle runs along your skin, a swoop along your nerves. Like waking up and knowing you’ve dreamt something but unable to recall exactly what it was. The clawing of something at the back of your mind. The hovering of a realisation just out of reach, scrambling away every time you come close.

It eventually pushes you out the door.

Perhaps Emily knew it would worry you like this, perhaps she was concerned it would make her already flighty friend run for the highway if she told you what the card meant.

But she doesn’t know about the stash under the veranda. About the phone you used to check three times a day and now only do it once at the end of the day. A phone which’s blank screen will give you the comfort and peace to sit down and just – think. Think about what it means. To go back and have a talk with Emily. To laugh at your paranoia. To be rational about this. There’s plenty of time to be rational after you’ve made sure that the change coming, that the sacrifice, the punishment, that the end of the path you’re on isn’t a tangible thing. That it actually means you have to stop buying seeds from Pierre and find another local farmer to source them from instead. Good riddance, you’ve been looking for an excuse to do that anyway.

But you can’t help but keep thinking. Though the tarot card doesn’t necessarily mean anything, it has poked at something sleeping. At something you knew but buried. A moment from yesterday.

You find Harvey roaming around near his work bag. “Oh, please tell me you didn’t get called out.”

You forget to wave at Evelyn as you move through town, the assault of the memory from yesterday something you cannot rip yourself away from.

He looks over his shoulder at you before he fishes out the pager, studying it with a frown.

Past the bus stop and out of sight from everyone else, you take off running.

“Apparently not. I just- I thought I heard it beeping.”

“Workaholic,” you fire.

As soon as you reach the house, you rip the floorboards up, laying down on your stomach to reach into the cold damp space underneath your house. You pull up the bag and find in that first pocket a big brick of a phone, lying with its back up.

You just need the comfort. You just need the soothing effect.

A shaking hand reaches into the ominous mouth of the bag. You grab the phone. The phone your aunt shoved into this very bag so long ago now. The one only she has the number to. The one that comforts you every night with it’s blank, dark face.

Your turn it over. You hold your breath, hovering on that endless second.

A light blinks.

Notes:

• Dear Reader, It’s Time.
• I’ve foreshadowed this for a while, but I’m still debating between 3 different endings. I guess we're all going to be surprised these next chapters
• Ladies and gentlemen, we’re nearing the end of our trip. Hold onto your hats, and let’s see where this ride takes us.
• One of my biggest struggles with writing in English is learning the correct tenses of “lie” – as in “lie down”. When do we say “lie”? When do we say “lay”? Is it “laying down”? I can’t tell you how times I’ve read a grammatical article explaining the differences, and like Men In Black I forget it as soon as I exit the window. At this point I just follow what my heart tells me to do, and I assume you guys know what I mean ;-;

Chapter 49: Whatever you say, dear

Summary:

He’s coming and you’re leaving the Valley.

Notes:

Trigger warning: Abuse. Mindless panic. Small moment of actual physical violence. Threats. Guns.

The earth drops from below you.

Not really – though it has happened before.

Although…

You look down just to check that you’re still above ground, that you’re not flailing towards the abyss.

Numb fingers turn on the phone. There, in lowercase letters, it shows the most panic inducing words you’ve ever seen:

 h e    k n o w s

Just two words have managed to uproot your entire life. The life you’ve spent so long building. All of the supposed healing you’ve forced yourself through. A waste.

It says a lot that she wrote in lowercase. The time sensitive aspect of it, that even wasting the second it would take to express urgency with uppercase letters, even to be grammatically proper, has been thrown out the window. You’ve never known your aunt to be anything but proper.

Okay.

Okay. Next step. You have to think of the next step.

You have to go.

You rise to do so, but halt. There are new elements in play this time.

Think for fuck’s sake, think.

But thoughts seem so far away. Your mind is running faster than you can conceptualise any of it, yet nothing comes when you try to force it forth. Too fast, it’s all going too fast.

Inhale… Exhale…

The house is safe. The Wizard said the house was safe. But how? The windows and doors can lock but can also so easily be broken. How will you be protected if he comes in? Can you trust that mad hatter with your life?

But it’s not just about your life. What about all of the people that you love? They’re outside, so easy to grab. So easy to point a gun at – and then what? You come out of the house to save them. But he can’t leave witnesses, you know this. You can hear the gunshot in your head as clearly as if it had happened in real life.

What then? Bring everyone in here?

No. The only solution is for you not to be here. But can you abandon them without protection? Can you leave them not knowing what is headed towards them? This is why you don’t get attached.

The message came in last night. When will he have gone? If he left last night, he would already be here. No, he wouldn’t do that. He would assume that you don’t know.

You can see him so clearly get up this morning. Calmly turning his alarm off. Getting dressed with purposeful ease, looping his favourite belt through his pants in front of the mirror, preparing himself for this day. The day he will finally get you. Punish you. So pleased at the fantasy of your shocked face.

Yes, he will want to drag this out.

Which will give you time to warn at least one person. To say goodbye. You’ve run from him before – when you were a lot more malnourished and the physical wounds clear. Now you’re strong. The wounds are just scars.

The bag is already packed, and so you swing it around your shoulders, sprinting for the town.

You’re a fucking idiot.

