She sets her items in a basket, filling the other mason jar with ice as the final step before she leaves through the backdoor, finally letting out her own frustrated huff when she was no longer in earshot of her stepmother.

Y/N walked down the freshly manicured grass of the expansive acreage to get to the large white barn where Hal Carter was hard at work. He was the stable hand and has been working for Y/N’s family for almost two years. 

Hal was six feet tall, with strong arms made stronger every day by the work he does. The outline of his muscles could be seen through the plaid button downs he would wear and sometimes take off on the days when he was already overheating in thick jeans and boots. A gentle smile accompanied beautiful blue eyes and soft brown hair that would start to curl when sweat soaked his strands. 

Y/N liked seeing Hal, not just because of how incredible he looks as sweat shines over his body- the image of him lifting his shirt to wipe at his brow, exposing a perfectly carved stomach will forever be seared in her mind- but because he’s kind to her and he doesn’t expect anything from her unlike the rest of the world.

Her father doesn’t understand Y/N’s silly little dream of being a teacher. She had just completed her first year of having her own class and honestly he had hoped the whole ordeal had turned her off. He doesn’t see the point of working anywhere that pays so little and she’s tired of having arguments with him about forgetting his own roots, busting his ass with two jobs and still barely making ends meet until he found success with a patent which launched his business. He would scoff at his past, ashamed of the fact that he wasn’t born into wealth like his wife. 

Unlike her father who felt she should be at a job earning a lot, Y/N’s stepmother didn’t understand why she wanted to work at all. If it were up to her she would have her married off to William Archer III. He was an investment banker who also came from money like Y/N, having attended the same private school but that’s where their similarities ended. 

Y/N was disgusted by his attitude and how little William cared for anyone other than himself. He was a spoiled rich kid that hasn’t worked a real day in his life and never would. His company was his father’s as it was his father’s before him, and the only thing William was actually good at was profiting off the backs of those who work ten times as hard at a fraction of what he makes. 

William constantly pursued Y/N because she turned him down. He liked the challenge, thinking of her as nothing more than game to be hunted, another one of his hobbies that Y/N despises, but instead of mounting her head on the wall he’ll mount her on display around his arm as a picture perfect trophy wife. 

Hal was surprised by Y/N’s refreshing demeanor from the start. He knows his role as staff but unlike the rest of her family Y/N has never made him feel less than. She was a kindhearted soul and quite frankly sometimes he doesn't believe she’s actually related to them. 

The first time Hal met Y/N he was cleaning out one of the stalls in the stables. He took a moment to pause and wipe the sweat from his brow, nearly jumping out of his skin when he saw her standing there. She was beautiful, there was no doubt in his mind about that, and even more beautiful as she stood there flashing a radiant smile as she apologized for scaring him. She was coming in to check on one the horses, Percy, to see firsthand if his stomach issues had gotten better.

The smell alone in the stables was enough to keep her family away but Y/N didn’t mind at all, grabbing a manure fork of her own before Hal had the chance to protest so she could inspect the droppings herself. 

“He’s doing much better now Miss Y/L/N,” Hal said. She took note of the slightest hint of a Midwest accent in his voice though it was mostly undetectable. 

“I’m so happy to hear that,” she beamed, setting the fork aside and stepping forward to see the horses enjoying their day on the open lawn. She spotted Percy grazing on the grass and her heart lifted, glad to see that he was doing better. “Oh, and it’s just Y/N,” she said, looking over her shoulder back at Hal.

The formality her parents required from those they employ is not for her. Y/N knew they were privileged to have a group of people working for them, in the house and on the grounds; but Y/N always felt her parents would forget that these people were actual humans with lives that didn’t and shouldn’t revolve around their family and not robotic slaves meant to carry out all their wishes without complaint.

Hal gave a respectable nod to her, curbing his smile to a professional one as he excused himself back to work. 

Their interactions increased over time, especially with Y/N spending a lot of time with her favorite horse Penelope. She liked to brush her down and bring her apples she picked from the trees on property, and whenever they went riding Hal couldn’t take his eyes off her.

When Y/N was saddled up on Penelope’s back it seemed like it was the only time she truly felt in control of her life. It was true. Riding allowed her the time to clear her mind and with the wind in her hair she let go of everything outside of that moment.

But there was one thing that she couldn’t shake from her thoughts, Hal Carter. 

It didn’t take long before for their friendship to develop and quite soon after a forbidden romance. It was something they worked hard at, deleting texts right after sending them, hiding their pictures together. Y/N’s stepmother had a tendency to snoop so she did everything she could to protect their relationship. 

Hal tasted the lemonade from her lips, his calloused hands wrapped around Y/N’s waist, backing her up towards the wall to steal more of the sweetness he couldn’t get enough of and he didn’t mean the drink. 

Her lips were soft against his, a heavenly touch that set every part of him aflame. The idea of sneaking around made both their hearts race, every noise keeping them on edge with “what ifs” racing through their minds. If they were caught Hal would surely be fired and though they wouldn’t have to hide their relationship any more that’s not something Y/N wanted.

Hal rarely spoke to her about money; she understood and didn’t push the issue. She knew his financial situation wasn’t the best and that despite her parent’s attitude towards the staff they actually paid them surprisingly well. It wasn’t something he ever flaunted but it wasn’t something neither of them could deny. 

Still, he couldn’t help but feel like all of this could slip away from him, that one day Y/N will wake up and realize what a big mistake she made. She could date anybody, someone her parents’ won’t turn their nose up to, someone who could afford to take her out. Not even to a fancy place because Hal knows she doesn’t care about that but he’s ashamed he can’t even take her anywhere. 

“Darlin’, you deserve everything.” The corner of his lips sunk into a frown as he sighed, “And I can’t give you that.”

“Hal, I have everything and I don’t want it, I only want you.” 

He was shocked by her admission, still finding it hard to believe. “I’m nothing Y/N. I have nothing. I’m lucky I even have this job.”

She brushed the hair away from his eyes, letting her hand move down cup the soft skin of his cheek, warm against her palm. “What do you want Hal? You don’t have to work for my family forever. Whatever’s holding you back I’ll help.”

He smiled, taking her hand off his cheek to kiss the delicate knuckles of her skin. She knows what he’s doing, changing the subject when he doesn’t want to answer. Again, she doesn’t push him.

“Follow me,” he said, letting go of her hands. 

They walk along the fence of the pasture, down the slope of a small hill before they stop at a bright red maple tree. Hal adjusts Y/N to stand in the right spot, his solid frame behind her, leaning in as he points his finger up between the branches.

“Can you see?” he asked, and she tried to follow the line of sight for his finger. 

She isn’t sure what she’s looking for until she sees it, the slightest movement of a robin moving its head, spying on them from her nest.

“She’s been sittin’ on those eggs for a week now,” Hal said, smiling because he knows Y/N’s love of animals is not just for horses. They’ll be hatching soon and he can’t wait to bring her to see them. 

If this is what their dates are for now then Hal doesn’t mind it at all. Any time spent with her he’s grateful for but Y/N knows she’s been gone for too long and knowing her stepmother she probably set a timer the moment Y/N walked out of the door. 

Back in the stables she packs up the empty mason jars and reluctantly says goodbye. Hal holds her close as they kiss, the slip of his tongue in her mouth makes her yearn for more. A soft hum bubbles in her throat before she grabs the back of his head, deepening the kiss as their tongues dance together. 

They get carried away and Hal falls back into a pile of hay, protecting Y/N in his arms as she falls on top of him. With a final press to his lips she gets up, extending her hands out to Hal to pull him up. He helps wipe off any hay that may have gotten attached to her, watching her figure get smaller the further she walks away from him as she makes her way back to the main house.

With a heavy sigh Hal gets back to work, knowing for now their secret is kept by the horses, the only ones who seemed to be rooting for them. 

“What took you so long?” Her stepmother scowled, throwing her a sharp accusatory glare. 

Y/N rolled her eyes, opening the basket to take out the mason jars. Over her shoulder she responded, “You know how I like to spend time with Penelope.”

As she washes the glasses Y/N can’t see the disapproving shake of her stepmother’s head, especially as she sees a strand of hay stuck on the fabric of Y/N’s leg. She doesn’t say anything. The clack of her heels echo through the large home as she stomps her way out of the kitchen, not liking this one bit.

Y/N comes down the grand stairway when dinner is ready, her hand languidly gliding down the banister. It’s not that she didn’t want to eat with her parents, she didn’t mind their company as long as they didn’t pester her about the things that parents do, but she was tired of seeing them. 

Going away for college had been a wonderful escape, to be Y/N Y/L/N, regular college student and not the girl with a rich family. Her father was right, teaching does not pay well but she isn’t doing it for the money. However she did need to save a bit so she could move out and finally be on her own. She had assets in a trust fund but she refused to use them, wanting to prove to her family that she didn’t need their money.

“There she is,” the somewhat familiar voice of a man called out.

Y/N lifted her head, frozen in shock to find William Archer III sitting at her dining table. 

A cheshire cat smile stretched across her stepmother’s face. “Look who came by!” she feigned surprise. Y/N knew her stepmother had called him the moment she left to see Hal. 

