Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The strain of trauma refuses to be confined to the self. That was something he’d had to learn the hard way. As much as one tried to be a sponge for whatever ugliness had been inflicted upon them, there was always more than one body could hold. It dripped over the floors as he walked, over his loved ones as he held them, until finally it flooded that home and drowned everyone inside it. 

That was how he’d lost what he had left. Was it her not being able to deal with him, or was it him not being able to stand being the problem? He could never tell. Truth be told, he didn’t quite remember who had left who. It was easier to pretend that it was him. That he was the bigger person who realized that the screaming in the night was killing them, and the sudden and sometimes violent reactions to an unexpected touch made him unfit to be there. If he thought it was her, it made it too easy to be a victim, and God knew, he was tired of being a victim. 

All he remembered was that it was the night after she’d put her arms around him, and he’d shoved her off of him like she’d buried a knife in his ribs. 

After that came the unmoored clawing of a man looking for purchase on anything that would have him. The drink had him in its warm and cloudy embrace for far too long. He’d shown up to trauma support group meetings drunk out of his mind for almost a year before the sobriety phase even became a thought in his mind. 

The steps to that phase were ugly, but nothing had been pretty since the scars had been carved into his body. The relapse was almost worse with its illusion of familiarity and comfort. And then breaking through the other side, he found his way back to the thing that had started all the grief in the first place. Charity. 

Funny how things went sometimes. How the bullshit that had started his downfall was now the thing giving him some purpose to move forward. He supposed that it was all in the details. This wasn’t some cheap roadside stall far enough outside the city where anyone could shove him into a van with no repercussions. This was a proper group. A real team, and years of professional training to get him where he was now. 

And where he was now was damn good at what he did. 

The cause? Therapy, in a way. Working with victims of confinement and torture. 

There was a time when he wondered if he was built for this. It was a period when every wound and scar and story caused his stomach to sink, and him to think “I look like that” or “I sound like that.” They still did, but now it was more of a situation where yes, your therapist does indeed have a therapist, and yes, they probably talk about the shit they’ve seen. 

That was the job for about five years, until he got his nerve straightened out and his shaking hands steady. Then he proved to them that he had an uncanny ability to calm and recenter those in the midst of their own flashbacks. 

Then the police called. 

That had been years ago now. Eleven years since his own ordeal, and many steps to get to where he was, but now he was who they called to remove shaking victims from their confines and deliver them back into the world. Damn good thing too, he soon came to realize. Police were sloppy. They’d grab someone and haul them up out just to get the job done, leaving them more shaken than necessary. There had been a dramatic decrease in the amount of officers clawed and bitten since they’d started calling him in. 

He wouldn’t pretend that the work was easy, but it was fulfilling, and out of everything, helping and holding people who understood had helped more than the alcohol ever had. 

It was raining when the call came in. The drops spattering on the windows of his apartment formed a drum-like lull. Nothing was fancy, and it didn’t have to be. It was his, and it was safe. He reached over from his place on the sofa, setting his book in his lap. A trail of cigarette smoke unfurled lazily from the ashtray on the side table. 

“Hello?”

The voice on the other end was rough and familiar. “Harvington.”

Harvey was already standing, shifting the phone from his remaining hand to his shoulder in a clumsy attempt to pull his coat on. “Address,” he said.

Over the phone he could hear someone shouting. The chief had to raise his voice to be heard over the noise. 

“That the victim?” Harvey asked. 

“No,” the chief said. “It’s Newberry. Watch your fingers. She bites.”

“Good,” Harvey said. “She has a right to.”

The scene that greeted him as he pulled up was tense. The home was unassuming, just outside the city. The kind of area where apartment living gave way to individual houses. It was a quaint, brick structure with a white door, which was now ajar as he climbed out of his car. Through the doorway, he could see several officers hovering around a doorway at the end of the short hallway that connected the foyer to what appeared to be the kitchen. 

Stepping inside, he noticed a line of dark stains trailing towards the door. That was a hell of a bite. Newberry was not among the officers. 

“Assuming you took him to get that looked at,” Harvey said. 

“Bet your ass,” the chief grumbled. “Human bites are nasty things. One of the guys took him in a cruiser.”

Harvey fiddled with his keys in his coat pocket. All these years, and these scenes still made him a bit fidgety. “How bad off–”

“Don’t know,” the chief cut him off. “Won’t come out of the corner, and gave the first guy who tried to pull her out one less finger for his trouble.”

Harvey scowled, the scar tissue at the right side of his mouth pulling down to make the expression look all the more exaggerated and displeased. “I’m assuming you’ve told them before that they cannot just start grabbing them.”

“More often with you reminding me,” he said. “But I can’t fix stupid.”

“Remind them if this hasn’t,” Harvey said. “She in there?”

“Yeah, but watch your step,” the chief said. “We turned the light on at first, but she wouldn’t stop screaming. Calmed down a bit once we turned it off though. The paramedics were worried she’d hurt herself more if we tried to bring her up like this, so I told them to wait for you.”

“Seen it,” Harvey replied. “And she would have.” 

The dark felt safe. He knew that well himself. It was the urge of one who felt like a prey animal to hide. When you couldn’t be seen, you couldn’t be hurt. The prodding eyes almost hurt more than the torture, and getting out from under them at any cost was a relief. 

He wrapped his good hand around the door. The other sleeve of his coat flapped uselessly behind him as he took the first steps down into the darkness. For a moment, he stood there, allowing the light to catch his face as he stared into the darkened far corner of the basement. If she didn’t want to be seen, she didn’t have to, but let her see him. 

He was past the denial that he looked anything but rough. Putting his hair up was a thing of the past. He kept it combed over the patch and the worst of the burns. The less people saw, the less questions were asked, and he was out of patience for questions. The scar at the corner of his mouth restricted the movement at times. Smiling was hard. Frowning came easier. He’d been told before that his neutral expression looked irritated. He didn’t mind it. Kept the wrong kind of people away. 

“You don’t have to move,” he said, voice softening the edges he’d used when speaking to those above. “Can you look up here? Look at me?”

There was no response from the darkness, save for the heavy breathing. He took a deep breath, inhaling the stale air and the scent of blood and pain, then ventured further down the stairs. 

“I heard you bit that idiot cop,” he said. 

Silence. 

“Good. I’d have done worse.”

He inched closer, slowly and crouching a bit. He felt the old injuries under his clothing ache. He steadied himself with his cane. Never mind the pain, the idea was not to tower. The girl in the corner had likely had enough looming presences to last her a lifetime. He eased his way onto the floor, feeling his leg buckle. His descent was more of a graceless spill. 

“Getting old,” he mumbled, flashing a half smile into the darkness. 

There was a shuffling. He could just make out the outline of a figure inching its way back towards the wall. 

“Nobody’s going to touch you,” he continued. “Not until you let them.” 

It was always slow going at first. Establishing a baseline of trust with a captive was always the most difficult part. That wasn’t to say that anything about the process was easy, but earning trust from someone who had their trust shattered in the worst way imaginable, it took patience. It took a gentle hand. 

“Can you see me?” he asked, voice soft despite the rough edge it had picked up over the years from his scarred vocal chords and too many smoking sessions to count. “I’m not pretty, I know, but I’m alive. So are you.”

A shaky breath, like someone had been holding it until it hurt. 

“I’ve bled too,” he said. “I’ve crawled my way out of a place just like this. Whatever happened here, I promise…” He swallowed heavily, it was a sentence he’d taken years to come to terms with, and yet still, sometimes he still wondered how true it was for himself. “...you could never do anything to deserve this. Nothing.”

Everything was still. His eyes strained in the dark, but he didn’t need to see her. There was a certain type of stillness that came over someone when they truly listened. He could picture the details, injured muscles coiled tightly and ready to flee or fight at the drop of a pin, and yet he had her attention for just a moment. 

“Can you breathe for me?” he asked. “I know it hurts. It’s okay, just listen to my voice and breathe. In. Out.”

In. 

Out. 

He could hear it. Trembling and uneasy still, but she followed his lead. A small whine of pain followed. He winced. Bruised ribs? Maybe broken? He knew that pain well. Nestled within the pity, a kernel of pride formed. 

You’re doing so well. You’re so strong for even trying. 

“I know,” he said, almost whispering. “We can get you all better. Just let me help you.”

He dared to reach out. His hand hovered in the air. Let her bite him if she wanted. If she needed to prove to the world that she still had teeth, he would bear that. He felt a flinch beneath his palm as his fingers found a tangle of matted hair. She pressed herself to the floor like she wanted it to swallow her. Yet she didn’t bite. 

“In and out,” he said. “There’s a good girl.”

Let her get used to this. For just a few moments, let her feel his hand rest on her head, still and quiet. Let feel that there was no new pain. 

“We can leave,” he said. “The door’s open. Are you ready to go?”

No answer, but no retaliation either. He nodded and turned back to the door. 

“Get the EMTs,” he called, raising his voice as much as he dared. “One at a time. No crowding. Use flashlights if you have to. Do not overstimulate her.”

They descended one by one, figures backlit in the hazy hall light filtering from above. 

“Behind you and helping you up,” came a warning voice. 

Even so, the hand bracing at his arm caused him to flinch and his remaining fist to clench. The paramedic pulled him from the floor and steadied him until he found his balance with his cane. 

He gave the other man a nod, the dim light of the flashlight beams playing off his scarred face. Looking at the wounds was always difficult. As pathetic as it made him feel, he trained his eyes on the concrete floor, gaze trailing the brown stains of dried blood that colored it. 

Another one out of the dark. Now to help her learn to exist in the light.