***

You burst through the clinic doors, almost shooting the bell of its hook. Your eyes fly around the space until they fall on Harvey as he’s about to guide in the next patient. Wide eyes all around land on you, shouts of concern falling off of you. There’s nothing but your next step.

“I have to talk to you,” you shoot at Harvey. Mouth agape and eyebrows to the skies, he barely remembers to mumble his excuses to the patient before hurrying off outside with you. When he’s within reach you grab him around the wrist, trying to haul him off towards the mountains.

You can follow the train tracks from there until one passes through. You will be long gone before he realises how you’ve escaped.

Harvey stops, digging his heels in. “What is going on? Sweetheart, for crying out loud, stop!”

He forces you to turn around, to look him in the eye. But you can’t. You gaze roams the space around you, all of the faces that pass. Your breath is coming in too fast and you can’t get it to slow down enough to make coherent sentences. “I have this friend, who said she’d call if anything ever went wrong and- Harvey, I have to tell you something, it’s about my past.”

“You can tell me anything,” he says deep in his survival mode which you will one day, as you look back on this moment with all of the regret in the world, realise is fight. You’ve metaphorically put him in a pitch-black room and told him there’s a monster, and now his brain is convincing him that he will die if he takes enough step before he’s found out where the monster is.

“I will, but you- Harvey, please, come with me, you have to come with me!”

You try to drag him past Pierre’s, towards the bridge where the secret pathway to the mountains lay.

“I will! I will, but sweetheart, what is going on? Please, just- just tell me what’s going on!”

“I-I don’t…” You make a frustrated groan. “My father- when I was little my father had a friend from the military. They were in this- this community. Remember? When I told you about the-“

“- about the singing, yes,” Harvey nods along, eyes wide and his movements as erratic as yours. As desperate to understand as you are to make him understand.

“It-it-it-it-”

“Slow down, sweetheart.”

“H-he came home one day and saw me,”

“Your father?”

“Yes- no!” Another noise of panic and helplessness rips from your throat. “Please, Harvey. Come away with me. I’ll explain everything.”

“Away? I can’t leave. I’m the only doctor.”

“Call in a colleague, anything. Harvey, I’m begging you to trust me, to believe me-“ Your eyes fall somewhere behind him and you go completely. Still.

Just like that, it’s all over.

A chill seeps through your body, removing all affection from your grip on Harvey. The franticness that once consumed you? Gone.

Harvey spins around, looking for his monster, confused when that is not what he finds.

By the entrance to the town stands a man not much taller than yourself, but lean and strong. His hair is cut close to his scalp. Beneath a strong brow lie the most piercing, icy blue eyes, the cruelty in them even more palpable than it had been over a year ago. But instead of the calculating carefulness you remembered, an instability lies in wait in there. Crouched and ready. Impatience causing it to shift in his gaze – a fish swimming past the glass in the aquarium before it hides in the darkness again.

He calls your name, which visibly surprises Harvey.

Harvey asks over his shoulder, “who is that?”

A few more people stop in their tracks who hadn’t already, curious about the newcomer as they once had been with you. Even more curious about the intimate display of affection the newcomer freely deploys on you moments later.

He comes forward, brushing easily past Harvey who watches you with a hawk’s eye. The man hugs you, his stern lips in your hair as he harshly whispers to you and only you, “come quietly, or I’ll kill you both.”

Your stare is fixed in space. Beyond reason. Beyond hope. He’ll kill as many people as he can before he takes you and himself out. If even that. Maybe he’ll kill everyone around you and then drag you off, knowing there is nowhere for you to return to. Expecting the fear of repeat to hinder you in ever attempting anything like this again. If he doesn’t just build a cement block around you, leaving you to waste away. A million thoughts like those occupy your mind in the cold embrace of this man.

He pulls away, leaving a gentle arm across your shoulders. Your stomach drops, threatening to empty itself out in the middle of the town square. There’s a vague tingling in your limbs, but otherwise you can’t feel a thing. You clench your fists just to make sure they’re really there. You’re floating yet trapped in your own body, your vision broken up by dots and stars. This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, this can’t be happening.

“Who are you?” Harvey tries again.

“I’m sergeant Will Petersen. I’m here to collect my wife.”

You don’t dare look into Harvey’s eyes. You don’t dare risk letting anyone see the pleading in them. Instead, you hope they’ll interpret your bowed head as shame, confirming what the man beside you is saying. This can’t be happening.

“Excuse me?”

“I have been looking for her for over a year. She likes to play these games. You know, likes that I have to find her.” Will leans in, as if he’s about to share some great secret. “She has a personality disorder. She escaped from treatment after a particularly bad break. I hope nothing serious has happened here? I’m assuming the police would have been called if it did?”

“I don’t believe you. Sweetheart?” Harvey stammers despite attempting to sound firm. Your complete lack of response likely the cause of his uncertainty. But you can’t give him anything right now. You’re a shell. The person you were is bleeding out of you, falling between the cracks of the cobblestone road. You hope that part will forever live in this town, remain in the haven you’d once known it as.

Will pulls out a few papers. “Sweetheart?” He asks all aloof, the nickname catching his attention. Oh fuck, you’re going to pass out. “You’re a doctor I see, you’ll understand these papers. Haven’t you seen them yourself when you’ve looked her up in the system?”