There was plenty of space at the table but most of the chairs had been removed, leaving only one open and unsurprisingly it was next to William. Y/N plastered a smile to her face and held the back of the chair, moving it as far away from him as she could before she was scolded by her stepmother. It was embarrassing, especially when her father chimed in to remind her that they don’t treat guests this way. If only they knew what he was really like. Reluctantly, she returned the chair to its spot next to him though she kept a greater distance than where it was originally. 

Y/N wondered if she was the only one who noticed the way William would speak wildly with his hands, these big gestures that involved movement of his whole body giving him an excuse to adjust his chair again and somehow he had ended up right beside her. She ignored him as best as she could, moving her leg away each time his hand “just happened” to brush against her thigh. 

She tries her best to be pleasant despite the very unpleasant circumstances, making small talk when William didn’t talk over her. 

“Hal says the robin chicks will be born soon. I can’t wait to see them,” Y/N beamed, her smile fading as she caught the tail end of her stepmother’s eye roll. 

“Oh, I didn’t know Hal was an avian expert now. Honey perhaps we should give him a raise, a man with such an extensive animal background,” her stepmother said sarcastically.

“That’s because he is one!” William chimed in, bursting out with a round of belly aching laughter, a duet with her stepmother’s own cackling.

Y/N expected that from her but she was even more disappointed to see her father snickering. 

“That’s enough!” She slammed her hand against the table, the flame of the candlesticks wobbling back to a steady flicker. “I’m sick and tired of all you thinking you’re better than Hal or anyone else just because you have money. It’s disgusting.”

Her father clenched his jaw, “I know you like to forget this Y/N but you have money too. Stop acting like it’s something you’re so ashamed of. I worked hard to give us what we have.”

“Did you?” she asked accusingly. “Because it’s been so long since you had to bust your ass like Hal I think you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be a decent person!”

Her stepmother balked in disgust. “Young lady you do not speak to your father this way.”

Y/N ignored her as she got up from the table, stomping her way out of the house. The evening air was cool and she felt immediate relief on her skin that burned hot after her emotionally fueled eruption. Her stepmother has always been a snob but she hates the fact that her father has lost touch with reality. 

“Hey.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose upon hearing William’s voice, the last person she wanted to ever see. Hal was in the distance, working late and she was hoping to say goodbye to him before he left. Now that William’s here she can’t. 

Turning around she huffed, not hiding her contempt. William’s hands were up in a small attempt to convey that he wasn’t looking for trouble. 

“Are you okay?” His tone seemed sincere but Y/N kept her guard up. “I know you don’t like me but I do care about you Y/N. I always have.” 

She knows better than to trust him but something inside her breaks and she lets out a shuddering sob. Y/N didn’t want to feel the way she does about her parents but she can’t help it. She wished her parents were better people, she wished she could openly speak to them about how she feels, and not having to hide her relationship with Hal. She wishes things were different.

William hesitantly offers a hug and in desperation Y/N takes it, crying against him. “It’ll be okay,” he comforts, rubbing her back.

With her back turned she doesn’t see the smirk on William’s face as he spots Hal in the distance. He lets Y/N pull away, feeling comfortable enough to have gained his trust for a moment before he acts. Like a leech he grabs her face, forcing her lips to his, his tongue probing forcefully into her mouth.

Y/N is pushing him off with her hands as best as she could, scrunching her face and whipping her head around to get away from him. Her efforts don’t take her very far as his lips get closer again so instead she kicks him in between his legs. 

William doubles over in pain. “You little bitch!” he sneered, grabbing her by the hair as she tried to run away. 

His clenched hand raised to her but immediately felt his arm wrench back. He was turned around forcibly by Hal, whose own fist socked William right in the jaw. The hard punch took the coward down and while he was busy screaming expletives Hal went to Y/N.

“Darlin’, did he hurt you?” The softness of Hal’s voice brought tears to her eyes that fell down her cheeks as she shook her head. She found true comfort in Hal’s arms, apologizing for what had happened. “Shhh, you have nothin’ to apologize for,” he reassured her. 

“You’ll pay for putting your hands on me y-you… dirty lowlife scum!” William threatened, walking away from them. 

Hal’s jaw clenched with anger but Y/N’s gentle palm caressing his cheek made him release his tension. 

“I’m sorry Hal,” she said, and once again he stopped her but this time with a soft kiss to her lips. Y/N had nothing to be sorry for but on nights like this Hal felt sorry for her, thinking she wouldn’t have to go through this if she gave her heart to a better man than him.

There’s a knocking at her door and before she can get up her stepmother has already let herself into Y/N’s room. “We need to talk about what happened...” she said, settling down on Y/N’s bed beside her. Y/N braced herself for a lecture before her stepmother finished. “...after you left.”

Relief washed over her believing the serious look on her stepmother’s face was not meant to scold her but about what happened with William.

“I hope you saw what I’ve been telling you, William is–”

“William? Y/N no, this is about Hal.”

Y/N’s brows furrowed with confusion. “Hal?”

“He assaulted William. Your father and I need to reconsider his employment.”

She stared at her stepmother in disbelief. Was she actually naive enough to believe what William told her? Y/N answered her own question as her stepmother continued to talk about “poor William” and how he had to drive home holding a bag of ice to his face.

“William is a liar. He forced himself on me! Hal was only trying to protect me. How do you not see this?”

Her stepmother took Y/N’s hand in her own, awkward and unsure if this felt right or not. She was unable to have children of her own and perhaps that’s why she treated Y/N so poorly from the start, resenting her and never truly accepting her as her daughter. Y/N was passed off to au pairs and maids to be cared for as her stepmother went shopping or to the spa. Y/N has always felt disconnected to her stepmother and even more so now.

“Sweetheart, I know men like Hal. They’re fine to look at but they can’t provide for you, not the way William can.”

“You don’t know the first thing abou–” Y/N’s cheek stung at the unexpected slap she received. 

“Don’t tell me what I know because I know exactly what you’ve been up to with Hal. Stay away from him. Hal is not the one for you.”

Y/N rose from her bed, stomping as she paced in front of her stepmother, waving her finger in her face as she told her off. 

“I’m leaving. I’m going to get Hal and we’re leaving and there’s nothing you can do about that!”

“He isn’t here.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed at her stepmother, her nostrils flaring, teeth clenching together as she hissed, “What did you do?”

“Nothing! He asked for the day off, though his days are numbered. As soon as we find someone to take his position…” her stepmother said without hiding the joy in her voice. She sauntered out of Y/N’s room feeling proud, not giving a single care she broke down crying. 

Her vision was clouded by tears as she texted Hal, wondering why he didn’t tell her he wouldn’t be there today. It took a few hours for him to respond, every waiting minute adding to her anxiety but when he finally did she was able to take a deep breath. Hal reassured her that he was fine and wondered if she could meet him later. 

Y/N told her family she was going shopping as she headed out, instead she drove to Hal’s. They were only twenty minutes apart and yet they lived in such different worlds. The homes in Hal’s area were older, small ranch style houses on lots smaller than her home’s driveway. She had so much more than this community and yet they had everything she wanted. 

She sees a dog being walked by a couple, hand in hand as they stroll down the sidewalk not worried about hiding their love. Y/N comes to a stop in the street to let the children playing move to the side. She gives a friendly smile as she slowly rolls past them, seeing their happy faces in the rear view mirror. She wonders if anyone can see how she aches behind her smile, desperate to be as happy as them one day. She parks behind his truck on the street and texts that she’s there.

When Hal came to New York he was sleeping in his truck, desperate for a place to stay. His friend Peter offered him a room which Hal helped close off and renovate into an unofficial one bedroom apartment in the back of the house. Peter needed the cash to pay his mortgage so it worked out for both of them. 

Y/N had been over a dozen times but Hal was embarrassed every time she did. His place was small but he kept it as nice as he could. He didn’t have much furniture, a bed, a pretty beat up looking couch, a small table that barely fit in his small kitchen. She told him over and over how she didn’t care about material things and deep down Hal knows that but he can’t help those feelings anyway.

She runs into his arms, enveloped by his warmth as he squeezes her tight. “I missed you darlin’,” he cooed as he tips her chin with his fingers, pressing his lips to hers.

“What happened today?” Y/N can’t help the worry woven through her words.

He takes her by the hand and they sit on his bed; he never liked Y/N sitting on that dirty couch of his. 

“I had something to take care of today… for our future.” She looks at him with hopeful eyes. “I had some trouble in my past, surprised it didn’t catch up to me yet to be honest. Once this is over I can work anywhere, we can live that life we want darlin’.”

Tears roll down her cheek, their path altered by the curve of her smile. Hal’s thumb brushes them away gently, bringing his lips to her forehead and after the softness of her lips. Clothes are slowly discarded and Hal takes his time making love to her, joining her passionate cries with moans of his own as they peak together to the heights of bliss.

He cradles her in his arms, his fingertips grazing soft circles over her back as they lay together for as long as they could, knowing Y/N would have to leave soon. The time comes sooner than they wanted and with reluctance they get dressed. 

A knock at the door startled them both, the sound of a voice even more shocking.

“Y/N! I know you’re in there!” her stepmother taunted, banging roughly against the glass pane of the screen door.

Her jaw dropped open in shock as she could only think about what a psycho her stepmother was. “Did she follow me?” Y/N whispered to Hal, panic washing over her. 