Chapter Text

The girl recoiled from the light like it had gouged her eyes. Even injured as she was, she had the strength to toss in the stretcher and shield her face. Or maybe it was just the new kick of adrenaline that came with being pulled from familiar pain and unleashed into a world that was larger, brighter, and much more populated than what you had grown accustomed to. Despite the cloud cover and the rain that hadn’t stopped since that morning, it was too much. 

Harvey remembered it well. Blinking in the light, so painfully bright that for hours, it had seemed like his good eye wouldn’t survive its assault on his senses. He read it on her like it was inked into her skin. There was an urge to return to the place where it wasn’t so impossibly overstimulating. Cruel hands aside, that hole began to feel familiar. He bit the inside of his cheek a bit too hard. The pain and copper on his tongue re-anchored him.

She couldn’t have been older than her mid-teens. His stomach clenched. The smell of blood and the familiar feeling of that prison was enough to make him feel woozy coming up the stairs, but this was what truly made him regret having lunch before that call had come in. 

I’ll kill them.

The thought surfaced among the shaking nerves and nausea like some great creature breaching the surface of the sea. There was an initial jolt at something so unbidden leaping forward to announce itself. Yet, it eased into certainty. There was a truth to the thought that he would have second guessed if it had come as any part of a measured train of consciousness.

Should it have been such a surprise? Mild-mannered Harvington rarely reared his head anymore. He faced the world with a scowl designed to keep the untrustworthy at bay, and a certainty in his step that he often didn’t feel in his bones. He felt it now though. That, goddammit, it was about time for someone who deserved it to bleed. 

“You’ll have to stop there, Harv.”

It was the sound of the voice that made him realize that he was standing at the back of the ambulance and about to step in. He took a step back, locking eyes with the woman who had spoken up. 

“Jill–” he started. 

The paramedics inside the vehicle drew the doors shut. They thumped with a finality that assured him that the decision was made. The panicked sounds of the patient were muffled by the wall between her and himself. 

“It’s a liability,” she said. “You know that.”

Harvey clenched his teeth. Everything in him wanted to argue, but for what? For a fight he was never going to win. Jill was understanding. She’d proved that to him time and time again when they’d worked together with fund raising, but she was also professional. If she said no, the answer was hell no. 

“I…” He took a deep breath. “Yeah. Right.”

She walked to the passenger’s side and looked back at him, ponytail flipping as her head turned. “Follow if you’re worried,” she said, then hopped up and disappeared inside. 

Watching the ambulance peel out of the driveway, lights flashing and siren screaming, he winced and stepped to his own car. A necessity, perhaps, but he couldn’t imagine that ungodly noise was having a calming effect on the girl. It never did. 

“They probably won’t let you in,” the Chief said. 

He shut his door and glanced at him through the partially open window. “Problem for later, Knox,” he replied.

He followed the wailing vehicle, tires kicking up a wave of standing water as he skirted around the curb. 

Toby was around her age by now. Maybe a little younger. Time passed, and despite the sporadic contact, he never forgot how old the boy was. Never forgot to send something for his birthday either. Shared custody wasn’t on the table for very long. Eun-mi was nearing the end of her rope with him, and he didn’t trust himself to be present given his mental state. A good call considering how long it had taken him to get himself together. 

Toby was never unhappy to see him. That much was something to be thankful for, that even with monthly visits and him entering high school this year, he was still happy to see his father. Harvey wished he could hazard any guess as to why. He wasn’t exactly super-dad or anything. Just another flavor of absent father, too fucked up to function. Safer to engage with from the other side of a screen with messages written in acronyms that Harvey Googled and then pretended he’d known all along. Promises not to tell Eun-mi that he’d used the word “shitty” to describe his math class, and the notion that when Toby got his license next year, he could drive by himself to see his father. 

Harvey had dreaded the day when his son was old enough to understand what had happened to him, and how it contributed to his parents no longer being together. Sometimes he wished that Eun-mi had allowed Toby to grow up hating him so he’d never have to talk about it with him. Somewhere out there, there was a world where he’d become an empty outline of a male figure that his son never had to see and resented for that. 

He still dreaded the day that Toby wanted to talk about all of this. 

“The girl,” he said to the man at the front desk. 

He didn’t have to elaborate. What other girl would he have been talking about with that intense look in his remaining eye and a deep frown on his scarred face? A glower, perhaps, but serious times called for no pleasantries. 

“ICU,” the receptionist replied. “Family only.”

“And her family?” he prodded. 

“Too soon to say anything,” the receptionist said. “And even if I knew–”

“None of my business,” Harvey muttered, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. The receptionist was just doing his job. As on edge as his nerves were, he could hardly blame the man. “Got it. At least tell me if Jill’s still here.”

“I…?” he started. 

“Paramedic,” Harvey said. “Never mind. I’ll text her.”

He slunk back into the waiting room and lowered himself into a chair, leaning his cane beside him. He fished his phone out of his pocket. 

If he hadn’t been forced to adapt, he couldn’t have fathomed the amount of lifestyle changes that his missing hand would impose on him. Texting was one of them. Text to speech helped, but having a private conversation was a matter that left him fumbling with one thumb, or setting the phone in his lap and pecking at the keys with one finger. 

“Are you still here?”

The antiseptic scent of the building turned his stomach. It was such a cold necessity, one he’d become familiar with during his own extended stay. Places for the sick and injured fought so hard to assert a veneer of comfort over the cold need for sterilization and practicality. They usually failed miserably. 

It hadn’t been long before he’d been ready for his own bed. His own home. Hell, even sheets that weren’t the consistency of paper. The home he returned to hadn’t been much warmer. 

Toby and the girl looked nothing alike. He could tell as much from the shock of red hair 

that had emerged from the basement, which was about as opposite of the dark locks that his son had inherited from both he and his wife as one could get. He remembered Eun-mi insisting on dying his hair for years, until the boy finally started an argument about how going to school with pink hair was getting him shoved in the middle school hallways. The texts after Toby had gone to his friend’s house and redyed his hair its natural color had been sullen and sneakily sent from the bathroom with a phone that he wasn’t supposed to have, but still with a small sense of satisfaction that he’d gotten away with something. 

Harvey had been proud then. There was nothing like a brush with death to remind you that life was too short to care about how other people wanted you to look and act. It was what kids should have been doing at that age. Getting in mischief. Getting in petty troubles and finding out how they wanted to look and act. Who they wanted to be. 

He didn’t have that option anymore. There were only so many scars he could cover. The pink hair seemed like a waste of effort for something that would fade and wash away eventually. He couldn’t remember who’d started that in the first place, him or Eun-mi. At the back of his mind was the nagging feeling that it had been her. 

He’d reached out and crawled his way up the sheer face of a cliff to be where he was now, but at the end of the day, when his options were to adapt or die, even that was decided for him. He was doing this because it kept him breathing. If it kept others breathing with him, all the better. 

The heavy truth that sat with him in that waiting room was that the girl in the ICU was going to end up more like him than his son. She’d have scars that she could apply as much makeup to as she liked, and yet still, somehow something would always slip through. Maybe she’d keep her hair cut like he did, not for any kind of aesthetic preference, but rather to cover the worst of the burn scars just so he could leave his apartment without eyes following him, asking the question that everyone wanted to know, but were always too scared to ask. 

What happened to you?

His phone buzzed. 

“Still here. On my way.”

He reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. The high of the chaos was wearing off. The familiar ache began to creep into his eyes, a nagging reminder that he never got enough sleep. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his reflection without the tired bags under his eyes. Then again, he often tried not to see his reflection. 

“I’m going to find bad coffee. Meet me there.”

The coffee was awful. He’d never been in a hospital that had good coffee. The cheapest brand, sometimes with grounds slipping in through the filter, and he was pretty sure they were serving him decaf and lying to him. Bastards.

“How’s the coffee?” Jill asked, pulling out the chair across from him and sitting down. 

“Is it even coffee?” he asked, scowling at drink like it had personally offended him somehow. He had half a mind to give up on it and toss it in the garbage. 

Jill looked as tired as he felt. Her hair escaped her ponytail in long, free-flying strands. The front of her shirt had smudges of dirt on it, likely caused by desperate hands either clinging or fighting as she helped unload the ambulance. She slumped back in her chair, face tilted to the ceiling, and sighed. 

“You didn’t want me down here so you could complain about coffee,” she said. 

Harvey took a deep drink from his cup, hoping that the too-acidic aftertaste would ground him enough to speak coherently. 

“Why this?” he said, his voice lowering to an exhausted mutter. “I mean, why is it ever this, but, you know, why this?”

She shook her head. “People like that like to stomp the ones who seem weaker than them,” she said. “It’s not right. It’s not fair. But give someone an inch with no fear of apprehension and…well, you’d know better than me.”

He did know. People like this didn’t do these things because they needed something. They did it because they could. They did it because when given the option to do anything they wanted without fear of consequence, they were the type of animal that would always choose violence. 

“She must feel alone in there,” he said, unsure of whether he was talking to her or himself. “I did.”

Jill uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. “You care,” she said. “A lot. And sometimes a lot is just enough.”

He gave her a small half-smile. “Sometimes I wish I didn’t. It might be easier to get some sleep.”

She shook her head. “And I say thank God for people who give a damn,” she said. “When you leave, you’re going to think about this. I know you will. I see it on your face.”

“How could I not?” he asked. 

“You’re a dad,” she said. 

Harvey was silent for a moment. He turned and threw his cup into the garbage, finally giving into the urge, ignoring the way its contents dribbled over the white tile as it arced and landed with a dull thunk at the bottom of the bin. “Yes,” he said. “I mean, no. I-It’s not about–”

“You should take it,” she said, expression straight and serious with a knowing glint in her eye. 

“Hm?” he said. 

“Her case,” Jill said. “If it means that much. If you’re that worried.”