And he really hit a nail on that one. Harvey must be recalling every protest at having him create a file, every avoidance at meeting anyone capable of looking you up anywhere. He stands hopelessly, looking at the official papers. And if he looks you up in the system afterwards, he will find them all to be real.

“She’s wanted for murder. The only way I got her out of a sentence was to promise I could take care of her in my home.” He turns to you. “Little bird, I think it’s time to say sorry and say goodbye to these nice people.”

Your gaze rises. There’s an emptiness inside you as you turn towards the circle of people around you, as you willfully ignore the whispers and murmurs among them. “Thank you for having me. So sorry to have caused any trouble. Goodbye.” The words are somewhere above you, not really coming from you. The voice is not even yours. You wonder how they don’t all hear it.

Will turns to address the people, feeding them lies as easily as a hot knife glides through butter. His tone convincing to the point where you question if you’ve made it all up.

You force a hand to your sides, to feel the dips in skin where he’s marked you. Every past scar stabilising you as he keeps feeding them half truths and lies. As you allow him to ruin everything you’ve built here.

Anything to cleanly sever the bonds between you and anyone here. Anything to save them.

He presses you to his side even firmer, to the gun hiding beneath his clothes. Revulsion shivers through you.

“Nielson! My dear friend, how are you? You are exactly what I need right now. Come and help me and my wife pack up her stuff.”

In a flourish he wishes the townspeople well. You let your eyes rise once. Just once you let yourself take in the betrayed faces of the people you hold most dear. The word “murder” really did everything it was supposed to do.

There’s the grim set of Willy’s mouth. The shock on Maru. The disappointment in Penny and Emily. The bafflement on Sam. Shane’s face is hardened – like that night in the bar where he broke a chair in pure rage. How does he feel, hearing he was right the whole time? That he allowed you to be close to Jas, just to find out that you’re truly a danger to him and everyone in this town.

You don’t dare look at Harvey. Though he tries multiple times to catch your eye, tries to move closer, speaks your name so softly you’d cry if you weren’t so desperate to not anger the man beside you. You avoid his gaze, you flinch away from his touch, and you act as if that name doesn’t belong to you.

And nothing is as powerful a convincer as the badge at the hip and the matrimonial concern of a husband.

It’s both a relief and the worst torment when you’re guided forward, leaving the town.

Kent follows you, participating lively in the discussion with Will, though their words are no more than a faint buzzing coming from the neighbour’s yard.

No words are exchanged with you as you pack up your stuff. You know its not for you that he gathers your stuff. They’re punishments saved for later. Emotional attachments to a life you could have led, a reminder of what you’ll never have. He’ll find joy in destroying it all slowly in front of you.

The bang of something hitting the floor and rolling off the under bed interrupts their discussion.

“Pick it up,” he barks behind your back. A short second later he adds, “please. My… little bird.”

You get down, stretching under the bed for the loose item, carefully scooping it up and putting it in your bag.

He leads you down the path towards the main road, to the bus stop you still haven’t fixed up. Will chats animatedly to Kent, the men catching up like the old friends that they are, before he sends Kent off with a slap on his shoulders. No one else is around. The townspeople will likely meet in the pub later to discuss what’s happened, for now moving on with their lives. Leaving you alone with him.

Or so you thought.

At the end of the road you see a figure coming out of the car. The badge at his hip standing out against his grey attire. Pete. Uncle Pete.

Pete opens the car door, waiting for you to get in. Behind you, with a firm grip on your arm, is Will.

You stop, bag in hand. Staring at the void contained by four doors. You can’t make yourself move. Just staring at that gaping mouth ready to consume you.

There’s a loud ringing in your ears. The harsh command that leaves the man at your side barely audible beyond it, “get in.”

Then a high noise pierces through the ringing. Pete suddenly rushes forward and you don’t realise why until you heave for another breath.

Someone’s screaming. Wailing. And it’s you.

The claws of his hand grip your arm, and you throw yourself backward, stumbling into Will. You drop your weight to the ground, struggling, fighting as another set of hands find you.

You call for the people you promised you wouldn’t. You beg for help, you scream for it.

“No, no, no, please. Please no, I don’t want to go. I don’t want to go. Let me go. No, release me. I can’t go back. Don’t make me go back.”

You barely register the furious hissing from them. Can scarcely make yourself care about the worsening punishment. Twisting like a person possessed, you catch a figure hiding behind the plants and trees, watching it all.

They fight to detain your arms, fight to heave you towards the car. With each step your panic rises, with each centimeter gained your tears flow and sobs spring so harshly you feel as though you’re about to throw up.

“I can’t go back. I don’t want to. He’s going to kill me, please, I don’t want to die. Mom! I want my mom. Please, I just want my mom.”

You haven’t begged like that since the night of her death. But in that moment, it doesn’t matter that she’s buried somewhere in the forest you once tried to escape through, it doesn’t matter that she’s been there for years. In that moment all you can see, all you can want, is the angelic comfort of her arms as she came for you that night. As she finally had enough of your father’s schemes. When she had finally found a way out of the cult your family had always been a member of. You had been only a few steps from the doorway when he shot her in the back.

He knew she would never stop fighting for you

As you struggle, throw your body to the side, scrape your legs and arms on the ground as you claw for a way away from him, you want nothing more than for someone to fight for you. Despite knowing it would put them in danger.

You are beyond that.

Your personality is nowhere.

You are nowhere.