There was no point in hiding anymore, not if her parents really were firing Hal, and if that was a bluff they most certainly would now. 

Hand in hand they proudly step out from his door onto the small pathway on the side of the house. It’s there when Y/N’s jaw drops in shock to see William standing beside her stepmother, the two of them standing shoulder to shoulder with two police officers.

“That’s him,” William points at Hal, a smug look plastered on his face. 

A man as tall as Hal took a step towards him, roughly separating his hand from Y/N’s as he began to cuff his hands behind his back, reading him his rights as he walked Hal towards the police car parked crookedly in the driveway. 

“What are you doing?” Y/N pleaded for an answer. 

William answered her question, informing Y/N that Hal had a warrant out for his arrest for auto theft in Kansas. She realized that’s what Hal must have been talking about. 

“I have friends everywhere Y/N and I will make this harder for him unless…” William tried to lace his fingers with hers but Y/N quickly snapped her arm away. 

She watched helplessly as Hal was stuffed into the back of the car, wiping away the tears that began to fall. Her stepmother sauntered up beside her, making some comment about how appalled she was that she had a fugitive working for her, that’s when Y/N snapped.

“Enough! I don’t give a shit what you say. Fugitive or not Hal’s a better person than you’ll ever be. I love him, I love him with every piece of my heart and I’m going to do everything in my power to stop this.” 

The car drove away with Hal craning his neck around, not knowing if he would ever be able to see Y/N again.

“Hal! Are you okay?” Y/N said, hugging him with all her might. 

The breeze on his skin felt nice but it was nothing compared to having her in his arms again. “Much better now darlin’,” he replied, squeezing his arms around her. 

Hal spent the night in jail, calling Y/N to ask for her help. He explained everything, that back in Kansas he had borrowed his friend Alan’s car to take a girl named Madge out on a date. Alan’s jealousy got the best of him and he reported the car as stolen. They haven’t spoken since.

Once Y/N got Hal’s call she contacted her attorney, sought out every Alan Seymour she could find before she narrowed it down to the one he went to college with. She spent all morning working with the attorney to have him stop the extradition proceedings and arrange for bail instead. She couldn’t think of a better thing to use the money from her trust fund on.

“I’m so sorry about all of this darlin’, I never meant for it to come out like this. Alan coulda taken it back then but he was still mad ‘nd probably worried about lyin’ to the police.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for Hal,” she assured him, cupping his cheeks with her hand. He pressed against her palm, his lips pulling into a small smile as he looked at her. “I can’t believe my stepmother had you arrested. I hate her. I hate my father. I hate what they’ve become. Let’s go away together.”

As the words fell from her lips every part of Hal’s body stiffened with worry. He was about to ask a question before Y/N interrupted him. 

“I’m done with them Hal. I don’t care how hard I have to work to put this behind us. We’ll get through this together because that’s how I want to spend the rest of our lives.”

It was hard to hide the way Hal’s lips were pressed into a thin smile. He didn’t tell Y/N the full story, that Madge came with him when he left Kansas, to get away from her family too. By the time they got into Missouri she turned around, realizing she couldn’t leave them. 

This was different though. Hal didn’t care if Madge came or not, he didn’t feel the same way about her as he does with Y/N, which is why this is so hard for him.

“Those things you said yesterday…Did you mean them?” Hal asked, holding her hands in his. Y/N nodded and Hal let out a sigh. “I love you too Y/N but I can’t ask you to choose between me and your family.”

Her heart skipped a beat but not in the way Hal had made it done in the past. This pain was sharp in her chest and she would have fallen down if Hal hadn’t been holding her. Those were the last words she expected. 

“But you’re not asking Hal, this is my choice.”

“I know darlin’ but trust me on this, if we ran away we’d be happy but in the back of your mind I know how you’d feel, wonderin’ if your parents were okay because I know deep down you love ‘em and it would break my heart to see you tryin’ to cover that up. I can’t put that on you.”

“Hal, please…” she cried. “Don’t say this.”

This is the last thing Hal wants, Y/N is everything he’s ever wanted in life but things were always too good to be true for him. He was doing this for her even though it hurts, because Y/N deserves the best. 

“I love you Y/N, more than anything in this world. I know I can’t ever repay you for gettin’ me out, and I know your parents think I’ll never be good enough for ya but–”

“You’re wrong son.” 

A familiar voice has their heads turning around to find Y/N’s father standing there. 

“Dad? What are you doing here?” Y/N was confused, unaware of the way she took a protective step in front of Hal.

“I came to bail out Mr. Carter but it seems you’ve already done that. I wanted to tell him that Mr. Seymour has been contacted and he will be revoking his initial claim.”

“Sir, I appreciate that but I can’t ask anything of you,” Hal began.

“You didn’t have to. I owe you an apology for my wife’s behavior. She was wrong and after I heard the truth about what happened with William I owe you a thanks as well for protecting my daughter.” 

The corner of Hal’s mouth turned upwards as he replied, “You don’t have to thank me for that sir, I would take a bullet for Y/N if it meant she’d be safe.” 

“I can see that. You’re a good man Mr. Carter, a hard working man that reminds me of the person I was a long time ago.” Her father shares a look with Y/N, nodding his head ever so slightly. “And I see the way you love my daughter, that makes you good enough in my eyes.” 

Her father extends his hand towards Hal who is hesitant at first to shake it, waiting for the other shoe to drop but the sincerity in the eyes of the man before him sets his mind at ease. The two men shake and soon enough Y/N is back in Hal’s arms.

The weight is lifted from their shoulders knowing they have her father’s support, not only in Hal’s defense but in their relationship. Hiding is in the past and Hal couldn’t be happier. The truth is no matter what he told Y/N before Hal knew he wouldn’t have been strong enough to let her go.

“Commander, we’re at 10 degrees. The MAV is gonna tip at 12.3.” Martinez’s voice rings in your ears as the punishing sand blocks your vision of Watney for a split second. Your heart is thrumming in your throat and you try to reach forward against the gales but you can barely raise your arms higher than your waist.

Metal crunches, bending under the force of the storm and you raise your head, squinting to try and make out the structures around them. All you see are shadows, silhouettes of your friends and you inhale sharply when a rock flies into the glass of your helmet. Flinching back, you lower your head as your eyes scan for cracks.

“You good, Y/N?”

Chris’ voice rattles in your helmet as you look up. He’s one of the figures in the far distance but you smile anyway, continuing your walk towards him.

“Yeah. You spying on my vitals, Beck?” you tease and his slight chuckle warms your blood as you step over a fallen line.

“That’s Dr. Beck, and no. Just checking up on my crew mates.”

“Hey, lovebirds and companions!” Watney calls. “We might be able to keep the MAV from tipping.”

“How?”

“Use cable from the comms mast as guy lines, anchor it with the Rover’s—” A particularly strong burst of wind knocks you back a few steps, distracting you from Watney’s idea. Your muscles screech in protest as you catch yourself, trying to regain your balance. Your foot digs in awkwardly into the sand as another gale swerves from the side and knocks you right into a crouch.

Lessons at the Academy ring in your ear as the storm howls louder. There’s a faint whistling, hollow in your skull, and you keep your eyes on the two lines of your crew, still heading forward. You’ll give yourself three seconds. Three seconds to just stabilize yourself and then you’ll need to catch up.

Make yourself smaller, ground yourself. You need to realign your centre of gravity.

Your instructor’s voice in your head repeating the words over and over again, you begin to stand up again. Sucking in a lungful of stale air, you take your first step forward. You’re dead focused on keeping your balance and making it to the MAV. There’s nothing more you want than to just sink into the seat, buckled in beside Chris.

“Watch out!”

You don’t see it coming.

Mark Watney slams into you at inhumane speeds. Screaming, you’re knocked off your feet and lifted into the air by the winds pushing you in every direction. Your head jerks forward into the helmet before snapping back, and your whole body alights with fire. Watney’s body is limp against yours and you struggle to get a hold on him, fingers slipping on his wrist. You can barely hear yourself over the storm, your throat burning raw as you catch sight of your arm computer.

/WATNEY /SIGNAL LOST

“Mark? Mark! Wake up!” You glance around, your neck beginning to freeze up from the whiplash. The sharp ping of his decompression alarm rings in your ears, a warning of the death to come and you let out a desperate scream.

There are no figures in sight. No crew members. No one is going to find you in a near-zero visibility storm.

Wrapping your arms around Mark as tight as you can to keep him nearby, you close your eyes and redirect all your energy to staying awake. Metal is creaking, tarp is snapping, and the roaring winds whip at your flying bodies as something slams into your ribs.

“Watney!”

“Y/N!” Chris’ horrified scream of your name reverberates through your skull and you shout out his name, as if that’ll help you hone in on his suit. As if that’ll save you.

Arms dislodged from Mark, he flies past you just as another hard piece of metal sends you flying in another direction. Grasping at nothing but sand, you let out another piercing shriek as you tumble towards the ground.

The landing slams into your bones, and you feel like something breaks inside before everything goes black.

.

Broken ribs, whiplash, multiple contusions all over your body.

