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It's not like it was intentional to tell him like this.
Not that you really had planned to in the first place - "I go deep into the mines and fight monsters" never really found its way into conversations - but this wouldn't have been your first choice.
It's late as you steer Clover around the dirt path next to the lake, holding your hopefully-just-sprained hand close to your chest, reins gripped loosely in the other. You're lucky it's a full moon because without it, your only light would be the glow from Linus' bonfire. Still, it's dark enough that any gait higher than a walk isn't a good idea.
You do a mental check of your injuries - your wrist, a slash across your cheekbone courtesy of something shadowy (you make a mental reminder to ask Marlon), and various scratches on your legs from the creatures close to the ground.
You had slammed your face onto the ground after your ankle got grabbed by something when making your escape. So not only does your ankle throb, but your nose, chin, and neck are covered in blood and in the dark night, you're sure you look insane. The bloody tissue hanging out of your nose isn't helping either.
It could be worse, which is what you tell yourself as Clover slowly walks the path home.
You stop when you hear a familiar laugh from above, a beam from a flashlight hitting Robin's roof. Clover is unbothered at this, head dipping low to chew at the grass next to the totem.
"Have a good night, Linus!"
Shit. You shut your eyes. Out of this entire town, it has to be him.
You wonder if you have enough time to get back towards the lake before he sees you in this state but then the flashlight comes down the path and stops on you.
It's silent for a moment before Harvey calls your name and you open your eyes, squinting them against the light.
"Fuck." You barely hear the curse slip from his mouth before he's jogging towards you. "What happened?"
"Uh..." Your gaze falls to the patch of grass being lit up by the flashlight as you try to think of something before looking back at him. "I fell?" Not technically a lie.
His brows furrow above his lenses and he goes to say something but as his eyes flick to behind you, a look of realization washes over his features. Shit.
"You were in the mine, weren't you?"
You sigh. "Harvey, I-"
He shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I knew it, I knew you were going down there, how many times have I to-"
It's your turn to cut him off, "Can you yell at me after I get home and ice my shit?"
He seems to remember himself, it's like a switch flips and suddenly he's your doctor. "Right, we'll go to my office."
You wave your good hand, reins lightly hitting your thigh. "It's not that serious, I just need some frozen peas."
He grimaces. "Your face is covered in blood, farmer. We're going to my office."
You know better than to argue with him about health and so you remove one of your feet from the stirrups and nod towards the spot behind you. Faster than walking.
"I would offer you a hand up but you know..." You gesture to your wrist.
Harvey puts his foot in the stirrup and hauls himself up. He loosely wraps one arm around your waist, careful to avoid jostling your arm.
It's silent as Clover brings you to Harvey's office, aside from the crickets. You can tell he's holding back from chewing you out, if the way his fingers tightly grip your shirt is anything to go off of.
You know why he's mad, your blatant disregard for your own wellbeing aside. He'd specifically told you he thought it was dangerous and that he recommended against going and you, knowing him, had neglected to tell him you already had.
The mines, as dangerous as they were, were fascinating and helping Gunther with the museum only furthered your interest. It took some getting used to but after a while the slimes were more annoying than harmful and as long as you were faster, they never did much damage.
You weren't, however, prepared for the shadows to hurt you. It came as a nasty surprise when you descended the ladder to have hazy fingers suddenly clawing at you. You prided yourself on your swordsmanship (after bugging Marlon enough to give you lessons) but, in a moment of shock, they were too fast and you were too slow.
You find yourself scared of the shadows as you pass the empty community center. If Harvey notices you tense up, he doesn't say anything. Something moves in one of the windows and you have to tell yourself it's probably a Junimo before you start to panic.
Your muscles relax when the lights of the square come into view and you stop Clover in front of the clinic. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Shane and Emily leaving the Saloon and they stop to look over at you before moving on.
"Can you get down?" Harvey asks when he's standing next to you on the ground. He has one hand on your thigh and the other hovering over your lower back.
"In a way." You tap your foot against Clover's front leg. A lot of downtime in the winter means teaching your pets random things out of boredom. Your dog can open doors, your cat can give high fives, and your horse can lie down.
Clover bends her front legs and lowers herself to the ground. You swing your leg over and stand up. You manage to take one step before the pain in your ankle shoots upwards and makes your knee buckle.