“I don’t kn–” he started. 

“You’re not gonna stop thinking about her,” she cut him off. “You worked for years to get 

licensed to help people with this kind of thing, and you do. There’s a reason why they call you to help with and consult on retrievals. Seeing her recover, being the one to help with that, it might be good for both of you.”

He lowered his gaze to the table. “It’ll take forever for her to be released from intensive,” he said. 

“Then ask early,” she said. 

This again. The illusion of control. That flashing thought that he could always say no. The lure of an option that didn’t exist just to make him feel like a good person who decided to help on his own. It was never an option. He wouldn’t say no. It was as predetermined as choosing to live when he could’ve died. 

“I’ll ask,” he said. 

“Always knew you would,” she said. She stood and grabbed her bag from the back of the chair. “I’m gonna go grab some real coffee. You can come with. Or you can go home and get some rest. Otherwise, stop haunting the waiting room like a ghoul. Nothing’s going to change today.”

“Yeah…” he said. “I’ll try to rest. Thanks.”

“A good man,” she said, turning from the table and exiting through the glass double doors, leaving him to sit there in silence for another few moments before he pried himself from his seat and exited the building. 

Chapter Text

He couldn’t bring himself to care that he was making himself a nuisance. Once, he might have. There had been a time when he was so adverse to instigating any kind of conflict that Eun-mi had to march ahead of him and clearly and forcefully state his needs on his behalf. 

Would he have been able to keep calling if this had happened back then? Maybe he would never have checked in. Over the years, he’d seen enough of that to understand that negligence and forgetfulness were privileges for people who had never known pain.

His request had been approved, and his daily calls at least kept him up to date with the fact that she’d been in the ICU for the past two weeks. He’d grown so accustomed to being told that she was still in intensive, that when the answer changed, he wondered if he was dreaming. 

He moved more quickly than he thought he could. It didn’t take much to remind him why he took things slowly now. By the time he stepped into the waiting room, the scars were doing their best to announce themselves.

He found his balance and straightened his posture with the aid of the cane. “Eleven sixty two?”

“Hall to the right,” the receptionist said, pointing. 

Harvey offered a muttered thanks, turning and moving as quickly as he could. His cane tapped a frantic rhythm on the tile. He took a deep breath. Go in slowly. Don’t scare her. He didn’t even know if she remembered him. After all, it had been weeks ago now, and she’d be forgiven for not remembering one face out of the many that had been there. Especially considering the state she’d been in. 

He eased the door open, leading with his head to look around the frame and bracing himself in case the sight of a stranger provoked a reaction. 

Quiet. 

Some of the tension drained from him upon realizing that the still, silent girl in the hospital bed was asleep. Sleeping was the best thing for her right now. No fear from doctors entering and exiting the room, nor from the scarred stranger now approaching and hovering at her bedside. No pain seeping through the haze of the IV drip. 

That had been the easiest part of his recovery. That period when he was in and out, never truly aware of anything even when he was technically conscious. Then came the part where he wished he could go back to his drug-induced semi-coma. 

Both her eyes were there at least. It was a morbid thought, but it was one from the heart. Recovery would be difficult enough without her having to juggle the effects of blindness. 

He took in what he could past the large swath of gauze covering part of her face, staring for much too long, like he was worried that he’d walk out of that room and forget what she looked like. 

Red hair cropped short, pale, though who wouldn’t have been after what she’d been through? Her features, now that he could see her clearly, confirmed that she was around Toby’s age. The observation made him clench his jaw. 

She was too young for this. Nobody would ever be the right age, but the younger they were, the more his chest tightened when he looked at them. Again and again, there were animals in the world that would rob you of everything you had, including a future that you didn’t know you stood any chance of losing. They took your life, even if you didn’t die. They took your ability to live without the knowledge of what that felt like. Two weeks ago, he’d helped pull someone up after they’d had the last years of their childhood beaten out of them, and carried away by some asshole who’d run like the rat he was after his little nest inside the walls had been disturbed. 

What was the exchange rate for a human life? For all of those things that they stole? Satisfaction? The thrill of it? Haven’t you ever just wondered how that would feel? Well, now you can find out. They aren’t going anywhere. 

He tightened his fist and swallowed the lump in his throat. It refused to be dismissed, building until he sat in the chair at the bedside and took a deep breath. 

They had to know something, right? Anything? Why was he the only one here? What kind of parents heard that their child had been through something so horrendous and remained absent? The urge for tears quickly disintegrated, burned away by the lingering flame of hot anger as he approached the desk again. 

If Toby had been here, they'd have needed a firing squad stationed outside to keep him away. That was what parents did when their children were hurt. Even ones as poor as him. There was an instinct that burrowed into the very foundation of your double helix when you looked at them for the first time. 

He supposed, like in  all things, there were miscodings that turned cancerous. 

“Has anyone else been by for her?” he asked, trying his best to keep his tone even. He had to calm down. He didn't know anything for a fact, right? There was a chance that someone had been there earlier, right?

“Just you,” the secretary said.

Harvey tightened his grip on his cane, wishing for his other hand simply so he'd have a second fist to ball at his side. “How?” he said through his teeth. “How is that?”

The receptionist straightened a bit and rolled his chair back just enough to be noticeable. 

“No records,” he said.

“What do you mean no–?” 

“I mean she's a ghost, man,” he said. “Like God, I wish her parents would show up as much as you do, but we don't even know how to start.”

“Elaborate,” he said, lips pressed into a stern scowl. 

“I can't give out information about pat–”

“Harvington,” he said. “Trauma therapist. You can look in your system right now. The case is mine.”

The receptionist lowered his head and wheeled closer to the desk. His fingers flew across the keyboard. Harvey saw the younger man's expression change the moment he found the file. He couldn't tell if the receptionist was relieved that someone who knew what they were doing was here, or if he was just happy that a trauma therapist probably wasn't going to cause a violent altercation. 

He'd grown used to the looks. Humans were creatures of instinct. When someone looked rough, they got nervous. They shied away. 

“I'll grab one of the doctors,” the receptionist said, reaching for the radio on the table. “I have a Mr. Harvington here about the mystery in eleven sixty two.” He tilted his head into the earpiece. “Yeah. Got it.”

“So?” Harvey said. 

“She's been waiting for you,” he said. “Be down soon.”

Harvey gave him a nod. “Got all day,” he said, turning from the desk and making himself as comfortable as one could in the situation. 

No trace of her. 

He entered the station in a flurry of nerves, hoping that any progress had been made on the police’s end of things. They at least had an incident report, some record of the scene. Even if her identity remained a mystery, having a vague idea of the damage done would at least give him a place to start planning treatment. 

Every victim was different. They tended to foster understanding in each other and find camaraderie in support groups, but every situation required him to refresh his approach. People had different triggers, different associations with their time spent in captivity. One of his previous patients had panic attacks when hearing Stairway to Heaven because the song had been on the radio when he’d been shoved into the trunk of a car. Another had immediate and violent illness when smelling certain types of food, because they had often smelled them from inside the room they were confined to. Above all, most of them had specific reactions to specific objects, or did not want areas of their bodies touched that had been particularly targeted. 

The files were never easy to look at, but they were always necessary. The only correct way to address these situations was to enter them armed with enough knowledge to put the patients’ fears to rest. 

“I need to see Knox,” he said, leaning on the counter. 

Newberry looked up, hand still bandaged, but all fingers accounted for. Looks like they’d found the thing in time to save it. “Harvey,” he said. “Gimme a sec.” He leaned back in his swivel chair and shouted to the offices behind him. “Hey, Kerry! Visitor for the chief!”

“Stuck on desk duty?” Harvey asked. 

“Just until the hand heals,” he said, raising it for emphasis. 

Harvey rolled his eyes. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”

“Hey, how was I supposed to know she’d–”

“You went down and started blindly handling a heavily injured and traumatized person,” Harvey said, face straight and eye casting an accusatory glare at the man behind the desk. “I’d be more shocked if she hadn’t bitten you.”

“I was trying to help,” Newberry said. “Get off my dick.”

Harvey opened his mouth to reply, when another officer popped their head around the corner. “Knox says you can go back,” she said. 

Harvey nodded. “Thank you, Kerry,” he said. He brushed past the desk and into the doorway beyond, pausing a moment to turn back to Newberry. “And by the way. Next time, don’t.”

The station was as lively as usual. Phones were ringing, Officers were fumbling past him with files. He used his shoulder to cut a path through those who brushed past him and straight to the back where Knox’s office was. He gave a courtesy knock, then opened the door anyway. 

“Sit down,” Knox said. “I already pulled the scene report.” 

Harvey slid into the chair across from Knox and took the file in hand, opening it with little more than a nod of acknowledgement to the man. Looking at the photos was his least favorite part of this. They always brought back memories. He could smell those places when he looked at them. The iron stink of blood and phantom taste of it on his tongue made his stomach lurch. 

Still, when he looked, he did so intently, taking in every stain, every object that could be a potential weapon or surface meant to restrain a victim. He gritted his teeth until his jaw ached. 

“The family?” he asked. 

“Still looking,” he said. “We’re going through the files for missing kids in the city from this year right now. If nothing comes up, we can try going back further. We had a few calls from folks who saw the incident in the paper, but looking through their reports, she didn’t match any of them.”

Harvey rested his forehead in his hand, still hunched over the file. “How long will that take?” he asked. 

It had taken a year for him. A whole year just to track down his assailant and finally see him face to face in a courtroom. Would she have to wait that long? Some people waited longer. Some were still waiting. They couldn’t even find her family. How long would it take to even start investigating this properly?

“As long as it takes,” Knox said. 

“How reassuring,” Harvey muttered. 