Your suit is nothing more than a pile on the ground as you stumble around the Hab for medical supplies and you barely manage to bring your bruised legs across to the table, the tray of supplies trembling in your weak hand. Your ribs are splitting, blistering pain as you try to suck in a breath, sinking onto the exam table as you carefully begin to peel off your shirt. Your chest screams at you to stop moving and the pain is blinding as you lift up your arms, fingers carefully hooked on the hem of your shirt and tug up.

“Fuck,” you grit out, your neck frozen in place as you try to get it unsnagged from your head. Your mind is racing, trying to come up with any way you could perform an epidural on yourself, as you grab the injection needle. You’ll need to be able to move with less pain than this if you want to get out of this mess, but you need another trained professional to dig it into your back.

You need Chris and you don’t have him here.

What you found is morphine, vials of different anesthetics, and needles. You load one of them up and the syringe is smooth against your clammy palm as you raise your arm haphazardly to your neck. It’s loaded with lidocaine and you press down against your neck, clenching your teeth as a soft click accompanied by a sharp nipping pain digs deeply into your wrenched muscles.

Tossing the anesthetic onto the table, you grab the oral meds. Acetaminophen tablets. You’re going to be needing a lot of them over the next few days as you try to work out your next course of action. Acetaminophen tablets and cold showers.

Great.

Popping one into your mouth, you crush it between your teeth and dry swallow, sweat glistening on your skin as you tilt your head back against the table and close your eyes. Lucky for you, your thoracic cavity only feels like it’s about to cave in when you breathe in.

Small blessings and all that.

You feel the sweet pull of sleep tug at your consciousness as you let out a sigh, melting against the warming metal table. Not that you’re keen on wasting away on Chris’ exam table, but it does sound nice at the moment. Your eyes fluttering shut, you try to ignore the sounds of your own laboured breathing and the sight of a deserted Mars. Ignore the fact that you barely limped your way back to the Hab after searching for Watney and the MAV.

So this wasn’t just some shitty dream. Your crew is really gone, and Watney really is dead.

Shit.

Eyebrows furrowing together, you force yourself into a sitting position despite the dulling ache in your neck and the consistently sharp pain in your chest. Breathing in quick puffs, you slide your legs off the exam table just as the low beep of the Hab repressurizing catches your attention.

No time to rest. I’m not going to die here.

“Pressure stable.”

Forcing yourself to your feet, you watch as a figure slowly limps to the second door.

And then the door opens and you see Mark Watney turning to look the Hab doors, alive.

This has to be a dream.

“Watney,” you call out hoarsely, throat still raw from screaming. Trying to get up, you stifle a groan and walk around Chris’ desk. You stumble to him on unsteady legs and he catches you by the arms as you search his gaze. He looks like shit. “You okay?” Helping him rip off his suit, your eyes scan for injuries as his rest on your face, utter relief flooding the air. “Couldn’t just fucking die, huh?”

“Neither could you, apparently,” he shoots back through a clenched jaw and you laugh despite how much it aches.

Thank god, you’re not alone.

SOL 21

“So you’re blaming me,” Mark affirms as you count the amount of mac and cheese they have left in the Hab.

32. 33. 34. 35.

“I mean, you did crash into me,” you point out, picking up another pack. 36. 37. 38. “The dish completely destroyed my bio-monitor computer.”

“It wasn’t my choice to get completely slammed by it,” he shoots back, counting his packets of beef goulash. A cold pack is strapped to your neck and there’s a few more shoved underneath your shirt for your ribs, and your skin is numb to the touch as you take a sip of juice from your bottle. Acetaminophen went down three hours ago. It’ll be time to take it again in another despite Watney’s insistence on the morphine. No, you’re saving it for when things get serious.

39. 40. 41. 42.

Not that being stranded on Mars isn’t serious.

“Forty two mac and cheeses,” you announce victoriously, setting the final pack in the tray and pushing it towards his side of the table so he can put it back on the shelf later. “Meatballs up next.”

“We can probably ration this out to three-hundred fifty days. Two people eating instead of seven. Three-quarters of a meal.”

“I’ll have half,” you say, beginning all over again with new packets. 1. 2. 3.

“You need to eat more. You’re still on bed rest.”

“I’m fine. We have work to do if we don’t want to die on this planet, Mark.”

“No.”

“I can do EVA and clear the solar panels. I have whiplash, I’m not dead.” you argue but Mark merely sends you a look as if to say, Try me. You roll your eyes and wince when he comes around the table and pokes your side.

“You have broken ribs that are under enough stress as it is. If it were anyone else, you would tell them to lie the hell down.”

Tossing him a glare, you bite out, “I’m fine when random men don’t poke me in the ribs.”

“My bad. Beck’s privileges,” he quips and you just manage to snipe him in the back of the head with a mac and cheese pack before he turns around. He merely gives you a hint of a smile before tossing the pack back at you going back to writing. You sigh, placing the mac and cheese pack back into the tray before turning to your meatballs.

You hadn’t even thought about Chris ever since realizing you’re not alone stranded on Mars, at least not in depth. Your best friend is no doubt losing his mind over leaving you behind—always had such a strong guilt over nothing—and now, when you let yourself feel it, his absence carves something hollow in your chest.

You miss him.

“You think they even thought that we might be alive?” you ask Mark quietly. You’re not angry that they left you behind. It was the practical thing to do, but you wonder if they wonder about the possibility, or if they’d rather sleep easier at night.

“I think that’s all they think about,” Mark says. “Lewis is gonna beat herself over this.”

You think of the Commander, then your thoughts turn to Chris again without any prompting. God. And what will your parents say?

A Thanksgiving dinner without you there is probably gonna be a bit down in the dumps, huh.

Then again, they’d planned not to have you and Chris back this year, so maybe it wouldn’t be too awful despite thinking their only child is dead.

Yikes.

SOL 79

“So are you and Beck really a thing?” Mark asks as you help him pull out the potato plants gently. “You know, making idle conversation while we farm our shit potatoes,” he adds when you shoot him a glare. Your ribs are on the mend and your neck is regaining its range of motion, but it still aches so you have to rotate at your waist to face him completely before you return back to your own gardening.

“We’re best friends, Watney.” Picking up the larger of the potatoes and placing it gently into your bucket, you spot Mark on the other end of their tiny greenhouse out of the corner of your eye, giving you a small smug grin. “So no, we’re not a thing. We’ve never been like that.”

“Never. Not even a tiny little slip?”

“Never. I’ve known him since we were like three and it’s just… he’s been by my side since forever. There’s never been a time when we could’ve been more. Not with everything that goes on.” School, then uni, then med-school, flight academy, Ares 3. Always something more. “This is… actually kinda the longest I’ve been without him hanging around, to be honest.” The confession leaves you breathless. Has it really been seventy-one sols since you saw your best friend? Last heard his voice?

Will it be the last time ever? Will you spend the rest of your life feeling so empty inside because only Chris can fill it with his laugh? WIth his smile? The perennial feeling of missing someone is tragic all in itself.

You move on to the next potato plant and slowly wiggle it out of the dirt. “Why’re you asking?” you ask to distract yourself. “You know it’s not recommended by NASA to be in relationships within the crew. Besides, we have a mission to focus on.”

“That doesn’t stop Beck at all.”

“What are you even talking about?” You laugh, trying to ignore the thought of Chris’ tiny little smile on Hermes whenever he floated past while you were working out or when they’d open emails together. Hermes had been your home with him and now… he’s there.

Alone.

“You think we don’t see you two flirting? God, you’d be off together for hours at a time and we’d all make bets on what you guys were doing.”

“You know you can’t have sex in space, right?” you point out and Mark wrinkles his nose. “I don’t even want to try it.”

“You can, actually. It would be aerobic.”

“And if you flew into a tied condom somehow, it would be our fault,” you retort with a smile, heat flooding your face. The idea of just having sex in a place where all your friends could catch you in the act? And with Chris? A guy who’s been by your side since day one? The thought sends shivers down your spine. Pleasant shivers. It’s not like you imagined what it’d be like—to hold his hand, to kiss him, to… go farther.

“That’s gross.”

You blink, turning to look at Mark for a moment. “Not that we’re that irresponsible. We’re doctors. Being sanitary is in our nature.”

“Look, all I’m saying is, Beck made some comments before we launched and I thought he’d have made a move by now.”

“Who said he hasn’t?” you murmur low enough that only you can hear, trying not to think about the words he whispered on Hermes when he thought you were sleeping. God, those words had haunted you every day since and the only reason they’ve been out of your mind is the high possibility of your death on Mars. Louder, you say, “Probably because we’re just friends, Watney.”

Friends.

The word tastes bittersweet on your tongue as you pick up another potato.

SOL 136

HRM: Apparently, NASA’s letting us talk to you now, and I drew the short straw.

HRM: Sorry we left you two behind on Mars, but we just don’t like you. Also, it’s a lot roomier on Hermes without you guys. We have to take turns doing your tasks, but it’s only botany (not real science.) and Beck can still work with his broken little heart.

HRM: How’s Mars?

In the Rover, you’re piled in behind Mark as he types out a response and you laugh at the tiny jest at Chris.

RVR: Dear Martinez, Mars is fine. I accidentally blew up the Hab, but unfortunately all of Commander Lewis’ disco music still survived.

“For the record, Y/N appreciates something to listen to besides me talking to the camera for hours on end,” you say and he nods, smiling as he transcribes your message.