You are an animal struggling against the rope around its neck.

Twisting away, you find Kents wide eyes on you, on the scene you’re causing. Perhaps he’s grateful for the fact that no one in town seems to be able to hear you.

“You! You promised. You promised you wouldn’t say anything. You lied. How could you. Why!? I hate you! I hate you.” Your screams are nonsense. A mixture of pleading and hateful protests that you spit at the only three people around.

Will forces you to the car, despite your thrashing he manages to push you inside. The hand you leave on the doorframe is a brief obstruction. He smashes a fist against your fingers and on reflex you pull them away, yielding under the pain and leaving him a moment to slam the car door, effectively locking it.

You slam your fists against the window through the bars, gasping as the cracking sound that emanates not from the glass but from your hand. Folding your body across the injury, you hover above yourself as you wait until you can breathe through the pain again. By then the men are in the front seat of the cop car, pulling off into the road, leaving the valley behind.

It all took less than thirty minutes.

Notes:

• And we’re off.
• I hope this isn’t too triggering for most of you. If it gets too graphic, I’ll start adding a spoiler-filled summary at the end of the chapters, so you can follow the story without being too triggered by the descriptions. I’ll try to be as clear as possible in the warnings in the beginning notes, so you can judge it for yourselves.
• This is very chaotic, trying to balance reflection with the unreliable narrative of the panicked farmer.
• Regression really is such a strong defense mechanism.

Chapter 50: A family road trip

Summary:

You’ve been taken from the town by your husband Will and your Uncle Pete. You’re coping with trauma and trying to find an escape – any escape.

Notes:

(Chapter has been edited from an update about computer malfunctions to a real chapter)

Trigger warning: Suicide. Graphic descriptions of suicidal thoughts, violence, and wounds.

Somewhere back in town, a soldier sits with a beer in his clenched fists as he listens to the bragging of an old man. He thinks back on the decisions he made when he was on the force, on the pity he had on the man who was willing to stay with his mentally ill – though rather young – wife. He thought back on how Will had saved him time and time again before he retired to become sergeant in the police force while Kent continued in the army. The times he visited and saw the sad smile on the man’s face, the hopefulness that this treatment would fix her.

Lewis continues spouting beliefs Kent finds so familiar about you. Things he’s believed himself. Now he can’t help the gut-churning feeling that they’ve all made the wrong choice. The sight of you, out of your mind as you fought the cops on the ground, should serve only to prove your insanity. However…

Kent glances over at Harvey. The poor son of a bitch has been ripping his hair out. He’s clearly only there because Emily and Maru have a tight lock on him, stabling food upon food in front of him in hopes of tempting him to eat something.

How he begged you to explain is scorched into Kent’s mind forever. How the doctor was broken by the truth and half answers, by the cold look in your eyes. What did he see that Kent couldn’t? You were so detached, like a psychopath realising they didn’t have to pretend anymore.

Kent stares at the frazzled man.

What the hell did he see?

And why does Kent feel the doubt’s burrowing roots take such a strong hold right at this moment?

Lewis laughs loudly, bringing Kent out from his thoughts. “Yes, it was quite a blessing when the governor called me! He entrusted me to save our community from such a filthy liar. You saw her, right? Like a deer caught in headlights. She wanted to ruin us all!”

Red hot heat rushed to Kent’s head.

“I pray that she will get what she deserves.”

The chair scrapes loudly behind Kent as he goes to stand, moving towards Lewis with determined steps.

He barely gets there in time to catch Harvey’s fists before it connects with Lewis’ jaw.

Shocked eyes all fly around the bar.

“Harvey?” A timid voice calls from one of the booths.

Kent stands calmly, lowering the joined hands. Hard eyes digging into the storm brewing in those troubled before him. What the hell is this guy thinking?

Harsh breaths are forced out between clenched teeth of the doctor, attempting to gain control of himself before he levels his gaze with Kent’s.

“She didn’t do it.”

A beat of thunder rolls out above the town, vibrating through the walls, interrupting the dead silence.

Robin steps up, placing a hand on the doctor’s coat. They look at each other, communicating something Kent can only guess at. An understanding he’s lost after being gone so long. Can only imagine.

Can only agree with.

Lewis whimpers something incoherent behind Kent. He’s ignored.

The redhead nods. “Then let’s fix this.”

 

***

It’s a haze. It’s a rush of minutes followed by the drag of an unending second. A vision of you howling in anger and grief, replaced by one of you staring into space. One singular thought repeated over and over – then a million too far away to be reached. You tire yourself out this way.

The car pulls off to an almost deserted gas tank, having barely driven a few kilometres. You glance at the fuel gauge over Will’s shoulder and find almost a full tank. And when he eventually pays for it, he uses his credit card instead of cash, looking around before he smiles and waves. You duck down a little to see further up, following his line of sight to a camera mounted under the gas station roof.

It’s almost like they’re trying to create an alibi. But for what? You’re clearly in the car so if they wanted to kill you, they would’ve avoided been seen rather than literally leaving a trail. Is it in case you do something to them? No, they can’t be that unsure about their ability to just break your neck if you try anything.

Is it just to prove that they’re leaving the town?

Why would they need to do that?

…

Does it matter?

Does any of it matter? Are you focusing on it to forget what awaits you? To forget your own screams as they filter through your memories, as they echo back into your ears so clearly as if you’re living through them now.