“We’re swamped, Harvington,” Knox said. “I can’t have every person in my squad trying to follow up on a single lead in a single case.”

Harvey stood from his seat. “You could at least show some emotion,” he said, taking a long, heavy step towards the door.

“Harvington,” Knox said. “The file.”

Harvey stepped back to the desk and slid the folder onto it. He let the office door close behind him with a thud that made several people look up from their work. 

Useless. This would take forever, as usual. He would have thought that this person running around the city would beget some level of alarm. Just another case. Just another Tuesday at the precinct. 

The autumn air hit him as he stepped outside. He took a deep breath. What he needed was this case solved. What he needed was for someone to show some concern for their child and show up for her.

Chapter Text

He'd felt nauseous since the hospital had given him access to the medical report. The barrier of anger that had protected him from the despair that permeated the situation still smoldered in rubble, too far gone now to hide behind. His coffee cooled on the table, no longer wanted or needed. 

Referencing between the images and the police report from the other day gave him more than enough of an idea of what had caused some of those injuries. Others he could guess, and hope he was wrong all he liked. It wouldn't have made it any better.

She'd be lucky if she ever spoke again. The damage to her vocal chords was extensive and precise, driven by a hand that knew what it was doing. His hand wandered absently to his own throat. If he had lost his voice, if he couldn't have begged or cursed, what then? The last line of defense for the suffering was the futile words spoken to stop the pain. 

Many people didn't speak for some time after their trauma. He was no stranger to guiding silent patients. He was also accustomed to his patients having permanent disabilities after their experiences. It was a particular kind of awful, knowing that someone had permanently altered you both physically and mentally. Knowing you'd carry reminders of what had been done to you for the rest of your life. 

She’d need help walking for a while. Likely for longer than he’d needed it. Your legs felt like string cheese after a while of laying in a hospital bed. When he’d been helped up for the first time to walk around the room, he’d felt like his legs were going to fold in on him and send him crashing to the floor. And that wasn’t taking the stiffness and pain of the healing injuries into account.

She had plenty of those of her own to make things difficult. The severed achilles was going to be more than a small hindrance. 

He picked his mug up and left the report on the table, walking to the sink and dumping the coffee down the drain. The smell of it made him want to vomit. 

She was still in and out last time he’d seen her. Every time he entered that room, he almost had the wind knocked out of him by how young she looked. 

People would do terrible things for their own satisfaction. He knew that personally. He’d guided many people who had been taught that same harsh lesson. Yet…

Children.

There was a special evil in that. 

He returned to his seat and shut the notebook in front of him. A loose page slipped from inside and settled beneath the table. There was only so much he could look at. The weight in his stomach reminded him that this was an outsider’s perspective. She was his case now. He would have to see her and interact with her, and when she was in front of him, looking up at him like she would look at all strangers, like any of them could have a secret face hidden behind their open arms, he couldn’t close a book and stop looking then. 

You don’t deserve to avert your eyes. You wanted this. 

Did he?

He sighed and took his cane from where it leaned on the counter behind him, sticking it under the table and using it to prod the paper out into the open where he wouldn’t have to get on the floor to retrieve it. It was a square photograph. He sighed as he eased his way to pick it up. 

This was a mistake. He’d thought that he could handle it, and now he was as pathetic as he always knew he was, trying to shield his own sensibilities in the face of someone else’s tragedy. It was selfish. 

The photo paper rested against his thumb. He took a shaky breath. 

Look at it, dammit. Look at it and see. Help her.

He flipped it in his hand, and felt the world tilt beneath his feet. The urge to be sick that he had managed to suppress all morning cracked the dam and erupted in a violent fit of dry heaving. By the time it stopped, he realized that he’d slipped from his seat and was on the floor. The dull ache that often warned him when he was pushing himself too far surfaced. He gripped the edge of the table and pulled himself back into the chair. The cane lay, abandoned for the moment, on the linoleum. 

Harvey rested his forehead in his hand, elbow propped on the table. The nausea still ate away at his stomach. The photograph stared up at him, the familiar image of an angry burn made up of two lines curling in on themselves to form a crude shape. 

He took a deep breath, sliding the chair away from the table to fumble with his pants leg. As if he didn’t already know. As if he was under any delusion about what was seared into his own flesh. He pulled the fabric up with an awkward one-handed tug. The burn had faded into a pale scar over the years, but the weight of carrying it with him remained the same. Just another souvenir that Cotton had left him from their quality time together. 

Two lines. One pointed forward like an arrow and curved in the back to form a half heart shape. The other arcing near the point. Both together formed the crude image of an animal. 

Did you miss me, Mouse?

“I see it every day. There’s no mistaking it,” Harvey said. 

The corner booth at Augustino’s had solidified itself as where they went when one of them needed to talk. The pizza restaurant usually had enough patrons that the hum of conversation among the tables kept anything from being overheard. Harvey couldn’t do tables in the middle of restaurants anymore. He needed a solid surface against his back and a view of the entire room. It was perfect, and he could see both exits. 

Jill sat across from him, her plate in front of her and a half eaten slice of margarita on it. His own sat empty, and he settled for stirring his water with his straw as he spoke. His appetite hadn’t improved much since his revelation, and he didn’t expect it to any time soon. 

He hadn’t brought the photo. He wasn’t in the best state of mind to see it again, and God knows, it wasn’t exactly the best thing to show someone over lunch.

He wouldn’t have said he was feeling better, but if nothing else, he didn’t feel like he was going to be violently ill at the drop of a hat. He supposed that was progress, but the slight consolation was a bitter medicine. 

“You don’t have to convince me of anything,” she said. “I’m not questioning you. I’m just wondering–”

“How,” he finished the question. “Or why.”

She nodded. “Cotton’s been in prison for almost a decade,” she said.

“I think someone would tell me if he wasn’t,” Harvey said. “Which means what, then?”

“I’m going to ask you something, and you’re not going to want to answer it,” Jill said, her gaze darting to avoid his own. 

“Try me,” he said. 

“When did you get yours?” she asked. 

He took a deep breath. He’d recounted this story so many times between police interviews and the courtroom. Most things got easier with practice. This wasn’t one of them. “Jill, I–” He pushed his glass aside. “I don’t remember. I woke up with it.”

“After you were with Cotton,” she said. 

“Yeah…” he muttered, crossing his arms over himself and gripping his jacket like he could pull it around himself and disappear. 

“Which means you aren’t certain that Cotton gave it to you if you were unconscious,” she said. 

The haze of shock and panic parted as she spoke. He grabbed a napkin and a pen from his pocket and drew the marking, lines crossing over each other, and stared at it. It made too much sense now. Of course he’d assume that Cotton had given it to him. He was the only person he’d seen for weeks after he’d been taken.

He looked out over the crowd of chattering people seated at the tables. For almost a decade, he’d made himself content with the fact that the man who had done this to him was in prison. Now he had to ask himself again: who? 

“I’m going back to Knox,” he said. “As soon as I’m done at the hospital tomorrow.” Harvey rose from his seat and grabbed his cane. “I have to go. I-I’m just–Can I pay you back later?”

“Pay me back never and go home,” she said.

He nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, thanks.”

The bell chimed behind him as he stepped out of the restaurant. He approached his car at a brisk pace and pulled out of the parking lot. 

Surely Knox had seen it by now. It was case relevant. He’d probably seen it before Harvey had. He gripped the wheel tightly. Fucking asshole. That wasn’t something you just casually forgot to tell someone. Was he the only person who gave a damn? 

I need to talk to Cotton.

He hit the breaks at the light with enough force to jolt him in his seat. Talk to Cotton? Where had that come from? The last time he’d seen Cotton was from across a court room, and he’d be goddamn thrilled if he never laid eyes on him again. 

Was it a bad idea though? That was the worst part about it. Obviously, it was a bad idea. It was a terrible idea, but in the interest of everything going on around him, was it a bad idea? 

The thought of being anywhere near the man again made the sickness resurface. Even if they were separated. Even if Cotton was in cuffs. The memory of the absolute nightmare of staring into those pale eyes. He could hear his voice somewhere in the back of his head. It still came through in dreams, as clearly as the last time he’d heard it in person. 

Afraid to see me, Mouse?

The sound of a horn blaring behind him made him flinch. 

“Fuck you!” he snapped, stepping on the gas. 

When he heard the words leave his mouth and tasted them thick and heavy on his tongue, he realized he was crying. 

Chapter Text

Harvey took a deep breath and fumbled with his cane as he eyed the door to the hospital room. He’d never expected this to be easy, but it was now infinitely more complicated than what he’d initially prepared for. Sleep didn’t come easily anymore, but he could usually manage a few hours on his worst nights. He hadn’t slept at all before coming here. 

It wasn’t her problem. He wasn’t going to make it her problem. The less she had to do with handling her own case, the better. That was what people like him were supposed to be for, right? 

Part of him tried to convince himself that it was no different than approaching any other client. When he’d failed that, he’d tried to convince himself that it was like approaching Toby. That assurance wasn’t working out very well either. 

He opened the door, taking a slow step past the threshold and pausing. 

She stared at him without making a sound. A good start, he supposed. At least he hadn’t alarmed her. He searched her eyes for any trace of recognition. 

“Hey you,” he said, forcing his expression into a smile that for all intents, appeared much calmer than he felt. “The doctors say you’re doing well.”

She shifted a bit towards the far side of the bed. 

He leaned his cane against the wall and held his hand up. “It’s okay,” he said. “I’m just gonna get a little closer, alright?”

He took slow, deliberate steps forward, easing the object he had tucked under his handless arm into the open.

She flinched as he extended it to her. He retracted his hand. 

