It's What I Deserve

            He hadn’t actually loved Fish, no. Maybe when she went by ‘Maria’ he’d given it a thought. But not since then.

            He’d been there when it happened. As always, he’d seen too much and felt too little about it at the time. Stunned, almost.

            Maybe he should talk to somebody…

            There was a half a second where he held Jim responsible for her death. The gasp still rung in his ears, the searing noise as Jim stabbed her. The virus running rampant in Jim’s bloodstream was to blame and he knew it. That fact still didn’t help the body bleeding out on that cement floor.

            He’d been awake too many hours but somehow in his exhaustion his mind played him and he was still very much alert.

            The city’s chaos, the amount of phone calls he’d taken that night, the pure ridiculousness of the virus spreading through Gotham – it was too much. The body count was at an all-time high. But he saved Jim and that was silver lining.

            Still he couldn’t get past the heart-hammering, gut-wrenching memory of searching through the woods while Jim was buried alive.

            He needed a vacation.

            Sitting in his car during his one moment of solace that night, he found himself staring blankly at the steering wheel.

            Well, fuck, was he numb.

            Maybe the city was torn apart and maybe he should’ve just gone home, but there he was on another bar stool, glass of whiskey, barkeep left the bottle.

            The place was destroyed. Robbed, apparently. Front window smashed into, car still half-stuck through the shattered thing. Top hinge of the front door was busted too, left it just hanging there. He’d asked if they were even open, but the staff had insisted upon letting him in. With each step, glass crunched beneath his shoes.

            He wasn’t the only one in desperate need of a drink tonight. A couple walked in half hour later, looking just as hollow as he felt. Fake smile, shuffling inside and bringing the night air with them.

            A group followed suit shortly after – looked barely old enough to drink.

            So he wasn’t alone tonight.

             Harvey hadn’t planned on driving home. Sleeping in his car was how the night was looking, especially after killing half of the bottle.

            They let him smoke in there – said the place was going to Hell anyway – so he lit up as the staff searched for an ashtray.

            Heel clicks and crunching glass and Harvey was gazing up under half-lidded eyes, tipping his hat up with his knuckle.

            Trouble – in walked trouble.

            Only he was too bagged up to even think of reaching for his gun.

            After closer examination, he realized she was just as broken as he was and maybe the tingle down his spine was relief.

            Eyes scanning the room, she paused when they landed on him.

            “Bullock,” it came out as an almost-whisper and Harvey wondered where all that fire went.

            “Ms. Galavan,” he greeted. She paused at the barstool beside him as if considering her options, but threw herself into it with a loud exhale.

            She grabbed his drink before he could offer to buy her one, downing the rest of his whiskey in one swig.

            Mouth agape, he blinked before the barkeep brought them over another glass.

            And then it hit him. Rumor must have been true: Butch Gilzean was dead.

            The two sat in silence as he poured them both a glass.

            Ashes burning his fingers, Harvey huffed out his cigarette then ran a hand down his beard.

            The way this bar looked in its ramshackle way reminded him of Mooney’s when she first bought it. Place was a disaster. He’d laughed at her for even spending the little she had, but he knew she’d fix it up. Fish had a way about her – determination. At the time she was just getting established she’d give him little side jobs to do: fix this light fixture, install a new sink, carry in a desk for her office.

            And then Gilzean was hired and most of the work was done before he even got off shift.

            Fish hadn’t needed him anymore, it was clear, and he was just sticking around for the discounted booze – which ended upon grand opening.

            Things weren’t the same. They couldn’t be, not with him as a cop and her as a criminal.

            “People suck,” Tabitha’s voice brought him out of his memory and he blinked a few times, clearing the fog from his brain.

            “Here, here,” he clinked glasses with her and drank.

The way her tits bubbled out of that tight leather getup Harvey couldn’t help but stare. That beautiful shade of her skin, the shaky breaths she took…if he kept staring, he’d probably get hard. That would be awkward.

            For a while they just sat there, drinking from the same bottle but not much else.

            “Hear ya killed Gordon’s ex-fiancé.” Insensitive, Harvey. She narrowed her eyes at him and boy did he know how to chase them off. “Sorry. Uh…sorry ‘bout Butch.” He drank. “Dude deserved better if ya ask me.”

            “Shut up,” she snapped but it came out as an almost-whisper. Harvey lowered the glass from his lips, eyeing her but she shoved his arm down, almost smashing the glass against the counter.

            And her hands were cupping his face, lips harsh against his, legs straddling his thigh.

            That was the first time Tabitha Galavan ever gave him a hard on.

---

Harvey hadn’t expected it to come to this – not really. Give him a hundred chances – a hundred possible guesses and this would never be the expectation.

            Tabitha Galavan begged him to kiss her.

            Slid her hand in his pocket, typed her number in his phone. Licked those pretty lips and pulled him in for more. Standing in the broken glass of the bar’s front window, street dead silent at 3 a.m., he was shocked.

            He’d fuck her if he didn’t have whiskey dick.

            He’d offer her a ride if he wasn’t planning on sleeping it off in his car.

            Maybe it was some sort of comfort for her, finding someone fucked up on the same night your boyfriend was killed. Coping, sure, but she’d taken it a step further than maybe either of them expected.

            Palming him through his slacks in the booth, both drinking from the bottle? Sounded right. Giving him her number?

            Harvey was sure it was a fake, but she left with a, “call me sometime” and Harvey wondered if this was all part of the game.

xxx

            Took two weeks but he fell for it – ball in her court now, or maybe it always was.

            Harvey was bagged up for the third night straight and he figured his hand could use a rest. He always got horny when he drank. He couldn’t put himself through another porno and calling a sex line just wasn’t gonna cut it.

            Four hours later she replied. By then he was out of alcohol and his buzz wore off two hours before, but that ache was still there.

            Come over.

            His eyebrows raised, lips pursed – contemplating. Should he…?

            Next thing he knew he was picking up a bottle of wine and running her address over in his head in loop.

            When he got there, she answered on the first knock and he’d never seen her this jumpy. Granted, he hadn’t seen her much.

            “You a wine drinker?”

            “Not really,” she answered shortly, yet grabbed the bottle.

            The place wasn’t much, like his. Dimly lit but cozy.

            She poured the wine and they sat on the couch in silence, sipping. Eventually Harvey broke.

            “Things gotten any better?”

            “No.” She spoke coldly.

            He huffed back, set his wine down, pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. And then she was on him, straddling his lap, knocking off his hat, warm mouth on his.

            Her hand fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, slid it off, then worked on his pants.

            He knew what she was doing and why… but what was his excuse? He hadn’t had a good lay in months? He had this sadness creeping over him that he just couldn’t shake?

            Hand slipping between her thighs, he felt the heat coming from her center. Harvey almost growled but she pulled back and he felt like he was falling – had she just come to her senses? Did she just now realize what she was doing?

            Her eyes were focused on his face. “Clothes off. Now.”

            Harvey’s halfie was just a halfie no more.

•••

            The first time, she didn’t let him top. After she pressed a knife to his neck when he tried to shift them over, he let it be. Figured it wasn’t worth dying over.

            He’d managed to slip the hair tie out of that ponytail, watching her long tresses fan out around her.

            She didn’t let him do much else but thrust into her, grip her hips. When she tried fighting him on putting his hands there, he demanded it anyway and she obliged simply because of the feeling of his thumb on her clit.

            After that she didn’t take long to come. Harvey had been glad, considering he wouldn’t have lasted much longer.