You can remember the other times so clearly now. Can practically see the other versions of yourself in this very backseat. To your right you see a much younger version of yourself, dressed in a nightgown stained with the blood of so many. You blink and there is someone new, someone older. Tied with ropes to tight they’ll leave permanent scarring across the back of your neck. You suppose nothing like that would have happened if you hadn’t been flinching every five minutes. Pete had tied the K-9 to the opposite window and would frequently give it commands to attack you, just to laugh when its jaws would snap shut exactly out of reach from you. He had you convinced that since it had already had a taste of your blood, it would do nothing but crave it for the rest of its life. He would bring it on every visit to the house as you were healing.

Your hand finds its way to your shin. Almost. You can almost feel the dents from the teeth still there.

Because it wasn’t enough, was it? That you were recovering from getting caught? They would do everything in the power to teach you not to do it again. A thumb directly into the teeth-marks, alcohol into the hole in your foot… If Will tore your stitches during the regular disciplining, he would order the family doctor to redo them with nothing to dull the pain. How your throat isn’t just ribbons of flesh from the howls of pain is beyond you.

The worst one was after you had been gone for a week. You had sought out the protection of a DV victims’ home and had to walk a few blocks to use the internet on your phone to find out where to go next – for the safety of the shelter. You had laughed with one of the girls next to you, a small group of you just scrolling on your phones and calling people.

You were snatched from that spot the next day. And the girl? Her boyfriend found her.

Will made sure you saw that news article the second it came out.

To make matters worse – you can’t remember her face anymore. But you can still so clearly see his indifferent face after he had slapped the paper into your lap.

“Say thank you.”

You raise your head to look him in the eye.

“For saving your soul from pests like her,” he clarifies.

Your eyes fall back on the page, fingers tracing her name. “Thank you.”

Your eyes refocus as the flap to the petrol clicks closed. What is the point of going back with them now? At first it was to protect your friends – that you’ve already done. What’s left to do?

No part of you wishes to endure another bout of pain – a year of pent-up punishments awaiting you. Getting locked up one way or another. He’s likely spent the year securing his house further. Perhaps digging a hole right behind his home which he will fill with you and dirt, using your decaying body to fertilise the garden you once held so dear.

Why fight this time?

Do you truly have any hope for escape?

You ask yourself these questions as your tormentor wraps up the nozzle from the gas station, rounding the car to get back into the driver’s seat.

There is truly only one escape for you now. And you can either endure however long he has planned for you before it happens, or you can get it over with now.

The car door slams shut. The men exchange murmurs of conversation while you’re taking off your socks. Your injured hand shakes as you tie them together – nothing you’re not used to. You lean against the bars out of sight from the rearview mirror, just behind the passenger side so Pete can’t just twist around to see you. Grateful to yourself for stealing Harvey’s monster socks that morning, you manage to wrap them around your throat before you tie them to the bars.

And you let yourself…

Drop.

An involuntary gasp is drawn from you, which you hope they don’t notice. Against all instincts, against everything your panicked brain tells you to do, you let yourself hang there.

It fucking hurts. It burns immediately; your lungs not prepared for the sudden cut off. But most importantly of all, it’s depriving your brain of blood-flow – a much more effective and quick death to look forward to. Dying at your own hands long before they realise it. They will look back in ten minutes or so and find you gone. Their struggles and plans will be for nothing. Yes, you will be written down as a crazy person who went so mad you at last killed yourself, but at least it will be on your terms.

With those thoughts, you close your eyes and let your mind drift. Drift back to Harvey’s voice. To the laughter from your friends. To the situations you’d like to think you helped them through, and to the moments you’d like to change if you could go back. As the conscious world dimmers, as you find yourself on the brink of convulsion, you settle into Harvey’s arms, breathing him in on a Sunday morning. Hearing him groan half-asleep because you have to get up at the crack of dawn to let out the animals. And oh, your animals. You hope Marnie will take good care of them. All of your little babies who’ve become so special to you.

You’re sure they’ll all be alright. And though Harvey’s desperate voice pierces your memories, you’re sure he will find peace someday – sooner rather than later. Perhaps someone new will move to town and he will finally be able to be with a normal woman. One whose baggage is light enough to carry on her own.

Yes. As the feeling from your body leaves you, you settle in knowing that everyone is taken care of. You can rest.

***

 

Apparently the fuck not.

As the breaks are slammed your body jerks and the weak grip of the knot on the socks let go. You smack the back of your head against the door, falling to the floor of the car.

The urgency of their voices finally registers as feeling returns to your body, and you realise you must look real fucking dead for them to act this way. You remain immobile as Pete leaves the car, opening the door behind you to drag you out.

The grass is cold beneath you. The pine from the trees carrying a calming smell as air shudders in your lungs. A light drizzle has begun to fall, making it hard to discern between the prickles of the blood rushing in your body and that of the cold rain. Through lowered lids you watch him remove the leftovers of the make-shift noose, cursing at you while getting scolded by his boss.

“Don’t make me get out of this fucking car, Pete.”

“Calm your tits, sarge, I’ve got a pulse on her. Let’s just hope there’s not too much brain-damage. Wait, let me get the salts and then we can haul her back in there.”

“Don’t- Pete!”