RVR: Every day we go outside and look at the vast horizons just because we can. I’m going to hand the reins over to Y/N now. I think she’s had enough of me talking all the time.

Mark glances back at you and nods, getting out of the driver’s seat one way while you shimmy into the seat the other way. Sliding into the seat, you settle down with a sigh as Mark peers over your shoulder and you poise your fingers over the keyboard.

HRM: Dear Y/N, how’re the ribs coming along? And for the record, I do not have a broken little heart, but I do miss you a lot. It’s getting boring here without you, especially now that I have to deal with Johanssen thinking she has a brain tumour every two minutes.

RVR: Dear Chris, I miss you, too. My ribs are completely healed, thank you. It’s a lot harder to sleep at night knowing there’s a chance we might not come home, but I think about you a lot. Mostly, I think about the crew and how if one of them gets a paper cut, your sutures will never be as straight as mine. By the way, Johanssen is my girl. Do not talk about her that way.

“He’s tryna make you jealous,” Mark sings teasingly under his breath and you turn to smack him with a gloved hand before waiting for the response.

HRM: We’ll work it out. I hope Watney isn’t taking my place as your best friend with his potatoes.

RVR: Well, have you ever wanted to hate someone but you can’t because they’re vital to your survival and also they grow potatoes?

HRM: Why do you think I keep you around? Your mom’s mashed potatoes, of course. I love it more than you do.

Your smile digs into your cheeks as you read that message, and you feel your throat cinch shut as you swallow.

RVR: No, you don’t. It’s simply not possible.

You hope he can hear you somewhere, just saying those words outloud. You hope it sounds like you just like how you can hear his voice with every word he types.

HRM: Come home safe, Y/N. Space would be lonely without you otherwise.

RVR: As if I’d let you live in space without me.

SOL 186

You wake up to an empty Hab.

There is no movement, no rustling of Watney trying to make ends meet as you remember last night’s news.

Kapoor: The Iris probe failed to launch. I’m sorry.

Rolling onto your side, you feel your stomach howl. Clutching your side, you close your eyes and try to fall back asleep but your internal clock is ringing in your ears and even though there’s nothing more on the list, you get up anyway, blanket wrapped around you. Ever since you’ve cut down on meals, you’ve been going hungrier and hungrier, but you’re not losing your fat yet, thank god. You need to stay warm.

Passing by clear plastic covering the hole in the Hab, your eyes search for where the Rover was parked last night.

Not there.

So, Mark’s gone and left already. The two of you had decided last night in your bunk beds to simply take the days as they came—to travel as much as they could, see it all before they go.

It’s grim in hindsight, but it’s your ending life now.

Heading for the cabinet, you feel your whole body drag against the floor as you fight to keep your strength up. Although you’ve felt like you’ve been starving for at least four days now, there’s a new hollowness at the realization that there isn’t more food coming. You microwave a potato and cut a meatloaf into thirds before lining your plate with the vitamins needed to stay healthy. Heading to your work station, your eyes pass over a picture of you and Chris is still framed there.

You bite into the potato and feel it thick against your tongue. It’s a struggle to chew and even harder to swallow but you manage it anyway as you reach for the frame. The two of you, cheeks pressed together, newly earned stethoscopes around your necks. The day you guys graduated med school.

You loved him then. You’ve loved him your whole damn life. Loved him and felt your heart burst when he said those words in your quarters after carrying you there from games night.

Sweet dreams, Y/N. I love you, even though I know we could never be more than this.

But you’ve always been too afraid to tell him. Afraid of what? Afraid because it could’ve changed things?

Isn’t that what you always wanted? For him to see you as you saw him?

Setting down the frame, you turn away. You bring your meager meal to the computer and log into HabJournal, slumping down in the chair as you pull the blanket tighter around you. The camera focuses on you and it begins to record immediately as you set down your plate on the table.

“So, Sol 186,” you begin quietly, looking at your own image. You’re beginning to lose colour in your skin and your eyes are sinking from lack of sleep, but you bring a piece of meatloaf to your mouth and chew regardless. “Last night we were told the Iris probe failed to launch, so that means we stretched our rations for four more days for nothing, basically.” You set down your fork and knife, the meat heavy on your tongue as you try to think of what to say. Thoughts of Chris, your parents, the crew, flood your mind. “Guess that means we’re going to starve to death and no… dark humour can’t pull us out of this one. We found enough morphine for two lethal injections our first night here, so… if worse comes to worse… I mean—” You clear your throat— “we have to think of every outcome. Mark already asked Commander Lewis to tell his parents, you know, covering bases like I said.” Your eyes slip shut for a moment as you exhale and then you rouse yourself again, staring at your half-eaten ration. You don’t want to eat anymore.

“I have to stay awake until tonight. He’s gone out with the Rover and I need to send a message to the people I love. You know, cover my bases, too.” Eyes drifting, you spot another picture of you and Chris in Hermes, floating as you squirt some food into the air for him to eat, thumbtacked to the board. You were both smiling, laughing until your guts ached. It must’ve been something like tubed chocolate mousse or a pudding. Your favourite, you had said because it was.

Chris has the biggest sweet tooth out of anyone you know.

“There’s a lot of things I wish I could’ve said, I think,” you add softly, gaze going back to the screen. You tuck your knees to your chest and smile bitterly, a chuckle escaping just barely. “It’s just so stupid that we survive all this time just to… just to die because something failed. Like we did everything we could and it still… it just isn’t enough.” Picking up the potato with your bare hands, you pop the quarter left into your mouth and simply watch your image eat. “I don’t want to die,” you clarify once you swallow. “It’s not my intention to give up until it’s too late for sure, but you know, at least we accomplished something this time. I mean, I’m still trying to finish Chris’ chemolithotrophic experiment since Mark doesn’t understand anything about it so Ares 4 can pick up where I left off.

You know, on the bright side, we still got somewhere. Mark’s the greatest botanist on this planet, and I’m honoured to have helped him grow the very first lifeform on Mars. We fucking ate organic human-shit potatoes, baby. We could’ve done this thing.” You stare at the camera, and hope, when Chris watches your final journal log, he understands what you mean. “We definitely could’ve done it and it sucks, but that’s life. I knew what I was doing when I signed up, and this is so much bigger than two humans stuck on Mars. I know Mark feels the same way. We don’t regret this. It’s going to be okay, and I hope you guys can finish the mission if we end up... you know, gone before we can. Anyway, I’m gonna go make myself useful and check up on Chris’ experiment.

“This is Dr. Y/L/N signing out.”

.

RVR: Hey, Chris. Today’s been alright. Mark came back in better spirits and he actually got to work today with the other crew’s duties. It’s good to hear him joking after what we heard last night.

RVR: I know we never really planned for things to go this way. You know we talked about the possibility as a joke, but now that it might become a reality, I hope you know what I said was serious. You know, with the whole talking to my parents thing. Please talk to them and tell them all about Mars, and tell them that I love them so much, and just see them. Try to go every weekend like we used to together. You know, let them check up on you.

RVR: Yeah, I’m not asking you to check up on them, because you’re family, Chris. I’m asking you to let them check up on you. They’ll always be your rock, and you need them, too. You’re gonna need them when I’m gone. Gonna need to tell ‘em that you’re not okay, because… you’re not going to be okay. I know you.

RVR: You’ll blame yourself because you think you should’ve gone out into a eighty-six hundred Newton storm and I wish I can be there in person to tell you that it’s stupid, that there was no reason for you to believe I was alive and that giving up on me saved your life, but I know I can’t. You wouldn’t believe me, anyway.

RVR: And I love you, too. We could’ve been way more than this. Maybe we can be, if we have another chance. I don’t know. I don’t know anything except that I love you. I’ve loved you my whole life, and now, it might be too late.

RVR: If I don’t make it out alive, please move on. Please don’t get hung up on me just because you think of all the things we could’ve been. You’re my best friend, Chris. I don’t want to see you sad. I never have. Cry a few tears, move on, find a nice girl who’ll love you like I never was brave enough to admit I do, and just… maybe visit the grave every once in a while. That would be nice.

Your hands tremble as you type in your last words and then hit Enter.

RVR: I miss you more than anything. I love you.

SOL 219

“I can’t believe I blurted out my feelings and now we’re preparing for a chance to go home,” you call out over the comms. Mark inflates the tarp on top of the Rover and you watch, the roll of tape still on your hand as you jump off the vehicle. You land with a solid thump, the dust stirring around your boots. Excitement is pulsing through your veins for the first time in a long time as you turn to watch your day’s work begin to swell. “Just like, three hundred more sols and we get to see our friends again.”

“Oh, don’t worry. We still have a chance of dying so it won’t all be so bad.”

“Way to ruin it, Watney,” you sigh as it reaches its max. “Looks good. I don’t see any seals.”

“Perfect. Besides, maybe it’ll be a good thing you finally said what you needed to say to Beck. God knows it was suffocating just watching you two,” the astronaut adds, walking around the Rover and you shoot him a glare. “It was cute, but just plain annoying.”

“Why do you feel the need to bring this up every single time?” you retort, heading back for the Hab despite Watney’s calls of your name. He walks after you with a little wince to his step and you make a mental note to prepare a hot bath. He had strained his back a few days ago lifting rocks to test how far the Rover could go with all the extra weight and you’ve got nothing for sore muscles beside muscle relaxants and hot packs.