Harvey catches you before you hit the ground, one arm wrapping tightly around your waist. He forces you to put most of your weight on him as you move towards the door, ignoring your protests of it's not that bad.
He doesn't bother flicking the lights of the waiting room on, instead guiding you to the exam room by memory alone. You have to squint your eyes against the fluorescent lights as he sits you down on the exam table.
"Anything broken? Other than the nose," he asks as he begins to assess you. Hazel eyes flit from your bruised ankle, the scrapes on your legs, the bruise on your wrist before landing on your face.
You shake your head. "I can move everything, just hurts."
He makes a noise somewhere in his chest and then nods before he turns to the table behind him. You see his shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep breath, shrugging off his jacket and throwing it over the back of a chair. You're stuck somewhere between this is why I've been hiding it and this is all my fault as you watch him roll up his sleeves.
"Right, we'll start with some painkillers, okay? Then I'll have to check your nose."
After you take the pills with a healthy chug of water, you watch him as he brings over a rolling table and stands next to the bed. He flexes his hand.
"This'll hurt a little." His voice is low as he grips your chin with one hand and gently prods at your nose with another.
Pain flares up with a vengeance and you try to jut your face away, feeling a new gush of blood begin. His grip on your chin tightens and you grab his wrist, fingers wrapping around his watch as he packs your nostril with gauze.
"Sorry," he breathes, eyes flicking up to yours briefly. "Good news is that I don't need to set it. Just be careful with it and ice it." He walks over to the sink and washes your blood off his hands. The sight makes your stomach churn.
"I'll clean that cut now, okay?" His voice is thin.
You make a noise somewhere between a hum and a whine as he begins to clean your cut. He doesn't talk as he works, aside from a quiet 'sorry' whenever you wince, and you're thankful for it. Truth is, you don't know what to say to him. Sorry I put myself in danger and now you have to fix me?
The lights hum above the two of you and your eyes glance to the clock ticking on the wall. 12:34 a.m. You feel bad about keeping him down here, not that he'd be asleep anyways, poor sleeping habits something he'd picked up in med school and never quite been able to shake.
It's part of the reason the two of you had gotten as close as you had, you were no stranger to sleepless nights. Sitting alone at the lake at 2 in the morning had quickly turned into a two-person activity, talking about everything under the sun as Clover ate grass behind you.
"I'm sorry 'bout this, Harvey," you say in a meek voice after he's applied the butterfly stitches. You don't look at him, can't look at him, instead looking at the dirt caked under your nails as he wipes the blood off of you with a warm cloth.
He sighs and tosses the cloth on the table, his glasses moving onto his forehead as he rubs at his eyes. You can feel the anxiety rolling off of him in waves. You hate to be the cause of it.
"I'm going to give you a brace for your wrist." He begins to rummage around in the cabinet next to the bed. "Your ankle is just bruised, icing it will help." He sounds robotic as he rattles off instructions for when you get home.
"Harvey," you try again, resting your good hand on his arm that's holding open the door.
He freezes.
"It could've been so much worse," his choked reply comes from inside the cabinet, his grip on the door tightening. He shuts the door and turns to you. "What would've happened if you couldn't get yourself out? If you'd been hurt even a little bit more? When would they find you? Would it be too late?"
He places the brace on the table next to you and takes a raggedy breath in. You don't think you've ever seen him this upset. Sure, he's been frustrated and borderline angry but he was generally level-headed. Which, for him, you think is the product of years of working on himself. So, to see him, chest heaving and eyes glassy as they look you over, is an arrow straight to your heart.
"Will the next time I see you be when your lifeless body is wheeled into my emergency room?"
You catch a tear running down his face before he turns away from you to stare out of the window. It feels like a weight has been dropped onto your stomach as the familiar tightness of tears crawls up your throat. The room feels too small. The hum of the lights too loud. You wonder if you could limp out of the room without him noticing.
The hot swell of shame going up your spine is something you haven't felt in years. It reminds you of being little and having broken something, the feeling of wanting to fix it but not knowing how. You've never been good at playing it cool, everything imbeds itself in you like the roots of a tree.
"I didn't, uh—" You try to get rid of the lump in your throat. "I didn't think about the strain it would put on your practice, I-"
You hate this awkwardness coming out of you, with him of all people. This man knew more about you than most and you still felt like an idiot trying to navigate this conversation.
He whirls around and points a shaking finger at you. "That's not what this is about and you know it."