You can hear Will rush for the door, but it’s too late. He may have been clever enough to realise what Pete’s words would do to you if you were awake, but he was about half a step behind. As Pete turns and leans into the car, too slow to heed the other man’s warning, you scramble up from the ground.

And you fucking book it.

Shoes but no socks.

Towards the trees with men biting at your heels.

You’re ready for it this time – more than you’ve ever been before. Your breath harsh but your lungs are more than trained for it. You’re not suffering from past injuries, and you literally have nothing left to lose. You have one chance to end this, and you’re not passing it up again.
This, you know.

This you’ve tried before.

And this time, you’ll make it count.

Notes:

• I’m baaackk! I was so thankful when they told me they didn’t have to reset my pc, because I had only backed up some of these chapters. Back-up your pc’s, guys!
• Who knew Harvey had that anger in him? I honestly think it was good Kent didn’t allow him to punch Lewis, because I’m not sure the guy would’ve felt good about it. He’s kind of out of his mind at the moment. Pleading insanity, judge.
• Forest hunt round 2 anyone?
• Sitting trapped like that with no way out like the Farmer, the brain does horrible things to protect itself.
• If anyone struggles with thoughts like these, know that you’re not alone, but every bad moment truly never lasts. Never let the brain win. We live for the moments in the sun. Speaking up and asking for help is the hardest but most rewarding thing to do.
• Wow, a man changing his opinion on something? This truly is a work of fiction.

Chapter 51: A domestic spat

Summary:

Sometimes, the sacrifice of a mouse is a necessary evil.

Notes:

• Just because I’m unfamiliar if Ao3 updates you all on edits on past chapters, I’d like to say that Chapter 50 has been updated with an actual addition to the story, rather than my personal update – so make sure to read that one first, if you haven’t already

The wide trunks of the endless forest envelops you. The whooshing of the rain as you sprint through it immediately halting once you step foot onto the forest floor. You leap over a fallen tree, stumbling forward when you land in a small hole, your ankle protesting all the way through your leg. You hiss but move forward.

The late afternoon coupled with the storm clouds growling above you put a dark veil over the forest. Soon you find yourself gasping for air, the noise masked by the drum of rain on the treetops. Some of the water fights its way through, clumps of it landing on your hair, drenching your clothes.

This is where you’re running for your life.

Suddenly a light flashes, bright and startling. A loud roar from the skies tells you that this is more than just a little rain.

Footfalls on hardened ground boom in between actual claps of thunder. Slowly but surely, they’re gaining on you.

You come to a steep downwards hill. Here you feign left before quickly sliding right, letting yourself practically fall down the hill in attempt to retain momentum.

Mutterings of curses and the slap of a body against wet leaves are like music to your ears. The laugh it inspires echoes out into the vast forest before being diluted, as the rain comes down harder. The insistent pour fights against the leaves until they’re finally allowed full access, the forest floor quickly covered in rows of rivulets.

The men’s fall has allowed you to put a lot of distance between you, the risk you take as you zoom downwards feeding said distance until you can start looking for hiding places. For though this forest is maintained, the deeper you go the larger the undergrowth becomes. Sticks and leaves from tall bushes whip against your body, each wince and gasp luckily covered by the rolling thunder. They pull at your clothes, ripping into your hair, but not enough to slow you down.

When you come to another hill that drops straight into a large mess of bushes, you throw yourself backwards, connecting with a tree. Chest heaving you decide this is the time to take your chance.

The tree splits the water as it runs down into the dell, making the spot of dirt you’ve crouched down on precarious at the edge of the hill. It wobbles beneath you with every gasp of air, your bare feet sliding in the shoes not doing you any favours in clinging to the brink.

Even the rain can’t hide the shouting as the men approach not even five seconds later. With anger on their short breaths, they pause at the edge that’s been revealed to them, looking down into the green.

“Sarge?” Pete pants.

You’re a few meters from them, barely hidden. You swallow down every breath, trying to desperately not to make any noise.

Will doesn’t answer.

“Sarge, what the fuck, let’s go?!”

“We can take a moment.”

You heart flies at his cool tone.

A fork of light reveals the stark details of the men. Through the bushes you can see their eyes trained on the plants. Will stands with his hands on his hips, his buttoned shirt soaked through, his hair clinging to his forehead. Despite the water he doesn’t look frazzled at all. Oh, this is something that has always managed to put you on edge. The absolute control he’s able to put off even when he’s in a murderous rage in the forest on a hunt for his property. Even when his entire backside is covered in dirt from slipping and falling on his ass.

The light zips out and you’re all left in the dark again.

“Wha- why- how? She’s probably so far ahead now!”

“Use your brain, Pete. The plants aren’t moving. She’s fucking hiding.” There’s a smile on his voice now, an anticipation of winning. Of knowing something no one else knows. “I mean, she may as well not even be down there.”

He takes a step back.

No, no, no. You need them to rush down there so you can run back. The precious time it would take them to get back up would be more than enough distance to run for your true target.

If only they would take the fucking bait.

In a slow movement timed with the flashes of light, you turn your head, looking around for something to help you. You hear footsteps to your right, and it takes everything in you not to whip around.

“Little bird,” a cool voice practically purrs right next to your ear.

You choke back a gasp, slowly turning back to face the noise.

Will is looking around the overgrowth by the edge. In a second he will be able to see you.