“Hey, hey,” he said. “Nothing bad here. Look.” He held it up in front of himself. When he’d walked into the shop to get the plush animal, he’d felt a little silly. He hadn’t bought one of these in years. Toby had outgrown the stage where he was into them. Harvey still remembered the scrutiny he usually gave them while selecting them though. Soft, nothing in white, because all it took was one juice mishap to stain it, and solid looking seams to hold up to play. The fox had passed all the checks. “Look. I got something for you. It’s alright. Take it.”

He offered it again. For a moment, he wondered if he’d been feeling too nostalgic when he’d gotten it. Toby and her were around the same age. Maybe she was over things like this. 

He was beginning to doubt himself a bit too much when she extended her hand, hovering it in front of the animal for a moment before taking hold of its front paw and yanking it into her arms. It slipped out of his hand with no resistance. He felt the tension in his shoulders ease. 

Her eyes followed him as he backed away and took a seat in the chair nearby. Only once she was satisfied that he was a good distance away did she turn her attention back to the fox. She took one of its ears between her fingers, tracing them down the soft fur and resting them on the top of its head. She drew it closer to herself, crossing her arms over her body and holding it to her chest. 

“There we go,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “That’s good, right?”

He had her attention. The quizzical look in her eyes spoke of unfamiliarity. Yet he asked anyway. 

“You don’t remember me, do you?” 

She shook her head.

“That’s alright. You don’t have to worry about it,” he said. He leaned forward in his seat, painfully aware of how the scar at his lips tugged at his gentle smile. Years of practice in looking disarming specifically for his patients, and yet he still often thought he failed at it. “I remember you, though. I went down to talk to you, yeah?”

There was a flicker of something, a slight widening of the eyes. It would take time to come back. Things often did after something like this. That hint of cloudy familiarity on her face was enough to keep him pushing forward.

“There's something. Don't push it. It'll come. Eventually,” he said. 

She lowered her head, eyes still casting a sidelong glance at him. 

“Hey now. Don't feel bad,” he said. 

He eased himself out of the chair and took a step forward. Her head shot up and he put his hand up again, other arm raised with the sleeve dangling limp where the wrist ended. “Okay, okay. We're okay,” he said. “Just let me look at you. Nobody's going to touch you unless you say so.”

He inched forward, scooting the chair behind him. Though her study of him was intense, she didn't move away. Not yet, at least.

“I heard,” he said as he reached the bedside. He took his seat again. “That your legs are looking better.”

She scrutinized him. He watched as her green eyes wandered over his face, taking in every scar. Every detail. Then she shrugged.

“I know,” he said. “Feels like the whole world is ending. Then you see everyone passing by outside and think to yourself, no, it's just me ending.” He pursed his lips. Yeah, that was it. A personal apocalypse. “Trust me. I wasn't born this pretty.”

The smile he offered felt tense on his face. 

What is there to smile about here?

That she was breathing. That she'd accepted his gift. That he was sitting very close to her right now and she wasn't protesting. 

Stop living in your own head.

“My name's Harvey,” he said, hoping to drown out that fatalistic voice shouting down the hallways in his head. “I sure would like to know yours.”

She glanced at the table beside the bed. Fox tucked under one arm, she reached for it, let out a soft gasp of discomfort, and then withdrew her arm.

“Here, I got it,” he said, taking it and offering it to her.

She took it with more grace than she had the fox. Settling it against her motionless legs and pulling the cap off the pen with her teeth. The gown shifted as she moved, revealing a glimpse of the bandages on her arms. She wrote in a shaky, uneven handwriting and then handed it back across the bed to him.

“Harper.”

Now the expression felt more natural as he kept the smile in place. Progress did wonders to soothe the nerves. For the first time since viewing her file, the spine chill of anticipating a threat lingering outside abated just a bit. 

“Harper,” he said. “Harper and Harvey, huh? Must be a sign we're gonna get along just fine.”

He thought he saw the vaguest hint of a smile tug at her lips. It quickly disappeared into neutrality, then that too disappeared as she rested her chin against the fox, the fur and ears obscuring part of her face. 

“Are you hurting?” he asked. 

She nodded. 

“Should I call the doctor?” he asked. “Do you need something for it?”

She shook her head and gestured for her notepad. He handed it over. 

“Not too bad. Medicine. Still sleepy.”

“I wish I could tell you it’ll get better soon,” he said. “But you’ll probably be here for a while. You’ll need time to heal.”

She took a heavy breath through her nose, causing the fox’s fur to stir, and pressed the unbandaged side of her face against it. The gauze faced him, a large patch from the corner of her mouth to her eye. Another memory. Something in the open that people would eventually look at with their judgemental eyes and silently ask what had happened there. He had, more than once, snapped at them to mind their own business when his own memories were still fresh and raw. Every one of them had looked away as if they had been caught looking at something illicit, and quickly hurried away.

At least he could snap at them. What would she do?

“I know. Being confined again isn’t ideal. Even if it’s just to a bed,” he said. “I’ll be back to check on you though. I’m here to help.”

Best keep the fact that he was assigned to help to himself for the time being. The last thing she needed in her head at the moment was any inkling that she was broken or only receiving his help because someone told him to help her. It was inevitable that she would spend enough time wondering if she was beyond repair as it was. 

She was too young for the route he’d taken. First it was thinking he was beyond repair, then it was self medication in an attempt to lessen the pain somewhat and assure himself that he could feel something that wasn’t either gnawing dread or complete uselessness. No. She needed to be eased into it. Something he’d never had. 

“I’m going to be back tomorrow,” he said. “Is that alright?”

She raised her head, hesitated, then gave him a nod. “Mmm-hmm.”

The sound was weak and hoarse, like stepping on dry leaves with heavy boots. The falter in her expression as it left her made him furrow his brow. 

“Water?” he asked. 

She shook her head. 

“If you’re sure,” he said. He extended a hand, stopping when she slid away. “Alright, no touching. Got it.”

Harvey stood and rested his hand on the back of the chair, dragging it back into place against the wall. He retrieved his cane. 

He should do more. The thought nagged him as he approached the door, but what more could he do today? There were so many questions to be answered, but peppering her with them during her first day of lucidity wasn’t going to build much trust. She needed a shoulder to lean on, not an interrogation, though he couldn’t deny that given their shared predicament, asking questions was more than a bit tempting. 

How much did she remember? He’d seen people who had forgotten a few scattered moments, and people who had forgotten things from even before their attacks. 

Does she even know what family she has to call?

He turned to glance over his shoulder. As many questions as he had, none of them passed his lips. 

“If they give you any trouble, bite ‘em again,” he said, then allowed the door to swing shut behind him. 

The building felt colder when he entered the hallway. There was a warmth in companionship that he often forgot in the absence of Toby and Eun-Mi. It was a warmth that crept back into his life during that one weekend a month when his son came to stay with him. A reminder that distance between people could be closed, despite the prodding gazes that often kept him away from them outside of work. 

Did she feel it too? He certainly hoped so. The thought that his presence could provide a reminder of that same warmth to someone else helped keep the chill of the world from settling too deeply into his bones. 

The urge to go back into the room and settle himself thrummed in his chest. This place was so lifeless with its white halls and floors, the splashes of dull color in that room limited to the light blue hospital gown and the wood-framed chair with its flimsy plum-colored upholstery. Would it be good for her to remember life existed? Would it be good for him?

No, he had to uproot himself. He still had to talk to Knox. 

He turned to retreat toward the door and stumbled back to the wall to get out of the way of an approaching doctor. 

“Sorry,” he said, pushing past him. 

“You’re here to see the kid?” 

The sound of the other man’s voice caused Harvey to turn. The doctor in question was holding a bundle of flowers in his hands. The pops of pink stood out against his white coat, a welcome break in the monotony of the irritatingly sterile environment. 

“Yes. I’m a trauma therapist,” he replied. “Are you her doctor?”

The doctor shook his head. “No,” he said. “I’m in surgery. I was out of town when she came in. Got back a few days ago and it didn’t take long for someone to fill me in. Things travel around here.”

“Are those hers?” he asked. 

The doctor took a hand off the bouquet and ran it through his neatly kept hair, dark and greying slightly at the temples. “Yeah,” he said. “Nobody’s come by for her. Nobody’s sending anything either. I thought maybe, you know.”

“It’ll help,” Harvey said. “Just something to look at. It makes a difference. They’re nice.”

“Hearing someone else say that makes me feel better,” he said. “Part of me wondered if, you know, it was enough.”

“There’s only so much anyone can do,” Harvey said. “Even me. A lot of it is time and giving them a leg up on learning to live with things. Trust me, it’s a good thought.”

“Thanks,” he said. “And you too. I feel better knowing that someone is here for her.”

Harvey gave him a nod. “Of course,” he said. “I’d stay longer, but I have an appointment I need to attend to.”

“Of course,” the doctor said. “I won’t keep you.”

The place seemed a little brighter, even as he turned away from the spots of color and heard the door open and shut behind him. Someone else was trying, and if nothing else, that made the task seem just a bit more hopeful. 

“What the fuck is this?” Harvey demanded, jabbing a finger at one of the evidence photos.

The officers gathered in the room mumbled and looked between each other. Knox stood beside him with his arms crossed over his broad chest, looking much less concerned than Harvey would have liked. 

“Oh, that’s my Coke,” one of them said. 

Harvey turned in the direction of the voice, gaze centering on the source. “Your what?” he snapped, hitting the T hard and feeling the sound linger on the back of his teeth. 

“Uh…My Coke,” the officer repeated. “You know? The soda?”

“I know what a fucking coke is!” Harvey said, slamming his palm on the table. “Why is it sitting in the middle of a crime scene?”

A wave of silence swept the room. 

“Shit, man, I was thirsty.”