“Because Commander Lewis definitely would’ve moved you two to the same bed if it meant you two would shut up with the flirting. We’re all single on that ship!”

“Watney,” you deadpan, turning to look at your friend as he catches up to you. “You and Johanssen are the only people single on that ship as of this moment. And no, she wouldn’t. Can you imagine how embarrassing that would be?” As if I hadn’t already sneaked into Chris’ quarters more than once because of the excitement of going into space, the fear that we won’t make it back, your head adds but you keep your mouth shut about that.

“Aha! So you admit you’re no longer available!”

“I have never been emotionally available on this mission!” you shoot back, exasperated. “Or ever!”

“See, that’s what you say.”

“Do you want a hot bath or not because I can use up the hot water. Don’t try me.” You really wouldn’t but it’s fun to see the slight panic in Mark’s eyes. “I miss him, yeah, and so what if I have feelings for him?”

“Then, Martinez owes me fifty bucks.”

“You’re literally the worst,” you mutter, grabbing onto the Hab door and twisting it open. “I’ve got to check up on Chris’ experiment. Run your own damn bath.” Mark closes the door behind him and the chamber begins to pressurize.

“Oh, now you’re being mean.”

“Pressure stable.”

Twisting off your helmet, you turn to Mark and shove your glove into his helmet, pushing him back. He stumbles back and you laugh as he fights to find his balance. He tries to grab you to pull you back with him but you walk out of reach, opening the second door and entering the Hab.

“Mean!”

SOL 461

You’re losing your body fat at last ever since they’ve begun to run out of food which means you’re getting colder and colder in the same environment every day. There’s nothing you can do but keep your calories at a minimum level to stay alive as long as possible as you put on your space suit for what you hope is the last time.

“Your beard is gross,” you call out to Mark as you slide on your helmet and he wrinkles his nose at you, writing down 461 on the wall. Turning to you, he is about to exit when he remembers his helmet and you smirk. “Space pirate.”

“We’re space pirates,” he agrees. “Why don’t we explore those waters, Captain?”

You smirk, turn on your arm computer and hone in on Mark’s telemetry signal as a test before nodding.

“Aye aye, Captain.”

SOL 524

“Hey, wake up.” Jolting awake, you glance blearily up Mark’s thin face and you groan, blinking the sleep out of your eyes. “We’ve gotta eat and clean up a bit.” Groaning, you sit up and follow him out of the Rover as your bones clamour inside your suit. You’ve lost almost all the meat off your limbs, your ribs peeking out underneath your skin, and you feel like you could be blown away by a soft breeze.

Inside the inflated structure, you strip down to nothing and turn your back to Watney as he prepares the meals of potatoes and whatever’s left at this rate. Running a wet pad over your bruising skin, your teeth chatter and you try to ignore the fact that the divets in your arms where muscle used to be are starting to look a bit too hollow. You feel empty inside, like you haven’t been full for ages, and as you crouch down to rub down your legs, you wonder how you look.

Pitifully small, probably.

It’s how Watney looks with his hobo beard at least. Blood is gathering underneath his skin, the beginnings of contusions blooming along the notches on his spine and you sigh. There’s only so much their paper-thin skin can do at this rate.

“What’ve we got?” you ask, pulling on a shirt and crouching beside him. He nudges a bowl of wet beans and half a raw potato towards you. “Yum.”

“It’s all we’ve got at this rate,” Mark mumbles quietly. He’s losing it, too. When NASA can’t see them, you see what Mark’s really like. He’s exhausted to the core, and losing more energy every day. You pretend you don’t realize he’s giving you the majority of the food because it’s a survival tactic. Just like how if Hermes crew doesn’t make it, Johanssen is having human meat soup for eight more months after the rations run out because she’s the youngest, smallest, and she’ll know how to get back to Eartha alone. Well, not 100% alone. Her and five other carcasses.

The thought makes your stomach growl.

The thought of anything warm and filling is making it quail in protest, even if it is human flesh.

Well, that’s a bit fucked up.

Then again, you’re removing everything that protects you from space on the MAV once you reach it, so maybe cannibalistic thoughts aren’t so out of reach. It’s not like you’d actually act on them.

Watney’s all skin and bone at this point. Skin that’s beginning to break, bones that are hollowing out, and you’d rather die than eat your friend.

“If you’re thinking about eating me,” he says warily when you’ve gone on too long staring at his plate of potatoes and beans. “Please don’t. Wait until we actually run out of food, yeah?” You chuckle, your lungs wheezing as you bite into the raw potato.

“Aye aye, Captain.”

SOL 561

Turning around, you listen to Mark climb up the MAV. You’re sitting down on the edge of the hole, sliding your leg into a flight spacesuit. Your mind is running over all the possible outcomes for riding a spaceship with essentially no protection and you don’t know how to broach the topic of the effect of G-force on the human body.

“Hey, Watney.”

“Hey.”

“So,” you begin, pushing yourself up and heading for where the top half of your suit is suspended on harnesses. Mark turns to you and you sigh, pausing. His eyes find yours and you’re surprised to see how much trust lay within them. Before, sure, it’d been full of amusement, the mirth of his latest jest potent in his eyes, but now, that blue gaze is muted with respect and you can’t help but mirror that. They did this together and they’re going home together no matter what.

“So,” he mutters with a note of finality. He walks past you to grab the hygiene bag on the bench, unzipping it to uncover a razor and he heads for the mirror as you wring out your hands. 

“When we launch, we might get up to 12 G’s.”

“Yeah?”

Your eyes try not to linger on the dried blood on his shoulder as he switches the razor on. “So, we’re gonna pass out, almost definitely. And we might have internal bleeding, cracked ribs.” The razor buzzes inside your skull as you lower your hands. “Chris is the EVA specialist, but even if he does catch us—”

“You know the point of it all is that they tried, you know?” Mark says. “Because if they do catch us, that means we have another way of saving more astronauts.”

“This was a freak of a mission, Watney,” you reply, adjusting the waist of the suit. You ignore the pallor of your skin and instead, push yourself towards him. Your booted feet are heavier than bricks as he watches you approach in the mirror.

“Well, it was an honour to share it with you, Captain.” His eyes find yours through the reflection and you grin through the glass despite the fatigue weighing you down. You touch his arm tentatively and he sets the razor down before he turns around. “Nice knowing ya, Mrs. Beck,” he teases and you roll your eyes before pulling him into a shaking hug.

Your eyes close tightly and you do your best to ignore the fact that you both smell like shit as his arms wrap around you, too.

“We’ll see if we can make it work first,” you whisper. His arms seem to tighten and you let out a sharp sigh. “I don’t want to get sappy on you until I’m literally staring into the face of death, but this was a once in a lifetime mission, Mark. I’m glad you were here with me.”

“Yeah. Who else would’ve complained as much as you did?” he mocks and you laugh against him, fingers digging into the notches of his spine as you close your eyes for a moment, simply breathing in and out. 

“This could work.”

He pulls back, smiles, and his eyes dart over the redness along the edges of your face, too. The vessels around your eyes run as they try to keep your blood pumping and you can see the same roughness in his cheeks and eyes as he nods. “This could work.” 

Clapping his arm, you leave him to shave to put on the top half of your flight spacesuit.

Only the climb up to the MAV remains.

.

“Hold my hand as soon as you cut,” you say over the comms. Mark might be absolutely delighted by the idea, but as you watch Hermes approach from the distance, you can’t help the feeling of apprehension tightening in your gut. “We let go, we lose each other in space.”

“Yeah. I’m not letting you go at this point,” he says and you smile before he counts down. “Three. Two. One.” As soon as you dig the knife through your suit, you reach for Mark only to be launched back first into the MAV. Your rebroken ribs from the G-force protest in pain and you let out a grunt as you slam against Mark, but your uncut glove flails blindly, fingers trying to snag onto Mark still bouncing around with you. He latches onto one of the chairs and you fling out an arm, hooking elbows with him and clamping your open glove into a fist.

“Mark, report.”

Giving Mark a panicked smile, you just nod as he replies, “On our way, Commander.” 

On cue, the two of you release your fists and are launched into space. Unstable and tumbling, they spiral through space as they try to regain some balance and you wrestle against Mark’s arm pulling you off course as you angle your wrist outward, trying to realign yourself with Lewis. Letting go of Mark’s arm for a moment, you manage to snag onto Lewis, her elbow hooking onto your arm as you’re yanked back and you grunt, whole body snapping back. Mark’s hand digs into your leg but it slips and you glance back, terrified to see him swallowed up by the blackness surrounding them everywhere.

“Mark!” Readjusting yourself, you grab onto the tether as Mark manages to wrap his own hand on the orange rope and you pull with all your might. Black stars burst into your vision as the last of your strength goes and you let out a grunt as Lewis begins to spin them around. Mark whirls around them as she pulls and you simply hold on, your eyes beginning to slip shut. The sound of Mark’s fight echoes in your ears and you’re shackled with that god awful hope that maybe they’re making it out of this alive—

A body slams into you and helmets clink together as Mark joins their little duo. Hands grab onto arms and the orange tether floats around them like silk ribbon as the sound of harsh breathing fills the comms.