The streams of water continue around you. Your weight on the fragile edge causing it to sink a few centimeters with every passing minute.

There’s a rock, but you doubt it will trick him. And the weight will be impossible to throw without giving yourself away.

His feet shift towards you.

Pete, still breathless, hisses in a loud whisper, “do you think she’s over there?”

Another strain of lightning shows Will with his upper-body craned towards the other man. “No. I’m simply admiring nature and all its gifts.”

“Really?”

The rain crashes harder towards the ground, muting the silence between them. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

Your eyes fall to a movement down to your right. With a check at the bickering men you reach forward, plan in motion.

Pete stammers, “Fuck if I know what you’re up to. You’re the one who wanted to stop and think.”

Your hand drifts closer, camouflaged by the harsh weather.

“Hmm… Perhaps stopping to think would do you some good, Pete.”

“Damn, I forgot how mean you get on these things.”

Gripping the pink tail, you immediately fling the mouse over the edge, its scream muted by the thunder. It lands with just enough impact and panicked scrambling.

Sorry, bubs.

“There! Look at the bushes! She’s crawling up the side!” And down he goes.

Will stands at the top, eyes on Pete as he carefully climbs down the almost vertical side.

Why isn’t he going too?

Your breath is locked in your lungs – eyes fixed on him hard in hopes that they can force him to move.

Moving his body sideways, facing you directly, he looks straight into the bush you’re hiding behind. You choke back a gasp, forcing yourself to remain completely still. He can’t see you, he can’t see you, he can’t see you.

Will slowly lowers his body down.

If you ever make it out of here, you vow to bring back some cheese as soon as possible to this spot. You scramble around the side of the tree, the dirt ledge crumbling behind you. You slip and a desperate hand connects with the tree as you pull yourself up and away. Foot planted directly into a large puddle, you bite back a hiss from the ice cold water and carry on.

Completely disoriented, you just pick a direction and commit to it. Trees and bushes whipping past you, your harsh breath drowned out by the angry roar of the skies. They must have realised fairly quickly that it wasn’t you who was rushing around down there, but you’re hoping the fight back up the hill, the sudden shock and confusion, will have allowed you at least a couple of minutes. Zig zagging in and around plants, up and down hills, you hope you’re following as unpredictable a path as possible. But the darkness is descending fast, you’re soaked to the bone, and it gradually dawns on you that in this part of the forest, humans aren’t the only predators to worry about. Fuck, you might just succumb to an infection.

Really anticlimactic end honestly.

Not quite as noble as killing yourself? You ask yourself sarcastically, finally stumbling into a walk rather than a run.

Your breath burns, your eyes blink erratically to keep the pouring water out. It distracts you enough to not realise that you’ve reached a clearing until you’re standing in the middle of it. Looking left and right, you can see that it’s part of a trail. You have three possible paths to choose from.

One leads in the direction of where you came from (maybe?); the second and third next to each other but branching off in different directions. In the darkness they look almost identical.

Right. A shaking hand starts pointing between the two, a children’s rhyme softly passing your lips until it ends. The one your finger lands on being the chosen one and you promptly drag your body towards it.

Can’t decide? Leave it up to chance. Thank destiny.

As you’re about to be enveloped by the tightly bound forest again, a flash of movement forces your entire body to freeze. A dark shape has stepped out onto the path ahead. A flash of lightning above the clearing reveals glowing eyes staring back at you.

“Right,” you say, wiping dripping water from your face. “Okay. Can you move? I sort of need this road too.”

It doesn’t listen.

“Can we at least share?” You take a hesitant step forward.

Its growl rolls to you, shaking with half the strength of the thunder.

You nod, stepping backwards. “No, right, I hear you. But if you could at least go ahead?”

It moves closer to you.

Forcing your movements to be calm, you hop backwards again. “Not quite what I meant, but that’s my bad for not being clearer.”

You’re far enough back now to look into the other path again. Glancing back and forth between the wild animal and the perfectly acceptable path, you wave at the glowing eyes. “You know what, I agree, let’s split up. But it’s been nice knowing you, let’s do this again- well, never.”

The animal growls in what you choose to interpret as agreement, and you move to the other tunnel like path.

Thanks, destiny.

***

 

The volunteers have grouped off into four.

One will look to the paperwork side in all of this, finding loopholes and discrepancies in whatever legal handcuffs this Will Petersen has put you in. Two of the largest groups are splitting off and going after the car. They have your last known address thankfully, due to the fact that Petersen has to keep the court updated on your progress. Interestingly enough, he hasn’t reported the fact that you’ve been gone. Rather he’s faked documents about you being gradually more and more suicidal.

Kent’s stomach churns at the ideas of what Will could be using these to cover for later on.

The last group is a smaller one. It’s Kent, Maru, Harvey and Emily. How the hell he ended up in this one is beyond him, but despite being in the military he wasn’t brave enough to argue with Robin’s instructions.

She’s going to be a damn fine mayor.

Kent has internally called them the Sanity Crew – responsible for the mental well-being of Harvey, who honestly looks like he’s ready to implode at any minute.

To get some of the energy out of his system, Sanity Crew after a while decides to head to your house to see if any clues can be found there. The walk in the biting rain seems to shock Harvey enough out of the mind-numbing grief he’s been in in the part hours. And it does the opposite for Kent.