Harvey pushed his fingers through his hair, revealing the eyepatch and burn scars beneath his bangs. The glower he gave the officer grew more intense. 

He hadn’t noticed the thing resting in the corner of the image when he’d looked over it before, but now, on a computer screen and five times the size of the photograph, it was offensively obvious. 

“Do you realize that leaving your shit laying around contaminates the scene?” he demanded. 

A hand rested on his shoulder. He flinched away, waving an arm to brush it off. He took a step away from Knox and adjusted his jacket. 

“Don’t touch me,” he snapped. “Why aren’t you making sure your people aren’t–?”

“So this is my fault now?” Knox said. 

Harvey stood silently for a second as he struggled to take in the question, jaw ajar and eye wide. “Yes!” he said, his voice cracking. “How do you get anything done here? Are the ones with brain cells on holiday?”

Knox stepped forward until he was standing square-toed with and staring down at the shorter man. “You need to go take a long walk,” he said. “And come back when you’re willing to approach this like a reasonable person.”

Harvey glared up at him, teeth clenched behind his scowl. “I’m unreasonable?” he asked. The frown split into a disbelieving and humorless smile accompanied by a short burst of dry laughter. “You’re leaving garbage at a crime scene and I’m unreasonable?”

Knox stood firmly, returning his no-nonsense cross-armed stance. Harvey would have found that attitude coming from someone so full of shit hilarious if he wasn’t so stunned and furious. 

“You don’t work with the police except when we call you to advise or retrieve, Harvington,” Knox said. “You’ve already retrieved, and I sure as hell don’t need your advice right now. You’re a therapist. I’ve given you what you need to do your work, so why don’t you stop bothering me and do it.”

Harvey turned from him, facing the group of officers. Every eye in the room was trained on him, like he’d had some kind of uncalled for outburst. 

“No wonder some of my clients are still waiting for you to find their attackers,” he muttered. “None of you assholes fucking care.”

He marched himself through the aisle of desks, threw the door open and let it slam behind him. He re-entered, head lowered and legs moving in long, angry strides.

“Forgot my fucking coat,” he growled, snatching it up and tucking it under his bad arm before storming out for good.

Chapter Text

“Alright now, steady. It’s just going to pinch a little.”

The girl stared the nurse down like the woman had just insulted her. The scowl on her face turned to gritted teeth as the syringe approached. She grabbed the pillow behind her and held it like she was going to swing it. 

The nurse sighed. “Harper, honey,” she said. “Can we please not do this today?”

The pillow remained raised. The posture conveyed the message clearly enough. Not just no. Hell no. 

The nurse backed away a few steps, and pinched the bridge of her nose. She looked across the bed at Harvey, who had taken position by the window in hopes of providing her more space to do her work. Space was exactly what she seemed to need right now in order to avoid a soft, cottony smack. 

“I’m sorry,” the woman said. “She just–She does this every time. I don’t know what to do with her sometimes. I don’t want to have to sedate her every time I need to give her a shot.”

Harvey observed the scene before him with familiarity. After being lifted out of hell, the last thing you wanted near you were more sharp objects. He didn’t blame the girl. She was protecting herself the only way she could with the only thing she had available. 

Still, understanding the reaction didn’t make the situation any easier to navigate. 

“You’re going to bother your stitches if you keep raising your arms like that,” the nurse said. 

Harper’s resolve to swing didn’t waver and she sat stone still, waiting for the next attempt to approach. 

Harvey met the nurse’s gaze. 

“Put it down,” he mouthed. 

She set the syringe on the counter behind her and raised her hands in defeat. 

The threat nullified for a moment, he turned his attention to the girl. “Harper,” he said softly. “Hey, Harper. Look over here.”

He reached into his coat pocket. He’d been planning to save this as a treat, but it seemed that it was going to be more useful as a bribe. He retrieved the candy bar he’d picked up from the vending machine before he’d come down to see her and held it out. 

“Look,” he said. “It’s for you.”

Harper zeroed in on the treat. She reached out. Then her head snapped back in the direction of the nurse, hand still frozen halfway to the snack. 

“Don’t look at her,” Harvey said. “Look at this. Come on. You like chocolate, right?”

Harper moved back to face him with a slow and cautious turn of the head. She took the other end of the wrapper in her hand. 

Understanding the assignment, the nurse already had the syringe in hand again. Harper let out a hoarse squeak and jumped. The candy flew from her fingers and landed on the bed. Her hand flew to her shoulder where the needle had bitten into her, and she kept it there. Her eyes wandered between him and the nurse, wide and alarmed. 

“I know, I know,” he said. “Look, it’s all over.”

The nurse retreated to the door. “Thank you,” she mouthed back at him. The light switch flipped, leaving them in the dim light of the bedside lamp. “Leave it off, would you?” the nurse said. “She likes it like that.”

He gave her a nod and then returned his attention to the patient. “I know it isn’t easy,” he said. He took the candy from where it had landed and held it out to her again. “But it’ll make you feel better. You did a good job.”

Harper glanced over her shoulder as if expecting another shot if she reached out for her prize. Satisfied that nobody else was in the room, she took it from him and peeled the wrapper back. 

“There we go,” he said, watching her take a bite. “You earned that.”

She placed the pillow behind her again and tucked the fox close to her with one arm. She ate like they weren’t feeding her, which he knew wasn’t true. The color had returned to her face, and she was no longer as painfully scrawny as she’d been when he’d first come to see her. Hospital food wasn’t exactly the pinnacle of flavor though. Her problem was more than likely not a lack of food, but a lack of tasty snacks.

“Have you named your fox yet?” he asked. 

She shook her head. There was a smudge of chocolate at the corner of her mouth. The urge to reach over and clean her face gripped him for a moment, then abated as he reminded himself of her current stance on being touched. 

“Are you going to?” he asked. 

She pulled the animal to her chest and nodded. 

He gestured to the corner of his mouth, and she wiped her face with the back of her hand. Better. He’d always been the fussy one between himself and Eun-mi. He was the one who made the chicken soup when Toby was sick and made sure all the bumps and scrapes were taken care of. Old habits refused to die, even a decade after his separation from his wife.

Eun-mi had never been one for cooking anyway. It was more of a chore to her than a pastime or an artform. He, on the other hand, was at home in the kitchen. So much so that even now, he was considering what kind of meal she deserved after all of this. Not that it mattered. If Knox ever got off his ass, they’d find her family, and he wouldn’t be the one cooking for her anyway. 

 For the time being, though, he was the designated provider of comfort. 

“How does hot chocolate sound?” he asked. It was fall. That was a good comfort drink right now, right? 

She pondered the offer for a moment, then nodded. The slight smile that crossed her face at the offer was a spot of warmth that this dull room desperately needed. 

He rose from his chair and gave her a soft smile. “Alright, kiddo,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

The warmth of the cup in his hand was well-needed. It was a gentle kind of thing that grounded him. He’d had too much time to think lately, about yesterday at the station, and about the lingering thought of seeing Cotton face to face. 

He couldn’t lie to himself. Having too much time to think was part of the reason that he was here. It was his job, of course. He was supposed to establish trust with his patients, and make them feel safe with him. It also reminded him why he did this. 

He wished that he could have been that person, the one who was selfless enough to immediately go to the prison and demand to see the man who had ruined his life. He wished that just the thought that doing so might help someone enough was enough to push him there. It wasn’t, and he didn’t think it ever would be. 

He needed to see her. He needed her sitting in front of him and staring at him with those wide eyes as she tried to figure out exactly how much trust she should put in him. Maybe then, that would be enough to make him as selfless as he needed to be. 

He exited the cafeteria, breathing even, almost meditative as he tried to force himself to focus on what was in front of him. Forget everything for just a moment and work with her. That was what he needed to do right now. 

“Oh, it's you!”

Harvey jumped at the sound of the voice. He turned to see the familiar face of the doctor from the other day smiling back at him. 

The other man raised his hands. “Oh, sorry,” he said. “Didn't mean to scare you.”

Harvey felt himself relax. Just a bit of a surprise. He found that it happened more often since his attack. Even eleven years later, someone coming up in his blind spot gave him an anxiety rush like almost nothing else on the face of the earth. 

“No no,” he said. “It's alright. I was just…Well, I was a bit preoccupied.”

“No, I snuck up on you. Sorry,” the other man said. “I'm assuming you're back for our mystery girl?”

“You assume correctly,” Harvey said. “I'll likely be back for her often. It takes time to build trust with victims like her, but she's thankfully been receptive so far.”

“I was heading back that way,” the doctor said. “Mind if I walk with you?”

“Guess not,” Harvey said, gesturing with the arm missing a hand. “Lead on.”

The doctor fell into step with him easily as they ventured down the hallway towards Harper's room. At least someone gave a damn. With Knox and his crew doing fuck all, she was going to need as many adults committed to helping her as she could get. 

“I did want to talk to you, actually,” the doctor said.

“Yeah?” Harvey asked. “About what?”

Harvey had to look up slightly when he spoke to the other man. Five eight wasn't exactly a towering height. He'd grown accustomed to having to raise his head when speaking. 

“I thought you might have some ideas about what we should be doing here,” he said. “I'm trying to come by when I can and help her, but I'm not trained for that kind of thing. I was just wondering if you–” He paused in his step. “Did you leave that door open?”

Harvey followed his gaze to the open doorway of the patient room. Without waiting for his companion, he quickened his pace. 

The first thing he noticed was that the overhead light was on. He hadn't touched it. If the nurse said that Harper seemed calmer with only the lamp on, he wasn't going to take that comfort from her. God forbid. He understood it better than anyone, the comfort of feeling like you could disappear in a dim room. 

The officer turned to the door as he entered.