“I got ‘em!” Lewis calls out, voice breaking and you smile, tilting your head forward against Lewis’ helmet. “I got ‘em.” Laughing, you grab onto Mark tightly and he glances at you for a moment before the two of you both look at Lewis.

“It’s good to see you,” he pants. “You… have terrible taste in music.”

As the tether tightens and they’re reeled in, you wrap an arm around Mark’s helmet and push yourself against him.

“Good job, Captain,” you cheer and he laughs, barely able to contain himself. A similar lightness fills your chest and you can’t help the stress-free laughs, the release of all that energy in your chest as you tilt your head back and laugh no matter how much it hurts to breathe. You’re pulled into the airlock and you detach first when you catch sight of Chris standing by the tether. Swimming towards him, you outstretch your arms and crash into him, helmets clinking.

“Beck, close the hatch.”

Chris’ arms wrapped around yours, he reaches to press the button as Lewis parks and Watney swims past to the other end of the airlock.

“Hey, guys.”

You haven’t seen your friends in more than a year, but right now, you’re only focused on one face. “Chris,” you whisper and his smile is everything in your universe as he touches your helmet, like he’s not quite sure you’re real.

“Houston,” Lewis’ breathless voice echoes in your ears as he pulls you in tightly for a hug. Your helmets scrape but you don’t care, simply melting into the arms of your best friend. “Seven crew safely aboard.”

The other end of the airlock hisses open and you detach yourself from Chris’ arms to see the other three swim in and you laugh, turning to your best friend with a huge smile. He holds you still, twisting off his gloves and helping you take off your helmet as you take off your own gloves and your cheeks are aching as your flesh touches cold glass. Until you can feel him, you won’t know it’s real.

And then his hands are on yours, and you know.

“Chris,” you repeat again, the name so familiar on your tongue you don’t know how you’ve gone a day without saying it. He reaches to take off his own helmet and wrinkles his nose when he first gets a whiff of you but you don’t care. You don’t care about impressions or smells or appearances anymore.

You just want him.

Flinging your arms around his neck, you tear off his stupid cap and run your fingers through his hair. It’s dry but downey between your fingers that have touched nothing but metal and plastic for more than a year and you cry. You bury your face into his neck and cry out his name as he simply squeezes you tight against him.

“I love you,” he chokes out and you pull back, cheeks brushing against yours as you smile. His small smile curls his lip and you brush the tear away from his face.

“I love you, too.”

“I love you, guys,” Mark cries out, barging into their conversation with a faux whimper and the newly reunited best friends part with a yelp as their whole crew wraps them in a huge hug.

Surrounded by so many bodies, you have never felt so warm and loved. When you meet Chris’ gaze, you feel the hole inside you begin to fill again.

DAY 1

“How’re you feeling?”

The soft mumble against your ear makes you blink away from the screen revealing the info dumps coming through, and you turn to look at Chris, eyes studiously on yours. That same soft smile is ever present on his lips as you shrug with a wince, and his eyes flit to your vitals. 

The med bay is empty except for Watney sleeping the drugs off and you place your hand gently on Chris’. His hand twists, fingers weaving with yours and you smile, easing into your pillows.

“Did you sleep here all night?” you ask quietly, raising an eyebrow and he shrugs, leaning onto your bed by the elbows and pressing your hand against his cheek.

The reunion was short-lived after their return. After all, there were injuries that needed to be assessed, malnutrition that needed to be addressed, a whole hygiene regime that needed to be followed, and a lot of sleep to catch up on.

“Maybe,” he whispers and you laugh, shaking your head free and patting his cheek. “I don’t want you out of my sight. I close my eyes and all I can imagine is losing you again.” Lips twitching into a frown, your eyebrows knit together at his kicked expression. You wonder if he can still read your message by memory as you know it by heart. “You scared the shit out of me, Y/N.”

“‘M sorry, Chris,” you murmur and he sighs, closing his eyes with a flutter of his eyelashes. Tears burn down his cheeks as he presses his lips together. “I’m sorry I waited so long to tell you.”

“It’s not your fault,” he replies. You scoot to the side of your bed despite your ribs yawning in pain and pat the small space beside you. “You need to rest, Y/N. Get back to sleep and I’ll hit you with a dose of the good stuff when you wake up,” he bargains but you still shake your head.

“I don’t need the good stuff,” you say. “I just need you.” His eyes widen just so and your smile grows as the warmth inside you spreads to your fingers. Moving your I.V. lines, you make sure the space is clear for him. “C’mon. Get up here.” He tilts his head, debating it in that brain of his before he gets off his chair, climbing carefully into the small bed. He slides an arm around your shoulders, settling onto his side and you sigh, shimmying closer once he settles. His heat wraps around you, his other arm draping across your chest. His nose nuzzles into your cheek and his breath puffs against your neck as you close your eyes.

Home. Finally home.

“Y/N?” you hear his mumble and you turn your face blindly towards him. He smells like antibiotic cream and sweat, and you barely open your eyes as he looks up at you, blue eyes filled with a tenderness that tells you you’re safe now. “I love you.”

“Yeah?” you whisper, and he smiles.

“Yeah.”

“Good. ‘Cause I love you, too.”

I put my down and phone bag on the ottoman that was at the foot of his bed and looked into his walk-in closet for an outfit that would make him look decent and not look like he got dragged and passed around by people, “Well it’s way past time for you to correct your actions since people have already been talking about the stunt you pulled.”

This probably confused him as he sat up and tried to rub off the exhaustion he felt, “Can you be more clear with what you meant with that? Also, I really am curious about what time it is.” Going back from Carter’s closet — which happens to be made of glass and mirrors — and placing the down his outfit which consisted of a two piece Burberry suit that consists of a checkered maroon suit with a matching plain, maroon slacks and laying it down on the bed, “The time now is 9:28 in the morning,” I reached for my phone and shoved it to him with the website I have previously read still opened, “And this is what I meant when I implied that damage control was too late.” 

His shirtless upper body hit the back of the headboard as he began reading the content of my phone, “Spotted, Carter Baizen spending his earned wealth at various bars and clubs late last night. You may have previously known him for being the resident bad, playboy that you see in your school, but now just when it was starting to look like he was getting his act together, he reverts back to how he once was when he was a reckless teenager. I guess some old habits just die hard, don't they? You know you love me, xoxo, gossip girl.”

I laughed at the disgusted face Carter made after he finished reading what had got me annoyed earlier, “Well, at least I’m living my life well. Not compared to this jackass loser who keeps on documenting and reporting the lives of others since theirs is probably uneventful.”

I'm feeling Dazed like a magazine

Finding my own sanity

Wishing it'll all go away

Now we're smoking off the balcony

You're telling me profanities

Maybe it was never okay

“For fuck’s sake, Carter, do you not see the bigger issue here? It’s not just about how there is some loser out there talking about the life of others. But it’s about you how you are living your life! You are now a CEO, a fucking CEO! I don’t think business partners would be eager to make transactions and ventures with someone who acts as if they had just gotten their license and are now going out every chance they can to enjoy this privilege!” Carter looked at me coldly and was about to argue back but I continued to give him my two cents, “On top of that, I  think as well that the frequency of your alcohol, and possible drug intake is alarming, as well. And it's gotten to the extent that I feel like you should be seeing a professional to help you cope with this.”

I concluded my statement of concern and alarm by folding my arms together and looked at him seriously. Carter stood up and headed for the bathroom, I followed him and leaned by the door as he was washing up his face and waited for his reply. He stared at me through the mirror as he was drying his face, “I appreciate your concern, I really do. But I think you’re overreacting a little bit.”

I threw my hands up and scoffed at disbelief, “Seriously, Carter? Do you not recall the various times wherein I had to pick up your drunk or high ass — and by the way, there are some instances wherein you’re both high and drunk — from whatever bar you were misspending your money on.”

He turned around to look at me and crossed his arms — in annoyance, I presume — and fought back, “So what if I get blackout drunk a few times? It happens to the best of us! Have you not enjoyed yourself completely and just passed out from exhaustion from spending a night out? Oh wait, you probably haven’t! Which explains why you’re so fucking uptight!”

With one hand massaging my temples, I managed to remind him in a calm tone, “Did you forget what happened two months ago?”

345, that's where we stayed

She told me I'm a narcissist doing it again

Took a bunch of acid and she told me, "not again"

Now I've gotta tell her that I'm lovin' her friends

345, that's where we stayed

She told me I'm a narcissist doing it again

Took a bunch of acid and she told me, "not again"

Now I've gotta tell her that I'm lovin' her friends

My dreams of riding a unicorn while eating cake was suddenly interrupted when a loud ringing woke me up. Stretching my hand and patting for my phone on the bedside table. Recognizing how I had an incoming call, I swiped to accept it even though I was not awake or aware enough to check who was calling. “Hello?”

“Is this Ms. Y/F/N?” a woman asked as soon as I greeted her, I took a second to check my phone and only then did I notice how it was an unknown number that called me, “Yes, this is she, who’s asking?” My bones had suddenly become frigid in anticipating what the girl on the other end had to tell me. “Well your information was listed on one of our customer’s wallet and we had to call and let you know that Carter Baizen has passed out from drinking which resulted in him collapsing on the floor, head first.”