His eyes glaze over the road, trying to see if he can still spot your nail marks in the ground. In between bouts of wailing wind he can still hear your screaming and pleading. You were wild. Unhinged. One moment you were calm, the next you had completely snapped. You belong in an asylum.

Kent’s eyes find the back of Harvey’s head. What did he know? He looks to the women following proudly, not a drop of doubt in their postures. What did they believe about this situation? The worst that could happen is that you go home to him for a couple of days. If you’re truly trapped, the system will take care of it.

But Kent’s not sure he believes that anymore. His fingers find the metal in his pocket, drawing comfort from it.

Maru leads the way into the house, followed by Emily. This leaves Kent and Harvey outside, huddled on the veranda waiting for entry. As Kent looks around, he spots Marnie running from one of the barns.

“The animals. I didn’t even think…” Harvey trails off.

Kent slaps him on the shoulder. “Look, Emily is waving us inside.”

He’s never been inside your house, but these three clearly have. They move around the space with confidence, opening drawers and cupboards with an expectation, while Kent hovers by the door.

He realises he’s waiting for instructions. He shakes his head, moving off into the space. What in the world they think they’ll find, he doesn’t know. You packed a bag with the most important stuff when you left.

Hell, he shouldn’t be here. The only logical reason for being with this group is because he can physically restrain Harvey in case he tries to hit anyone again.

Not that Kent believes he will. The kid looked shameful enough after the first attempt.

Kid…

“How old are you, Harvey?”

Maru looks over her shoulder from the kitchens. “Wow, that’s right, we must all look so different to you now, Sir.” There’s a question on her voice.

He shakes his head, then pauses. “I can’t explain it. You look the same, but not really. Out of the three of you, you’re definitely the most changed Maru.” That’s a lie. Though Maru’s objective physical differences are greater because she’s grown up, Harvey has changed the most. Despite being weighed down by grief now, Kent has observed an improvement in him over these last months. Has gotten to know this man again.

The doctor has become more confident. Open. He doesn’t huddle in the corner, doesn’t hide away from the social interactions like he’s afraid of ruining them. He participates. He laughs. He loves.

Yes, Harvey has been changed.

But Kent doubts that change will last if you don’t come home.

Err… Back. If you don’t come back.

Maru smiles and turns back to the cupboards.

“Too old in some ways, Kent,” Harvey offers a half smile, answering his question. A blameless smile. It only makes the guilt worse.

“How do you know that guy, Kent?” Emily asks, ruffling around the bed, then promptly freezes and looks over at Harvey with a face. He shakes his head and trades places with Emily, moving the covers and the mattress around.

“We served together. Lost contact before my last tour.”

“So you already knew her?” Emily frowns. And everyone stops what they’re doing.

Kent squares his shoulders, feeling the sudden tension. “Yes. I saw her a couple of times when she was younger.”

“Did you know her father?” Harvey asks.

Her father? Why is that relevant? “I knew of him.”

“Did you conspire with Lewis to call that man?” Emily asks ever so direct, hands on her hips. Maru has edged in from the side, her hands hidden from Kent’s view. Harvey is standing back, watching the scene.

Ah. It all makes sense.

“I considered it.” Kent refuses to shift on his feet. His anger is high, tension causing his muscles to twitch, needing actions, looking for a fight. He attempts to do the breathing exercises a state provided therapists gave them when they came back. “Not conspiring with Lewis. But I did consider calling Will.”

“Why didn’t you?” Maru asks.

Kent feels the silence stretch. The doubts, the beliefs, all of them sorting themselves into categories until he feels a truth pressing at him. He looks to Harvey. “I realised she’s not who I thought she was.”

They look to each other for a beat and then nod, going back to what they were doing.

“You believe me? Just like that?”

Maru moves into the bathroom. “Sure.”

“Good thing none of you are interrogators.”

Maru pokes her head out from the door frame of the other room with a sigh. “Are you telling us the truth?”

Her earnest voice causes something to catch in Kent’s throat. “Yes,” he answers steadily.

She looks him over for a beat and then disappears again.

To completely alter the mood, the blue-haired women suddenly abandons her spot. “Excuse me, doc,” Emily sings and the plops down on the floor, scooting between his legs to look underneath the bed.

Harvey’s voice is gentle when he asks her what she expects to find down there.

“Dust bunnies who can whisper their secrets to me. Or, wait, a necklace! Oooh, pretty.” She scoots back out, her head in a crown of grey that must have lined the underside of the bed.

A little moon necklace, which she quickly hands off to Harvey. He looks down at it as if it can whisper to him like the dead skin cells evidently can to Emily.

At that same moment, the door bursts open and the familiar shape of Kent’s eldest son fills the doorway. “Dad!”

“What happened?” Kent steps forward, unable to read his son’s face.

Sam huffs and puffs as someone comes running up behind him. His coat clings to him, and he pushes back his hood to show a face sketches with lines of urgency. “We found the car.”

Notes:

• I thought I’d upload the next chapter already, since it was mostly done when my pc broke down and you’ve all been so patient (plus it’s not that long). I’m eagerly writing chapter 52 already, so as long as nothing bursts into flames it should be out on time.
• A little shift in perspectives with the most unlikely character, just because I strangely enjoy having someone unpredictable narrating this part.

Notes:

Feeling good? Feeling great? Compliments and criticisms are welcome.