Harvey wasn't sure if he was angry or relieved. Finally someone was trying to do something over there. Maybe some actual results would come through sooner rather than later. On the other hand, a stranger had just entered her room while the only semi-trusted adults in the building, himself and her doctors and nurses, were absent. Looking at her face, she was as unhappy about that as he was, if not more. 

“About time,” Harvey muttered, slinking back into the room with the doctor behind him. The stern look on his face dropped the moment he directed his attention to the girl in the bed and held out the drink. “Here we go. That should be nice and toasty.” Then it returned when he looked up at the officer. “While I appreciate that someone was sent over, I would have preferred that someone else be in the room before you let yourself in.”

The officer regarded him with a cool expression. Harvey assumed that word of his outburst at the station had traveled quickly, as things tended to do. If only word of evidence and where her family was traveled as quickly as their petty grievances with him. 

“Well, you’re here now,” the officer said. 

Yes. Now. After he’d already let himself in and caused her undue stress. Harvey could see it on her face. She was watching him like a rabbit hidden in the bushes eyeing a predator, and had already migrated to the side of the bed that was furthest from him. 

Harvey reached over and turned the lights off. At least he could spare her that discomfort. 

The officer raised an eyebrow at him. 

“She doesn’t like them on,” Harvey said. Something you’d have known if you’d waited for anyone to be called over, he wanted to add. 

“Right, well,” the officer said dismissively. He put on his best smile as he returned his attention to Harper. “So honey, like I was saying, I just have a few questions I need to ask you, alright?”

The doctor skirted from around his shoulder and took up a watchful position near the foot of the bed. Thank God for the bit of camaraderie between them at the moment. He wasn’t sure how much restraint he’d have had if it was just him, the officer, and his annoyance at the unprofessionalism. Harper didn’t need two grown men sniping at each other over her bed, and as embarrassing as it was, he knew that it was a definite possibility without the doctor’s presence. 

“So then, we’ll start nice and easy, alright?” the officer said. “What’s your name?”

Harper scribbled on the notepad and turned it to him. 

“Harper. That’s a nice name,” he said. “How old are you, Harper?”

She held up one finger and then four. One year younger than Toby. The confirmation made Harvey feel queasy. 

“Fourteen,” he repeated. “That’s a good age. Do you have any friends at school, Harper?”

She paused for much too long, then shrugged. 

“No?” he asked.. 

She looked over at Harvey. He gave her a nod of encouragement. “It’s alright,” he said.

Harper set to scribbling again. Her shaky hand produced wavy, tangled lines. 

Don’t remember.

Harvey had a feeling that something like that was coming. It wasn’t uncommon for people to lose track of things after trauma. Usually it was just the incident itself, but sometimes it went beyond that. Those things tended to come back with time and acceptance of their circumstances. If only time was on their side. Everyone in this room knew that the longer it took to get information, the further away the monster responsible grew. 

You couldn’t force it. Nobody could. Trying would only make it more painful for her. 

“Alright, well, do you remember what school you go to?” he asked. 

She shook her head. 

The officer sighed and Harvey felt himself bristle. Great. Just make the kid feel more useless, why don’t you? He gave the other man a warning glance, which the officer returned with an irritated expression. 

“Do you remember if you’re from the city?” he asked, brushing past Harvey’s glare. 

Don’t know this place.

The words made his heart clench. When he’d come to, at least he’d had Eun-Mi, as badly as that had ended for them both. He tried to imagine being so young, being hurt, and then being saved and realizing that you weren’t where you were before. In fact, you weren’t anywhere you recognized. Then the strangers poured in to take care of you, and you looked at all of them like they could turn on you in an instant. 

That was a different kind of hell. Maybe not the physically painful one that you were accustomed to, but a vague, cloudy purgatory where you couldn’t see what was in front of you and a threat could be behind every face you encountered. 

“Alright, so somewhere else then,” he said. “Do you know where?”

No.

“Oh boy,” the officer muttered. “How about the guy who did this? Do you remember anything about him?”

Harper shook her head and covered her mouth and nose with her hand. 

Masked. Of course. Cotton hadn’t bothered. He’d been a cocky bastard who was just in it for the thrill. He hadn’t counted on Harvey still breathing by the time he was finished. This guy was different, more prepared. No chances had been taken. 

“Nothing? Eyes? Hair color?” the officer asked. “What did he sound like?”

Harvey could see the tension winding tightly in her frame. She grabbed her fox from beside her and held it close, lowering her head and shaking it. From where Harvey stood, he could see the beginnings of tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. She inhaled sharply, the breath trembling on her lips. 

“Alright,” Harvey said. “I think we’ll have to stop there. She’s getting overwhelmed.”

“I just have a few more–” the officer began.

“No, he’s right,” the doctor said, speaking up for the first time since they’d entered the room. “I understand the gravity of what you’re trying to do, but her health is our major concern at the moment. Thank you for coming by, but I’m going to have to ask you to tell them to send someone to follow up later.”

The officer let out a defeated sigh, but gave the doctor a curt nod, not sparing a glance for Harvey. “Alright then,” he said. “I’ll tell them.”

“Good,” the doctor said. “If you don’t mind, we need to check up on her after this. You’re free to go on your way.”

The officer stepped to the door and exited without a word. 

Harvey redirected himself to calming the upset that the questioning had caused. He’d have loved to have taken her into his arms and let her stay there until she felt safe, but her injuries and her aversion to being touched wouldn’t allow that. Instead he took the edge of the blanket and pulled it up a bit further. 

“Alright now,” he said. “That’s over. You did so well.”

Her gaze darted to him, head still lowered, eyes still wet and sad. She sniffed and wiped the sleeve of her gown across her nose. 

“It’s okay,” he said. “Look, you have your fox, and you can drink your hot chocolate, and here.” He lifted the blanket a bit more. “You can hide under here if you want.”

Harper ducked her head under the blanket at his invitation. He released it and let it settle over her so she disappeared beneath it. The result was a small, blue lump with the vague shape of a child holding a stuffed animal. 

“There we go,” he said. “Nice and warm. Now, I’m going to step out for just a minute, but I’ll be right back, alright?”

No answer came from beneath the blanket other than the shuffling of her finding a comfortable position. He stepped around the bed and gestured for the doctor to follow him into the hallway, then quietly shut the door behind the two of them. 

“I can’t believe he just walked in,” Harvey said. “Jesus, just give the kid a heart attack, why don’t they.”

“No, you’re right,” the doctor said. “It was horrendously unprofessional.”

“I mean, I’m happy they’re doing something, but I just–” Harvey paused, shut his eyes, and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long few days, and my patience with the local precinct is very thin. It’s not your problem.”

The doctor shook his head. “No, you have every right to be upset.”

Harvey forced himself to relax. The disagreements between himself and the police force didn’t need to be everyone’s problem. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about?” he asked. 

“Oh, well,” the doctor said. “I’m not going to keep you out here to discuss all of that right now. She’s going to need your attention. But if you have the time…” He reached into his coat pocket and held a card out to Harvey. “...my number’s here. If you have any thoughts on what might be helpful in her treatment, I’d like to hear them. Even small things, like having the lights off. Anything to help her mentally.”

Harvey accepted the card and tucked it into his own pocket. At least someone the hospital staff were seeing reason in all of this. He desperately needed the reminder that not everybody involved was leaving their rubbish at the crime scene. 

“Of course. I’ll call you next time I have a moment and we can talk it over, doctor…?” 

“John,” the doctor said. “John Foley. We could do this over coffee, if you’d like.”

“John,” Harvey repeated, offering a small but genuine smile. “Coffee sounds great. I’ll give you a call.”

“Sounds like a plan,” John said. “I have to get back upstairs, but good luck with her. Be hearing from you soon.”

Harvey watched John retreat down the hallway and disappear around a corner. He slid his hand into his pocket and felt the paper settled inside. Yes, this would be good. Someone else on his side. Someone who could maybe help him put some pressure on Knox and his crew. This was a leg up that he needed.

Resolving to call the doctor at his first available moment, he turned back to the room and disappeared inside, trying to ignore the other thought lingering in his head. If she didn’t remember anything, and the police didn’t have any leads without her input, there was only one place left for him to go. 

His mouth grew dry and sour at the thought of it. Somewhere inside, he’d known he would have to do this eventually, but he’d deluded himself into thinking there was a chance that everything would work out fine. 

Fine wasn’t in the cards. It was time to be selfless. It was time to talk to Gerald Cotton. 

Chapter Text

The feeling of suffocation began before he’d entered the building. Getting in his car with the knowledge of where this drive would lead him was a cloud of unreality made of kaleidoscopic memory and a pounding heart. The sharp thrum against his ribcage made him wish for just a moment that it would stop and strike him dead before he could put himself face to face with that man again. 

There was something to be said about the moment fear began to transcend into some kind of borderline hallucinatory dissociation. It would have been wonderful to say that things got easier at the breaking point, but they never did. They felt like marching up the courthouse steps that day, like a nightmare where you tried to still your pace but the ground kept moving beneath you, shifting you ever closer to whatever monster stalked at the edges of dreams. 

He didn’t know how long he sat in the parking lot. What he did know was that he just wanted his damn hand to stop shaking, and that at some point, he’d grabbed a bottle of water out of the cupholder and ended up wearing half of it. He mopped his shirt with a wad of napkins from the glove compartment. The cold seeping into his chest through the fabric was an unwelcome reminder that he was, indeed, awake and alive. 

He opened the door and stumbled out of his small shelter and into the minefield that lay beyond. By the time he reached the door, the handle of his cane felt unsteady in his sweating palm. He leaned it against the desk and wiped his hand on his pants. 

“I’m here to see–” he started. His tongue felt too heavy in his mouth. “To see–See–”

The guard raised an eyebrow at him. “You need some water?”