It's your turn to freeze. His shoulders slump and he grabs the brace off of the table.
"You can't honestly think I'm getting this worked up solely from a doctor's standpoint." He gently slides the brace into place. "Sure, I'm pissed that you put yourself into danger and yeah, I could point out all the bad choices but that's not-" He sighs and takes a step back. "Not why I'm berating you, I guess."
"You're not berating me, you're just anxious."
His eyebrows furrow and you nod at his hand. "You've been flexing your hand, you do it when you're anxious."
Harvey's cheeks flush and he looks away from you. "Right. Didn't even notice I was doing it."
You smile at him - it's a tired, slightly pained smile but it's a smile nonetheless. He wheels a chair over and sits down, tension rapidly leaving his body as he slumps down. He looks tired - he always looks tired - but the overhead lighting makes the bags under his eyes more prominent.
"Are you like this with all your patients, Doctor?"
"No." He takes off his glasses and wipes at his eyes. "Just you."
His words make your stomach do a summersault. You go to say something but a yawn comes out instead. A quick look to the clock reminds you of the exhaustion in your body. Have you ever been this tired?
You wouldn't say you're a fearful person, and if you ever were, the mines have forced you to get over it. The thought of going to your dark farmhouse and sleeping by yourself, however, sends shivers down your spine. But you can't put him out more than you already have by asking him to come with you.
"I shoul-"
A look of panic flashes on Harvey's face and he cuts you off, "Stay."
Your brows furrow and he continues, "Your blood was on my hands, you really think I'm going to be able to sleep after that?"
A new batch of tears well up in your eyes.
"I have to get Clover home." Your voice is wobblier than you'd like. "As scared as I am of the dark at the moment, I can't ask you to come with me. You've already done enough." Your gesture to your injuries is more of a general sweep than a localized one.
Harvey hums and says your name, a hand smoothing over your forearm. "For my sake then, let me come home with you. Doctor's orders."
A watery laugh comes out of you. "Can't argue with that."
-
He's been in your bed before, something about how you both sleep better together than apart, but when you wake up in the night, something feels different.
The first thing you notice are the curls tickling your nose and the large warm hand splayed on your side at the base of your ribcage. A leg thrown over your own.
You look down to see Harvey's head resting above your heart, soft features visible in the moonlight trickling in from the window. He looks peaceful, a stark contrast to the distressed man from hours earlier.
You use your good hand to card your fingers through his curls.
He stirs at your touch and you see his eyes flutter open. You know what he's about to do before he does it and you beat him to the punch.
"It's okay," you murmur as soon as his body tenses and his fingers dig into your hip, "I don't mind."
You resume combing your fingers through his hair, his body relaxing with a sigh.
"I guess I sought out the sound of your heart in my sleep."
You breathe out a laugh. "It's nice. It's like having a weighted blanket."
He tilts his head up to look at you. "You're not mad?"
You smile at him. "If I'd known it took me getting hurt for this, I would've done it a long time ago."
His lips thin and he shakes his head. "Not funny."
"Sorry," you say through a laugh. "Little gallows humour, I guess."
It's quiet as you look at the slats of wood in your ceiling, counting the knots in the wood like you've done a million times before.
"Go back to sleep, Harvey, I'm okay," you say without looking at him, the feeling of his eyes on you ever present.
"You'll wake me if you aren't though, right?"
You go to make another joke but then you do look at him and see the desperation written on his face and your chest tightens.
"Yeah. Of course." You trace your finger along the small scar on his temple. "Stop worrying."
He scoffs but a smile works its way on to his lips. "An impossible ask."
You hum and go back to counting the knots. Eventually, his breath evens out and his grip on your hip loosens slightly. The smell of his cologne and his weight on almost every part of you stops you from the spiralling you'd most certainly be doing after a night like this. It stops you from thinking about what's in the shadows and the dull ache of your injuries.
You don't even remember falling asleep or when your hand paused in its movement and fell to his shoulder.
You'll complain about your arm being asleep in the morning, when sunlight warms the bed and your cat curls up in the patch of light on the blanket. You'll laugh when Harvey startles awake at your dog lightly chomping his hand and you'll have to hastily explain it's the way he wakes you up and not because he hates him.
You'll insist you're fine and he'll watch you limp around as you feed your animals before gently taking the feed bucket out of your hands.
"It's Saturday, I don't have anywhere to be. Let me help you."
You'll find it hard to do anything but let him.