“No, I–I had some,” Harvey said. He cleared his throat. “Gerald Cotton.”

The guard shifted from his comfortable, cross-legged position and fully swiveled to face him. “I wondered who the nutjob was calling in about Cotton,” he said, his eyes prodding the remnants of old injuries littering Harvey’s skin. “Can’t remember the last time someone wanted to see the bastard.”

Want was a strong word. 

“Well, here I am,” he said, taking a shaky breath. He felt it tremble past his lips and down his throat like it was going to try and crawl its way back out of his mouth. “So, can I see him?”

The guard nudged his chair over to the desktop. “I guess,” he said. “I’ll call someone to take you there. You’ll have half an hour. What was your name?”

“Harvington.”

The guard paused in his typing. “You’re shitting me,” he said. 

God above, he wished he was. He conjured the image of Harper, battered in her hospital bed. The way she still looked at him warily and took things he offered quickly, as if he would snatch them away from her. Anything to keep him from thinking about how, at this moment, he would rather be anybody but Harvey Harvington.

“Step this way,” the guard who escorted him said. 

Harvey wished for anything to occupy his attention other than the bland prison walls. Anything to make him forget what he was here to do for just a moment, but the sound of his own footsteps trailing after the other man sounded like the drums of a death march. 

The guard ushered him to the side while he unlocked the door. It was a lifeless room with little more than a table and a couple of chairs in it. Stepping inside, his reflection in the one way mirror greeted him as he made his way to the table and took a seat. 

The face staring back at him was pale, with eyes underscored with darkness that spoke of how little sleep he’d gotten in the time leading up to this venture. Harvey often tried not to look at himself for too long. Even after so long, it was too easy to remember what he had lost. There was no life in that mirror image anymore. He wondered if they, whoever sat on the other side looking in, if there was anybody, could see it too. 

“It’ll be a minute,” the guard said. 

“Yeah, sure,” Harvey muttered, still staring ahead, noting how ill he looked. He barely heard the comment. 

This was what Cotton would see when he walked in. Harvey had notions of coming in with a straight back and a stern face, demanding answers with a no-nonsense tone. Instead he wanted to vomit and shrivel up in his seat. 

The sound of the door on the other side of the room opening, both made his breath hitch and prompted him to sit up straight and fold his hands in front of him like he hadn’t been feeling like a simpering mess all day. 

Cotton was as well put together as he was the last day Harvey had seen him. God forbid a narcissist face the world without a well-groomed appearance. Behind the neatly tucked hair and clean shave, there was a deadness to him that Harvey was well acquainted with. There was a certain type of person out there, one who offered you a hand and a smile in public, but then when you looked into their eyes, there was nothing. 

Harvey had spent many a day and night wondering if Gerald Cotton was even a person, or if he was some amalgamation of facial expressions and gestures that were carefully calibrated to portray exactly what was expected of him until he entered the privacy of his home. Then there was no mask left to keep. 

“Mouse,” Cotton said. Every harsh consonant of the word hammered into Harvey’s ear. 

The guard attached his cuffs to the table. 

Cotton took a deep breath and stretched like Harvey had just made an early morning drop in at his apartment. The face looking at him from across the table was fixed in a content kind of placidity. He felt Cotton’s dark eyes probe his scars until, satisfied, the corner of the other man’s mouth lifted in the kind of smile one reserves for rambunctious children and animals. Oh, you… It seemed to say.

“Nice of you to visit,” Cotton said. “After ten years, I almost thought you’d forgotten me.”

Harvey bit his tongue. The urge to shout at him, to tell him to fuck himself, to scream that he’d ruined him, hovered over the two men like a gathering cloud poised to rain hell and lightning. 

“Your shirt’s wet,” Cotton continued. 

“I’m here because I have questions,” Harvey said, tone sharp and clipped, afraid that if he said more than the bare minimum he’d start screaming. 

Cotton leaned on the table, hands clasped in front of him. The thin chain looped through the metal bar on the table clinked. “Eleven years and now you have questions for me?” he said. “Do tell, mouse. What’s going on in that little head of yours?”

“The mark,” Harvey said, clenching his hand beneath the table. His nails digging into his palm were a welcome kind of dull pain. “Who did you buy from?”

“Come now,” Cotton said. “I can’t just reveal my secrets to everyone who asks.”

“Don’t get smart,” Harvey said. “How big is the operation? Are they nation-wide? International?”

“All these questions,” Cotton said. He rolled his eyes, expression growing disinterested. “Really now? You come to see me for the first time in a decade, and for this? I thought you’d at least be entertaining.”

Entertaining. 

Harvey felt his teeth grind together at the word. “I’m not here to dance for you,” he said. 

“Mmm,” Cotton mumbled. “Shame. You used to be a better show.”

“I’m not playing games with you I–” 

“You what?” Cotton asked. “What was the plan, mouse? Come in and ask me nicely? Did you think this through at all? Or are you just impulsively gnawing at the walls like a rat, the way you always do?” He leaned forward. It took everything in Harvey not to move his chair back. “If I were you, I’d be less interested in who sold me, and more interested in who sold me.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Harvey snapped. 

“A riddle, isn’t it?” he asked. “You look so serious. Am I bothering you?”

“No,” Harvey said. 

“Why the renewed interest?” Cotton asked. “I can hardly fathom, unless…” The patronizing smile shifted to something with teeth. “You found another one.”

“That’s none of your business,” Harvey said, grasping to keep his purchase on the situation as it fought to escape him. 

“But you came to me,” Cotton said. “You made it my business. So then, mouse, if you really want to make yourself worth my while, you can tell me a story. What did they do to this one?”

“I’m not answering that,” Harvey said. 

“I guess I’ll just have to make something up then,” Cotton said. “I’m picturing an animal on the floor, bleeding and whining that it’ll behave if they just stop stabbing. But they don’t. And it keeps crying because it knows that they fucking own it.” He paused, tilting his head. “No…” he said. “No wait. That’s y–”

Harvey wasn’t entirely sure when he got out of his chair, nor when he closed the distance between them and raised his fist. The strong arms pulling him back brought reality back into him as the guard that had escorted him there yanked him out of his striking position. 

“Alright, that’s enough,” he said. “Visit’s over.”

Harvey barely heard him over the pounding in his ears. Cotton sat looking as unperturbed as ever, staring at him like he hadn’t so much as flinched. Had he flinched? 

The desperate rise and fall of Harvey’s chest slowed as he regained his footing and stood straight. “Yeah,” he said. “I think it is.”

Harvey shrugged the guard’s hand off and stepped towards the exit. 

“Mouse.”

He paused in his step, and then again, like driving here, like walking up to this place, the dream ordered him to look back. 

Cotton’s head hit the table with a bang that made both him and the guard flinch. Raising his head, the trickle of blood lit his face and coated his teeth as his lips parted in an iron-stained grin. 

“Doesn’t that make you feel better?” he asked, voice steady, running his tongue over his teeth.

The bottle trembled in his hand as he staggered to the elevator and stumbled out into the third floor hallway. He didn’t want to open it. God, he wanted it. Thirty dollars and an impulse for something. Something to just stop thinking. Stop feeling. 

I can’t do this again.

That was why he was here, wasn’t it? Because he knew where this road went. Because he knew that even getting out of his car when he’d gotten to the liquor store had been a mistake. Now he needed someone to tell him to stop. 

She would tell him to stop.

He’d left his cane in the car. The deep scars were angry without the support, but their protests went ignored as he slumped himself against the apartment door and knocked. 

Jill opened the door. He raised his head to her pathetically, like a drowning sailor seeing a lighthouse miles in the distance, and shoved the bottle at her. 

“Jill, please,” he muttered. “I don’t…I don’t want it.”

She lifted it from his grasp and stood aside. “Alright,” she said. “Alright. I’ll put this…somewhere.”

How long had it been since she’d seen him like this? A decade? A decade and now he was inches from being back on his shit. 

“Thank you,” he said, staggering inside and throwing himself onto the couch. He kicked his shoes off and rested his feet on the cushion, burying his face in his knees. 

He heard the sound of the bottle being set down out of sight. When he felt the cushion sink when she sat down beside him, he didn’t raise his head. 

“Harv, are you drunk?” she asked. 

The bark of laughter that left him was hollow and humorless. He lifted his head, dropped his feet to the floor, and slouched back in his seat. “Not yet,” he said in a tone much quieter than his initial reaction to the question. 

“What happened?” she asked. “Come on, you’re freaking me out.”

He gave her a small, tense smile. Thank God. Thank God he had one friend who he could crawl to. Thank God he wasn’t stuck in a basement somewhere. 

“I…” he said. “I went to see Cotton.”

She let that settle for a moment. “Okay, why?” she said. 

“You’re very calm,” he said. 

“Do you want me to yell at you?” she asked. 

“No,” he said with a half-hearted laugh. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

“So then, why?” she repeated. 

“I thought,” he said. He took a deep breath. Despite being in a safe place and having his best friend beside him, it still felt like he was trying to breathe underwater. “I don’t know. I wanted answers. It was stupid.”

“Did he tell you anything?” Jill asked. 

“Of course not,” Harvey said. “He didn’t tell me shit. He just kept–I almost punched him. I don’t know.” He looked up at her like a kicked dog. “I don’t want to bother you, but can I sleep on your couch tonight? I don’t want to go home.”

“Of course you can,” she said. “I’ll grab some extra blankets.” She rose from the couch and grabbed the bottle of whiskey off the counter. “And this is going bye. Say bye.”

“Bye,” he echoed, allowing his eyes to drift shut for a moment. 

The door opened and she retreated into the hallway, carrying his vice with him and leaving the apartment feeling much safer for it.