I let out a grunt as I put the call in speaker mode and got off the bed to throw over a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, “Was he with anyone when he was drinking? And is he unconscious? And what address is your bar, by the way?” I was already outside my apartment and headed for my parked car by the time she had replied and given me the information I asked for.

Curse words and frustrated mumbles were leaving my lips as I was driving around the city, hoping to get to Carter faster and in time to prevent any unfortunate event from happening. Upon arriving at the bar, I was already opening my door before I had even parked my car and stormed inside the establishment.

“Hey, I was called in earlier for a patron who passed out and fell head first?” I approached a girl who was mopping floors near the entrance door, she nodded and told me that she was the one who called me and led me to where Carter was. They were kind enough to move him from the floor and lay him down on one of the booths.

I quickly took in his state — there were a few buttons of his long-sleeved polo that were unbuttoned, there were faint traces of alcohol in his shirt and face, while there was also a bit of blood residue from his head wound as a result of collapsing from the floor. “Thank you for calling me right away and for taking care of him, but I was wondering if you or another staff would be willing to help me bring him to my car?” the girl nodded and called for one of their male employees to help me bring Carter in.

That night was probably the most nervous and anxious I have ever felt; knowing that Carter could possibly be facing health problems from drinking too much and hitting his head. Seeing him this way has always affected me and has made me feel responsible for his well-being — not only because I was hired as his assistant, but because I was the only one who managed to tolerate and be with him for this long time. 

Fortunately enough, the doctor ruled that there was nothing currently wrong with his liver and kidney following his night of over intoxication. But that didn’t mean that he was completely out of the woods; I was warned of how if he spends more nights like this, it could probably lead to the failure of his organs to properly function. To add even more salt to that wound, he informed me about how Carter hitting his head was also dangerous and that it could have resulted in a serious head injury — but that wasn’t the case in this scenario. The medical official also told me that Carter was lucky for it did not lead to any complications and that he should be safe from it as long as he drinks responsibly and moderately to avoid these things from happening again.

And I've been seeing somebody

But I've not found a way to tell you

That I'm seeing somebody

There's not a nice way for me to say that

I've been seeing somebody

You know I want you to be happy

Since I'm seeing somebody

And then maybe we can get on with it

“You know, you don’t need to bring up what happened every time?” He said as he walked past me to grab his clothes and get dressed. I rolled my eyes and sat down on the ottoman as I stared at him, “I don’t need to? That’s where you’re wrong, Baizen. The only reason why I keep bringing it up is because — guess the fuck what — I’m the only person who gives a fuck about you! I’m the one you call every time your ass is too drunk to drive or when you’re high as the fucking clouds! Or if you can’t call, guess who’s name and number you have written down in your wallet? It’s mine! So yes, I bring it up every fucking time since I don’t want you to seize your night so fucking hard that you end up deceased the next day!” I angrily let out.

He was done dressing up by the time I had yelled out my grievances, “I’m sorry that I can’t stop myself from drinking or having a night out!” This unapologetic remark from him just angered me further, “Well then let me help you! Let a therapist or some other professional help you get through this! You don’t have to do it alone, Carter.” I reminded him as I stood up and put my hand on his shoulder, to show him how I was gonna guide him through this.

He pushed my hand away and walked towards his dresser and put on some cologne and began fixing his tie, “No, I don’t want your or anyone else’s help. Alcohol is the only constant in my life; it always has been and it always will be.” when these words have left his lips, I froze up in disbelief and hurt. I was there with him when he was struggling to establish himself as a businessman, saw his struggles and victories, and even outside of work I was the only who cared enough to make sure that he was fed and hydrated despite his busy schedule.

“What do you call me then?” I sadly asked him and this got him to stop his movements and turn to me. However before he could explain himself or go near me, I had already collected my things and headed to exit his room and suite, “Be at the office before 10:30 am, you have a meeting with representatives of the Eichner Enterprise at 10:30. The rest of your schedule will be emailed to you.” 

A door closed with a heavy slam, sharp click of the lock following shortly after, and Harry’s eyes opened immediately. The king bed was so comfortable, he didn’t bother trying to move at the disturbance. Instead he lay perfectly still, the plush pillow that engulfed his face obscuring the vision of his right eye, glancing around at the clean striped walls and the minimalist art it held. The shower started and shortly after the amplified notes of a song he didn’t know was flowing out from under the bathroom door. He stayed in bed for a few more minutes listening to two voices in harmony, one echoing off the shower tiles and distorting the song slightly. He didn’t mind it. By the time the shower was off and the song changed to another, slightly more familiar to him, Harry had just finished tying his shoes from his perch at the end of the bed. The sheets were wrinkled and curled around nothing like thick linen snakes and he fell backwards into them one more time, waiting and remembering a night of unexpected but not unpleasant sex. It wasn’t his intent to stay all night let alone fall asleep there, but now that he had, he wanted to be a gentleman about it. Say goodbye instead of slipping out under the cover of running water and the radio playing. His friends would be shitting on him for it, but he wasn’t like them. At least not completely. He’d let himself be the sacrificial lamb and he’d let himself fall into bed with a wealthy stranger for the sake of evening out the numbers after all.

When Nikki and Garret had spotted the pair across the bar, Harry was content to let them make fools of themselves alone. He had a drink and another young woman he’d set his sights on. She’d been eye fucking him from across the black lacquered bar, lingering in front of the group, and drawing a finger up the inside of his arm after every drink she served. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry thought it might be an act to get more tips out of him, but after she locked eyes with him just before dropping a maraschino cherry between her teeth at a glacial and teasing pace, he decided that hooking up with a bartender would be a very satisfying end to his Saturday night. It just wasn’t in the stars.

Once his friends’ twosome became an unexpected threesome, Harry was called into the line of duty. His services were required to fulfill the men’s fresh fantasies and all it would take was an evening of keeping the “other friend” entertained. He’d looked longingly over the bar at his half sleeved goddess, drawing away from him to go give her flirty attentions to another sap down the way. He stepped away from the bar, drowning his drink and picking up the fresh one she’d delivered before abandoning him before spotting his friends at a rounded booth in the corner, not so discreetly sending SOS texts under the table, all of which he felt vibrating against his thigh. There indeed was a fifth head at the table, turned away from him, but soon he’d be the sixth, so he took another drink. The cashed in IOU propelling him through the bar and Harry told himself if he ever had to move again, he wouldn’t be asking these two idiots. His hand immediately fell on your shoulder and you smiled curiously up at him as he slid in next to you. It was a lovely smile, beautiful eyes. That made things easier. So began the dance.

The door unlocked and opened and Harry rolled his head over the mess of sheets toward the sound when the action was followed by silence. “You’re still here.” It wasn’t a question, but it wasn’t exactly pleasant sounding either.

Harry rose up onto his elbows and stared back at you, already dressed in black pants and a white t-shirt, tight across your chest, with your hair pulled back. “Yeah,” he smiled, scrambling semi conscious of the fact that you were far less excited now than the night before. “I thought we could-“ his defense, cut off by the sound of knocking. You didn’t even blink at him. Just turned and walked toward the door, ushering in a uniformed bellhop pushing a clothed cart. “Yeah… that,” he mumbled as your breakfast was left and you slipped the boy a decent tip, before closing the door behind him.

“Sorry,” you shrugged, pulling a bowl of oatmeal and a handful of blueberries from the array and stepping back toward the sleeping area. You dropped the berries one by one into your mouth and gestured with the other, pulling one finger from the bowl to point at the cart. “Help yourself.”

Harry was reticent, but not in a position to turn free breakfast from a fancy hotel, so he slid off the bed and made his way over to the cart to find something to eat. He watched from the sofa across the large room, plate of food balanced on his knees while you refilled your coffee and went about your morning like he wasn’t even present. It was awkward and jilted and nothing like the night you’d spent together.

He hated being “that guy,” the distraction guy, the suck up to the girl that no one else wanted guy, but you’d made it ridiculously easy. Eager to talk with him, not at all hesitant to touch him or lean in when he touched you, and when Nikki winked across the table, suggesting he drive you back to your place, you kissed his cheek and told him you couldn’t wait, taking care of his drink tab before leading him away. It wasn’t his first choice, but he wasn’t mad about it. The attention seemed so genuine, like you were happy to have someone there just for you too. He understood that completely and without really trying, he fell into the charade. From the outside you two looked like a couple, close talking, lips brushing in the elevator, hands feeling all over kind of couple. His best lines landed every time and you really did have beautiful eyes, he didn’t have to hem and haw over compliments. He knew what he was doing, but it felt better than usual and he had no regrets. Until now.

“Ok,” you announced, dropping your breakfast back onto the pushcart and gathering your phone, keys, and a few other personal items to hide away in a leather bag. The thick leather strap nestled between your breasts and without warning, Harry’s ears grew hot remembering the feeling of his face in the same spot. “I have to go to work, so you-“

“It’s Sunday,” he stated quickly and as if it mattered, but you looked unamused. “Who works on Sunday?” He shrugged, offering a cute little smirk like the ones you were eating up last night.

“I do,” you said impatiently, looking at him like he an idiot. “I literally just said that.”

Oh shit. “Did I do something wrong?” Harry asked, feeling incredibly awkward. Again. You’d been so responsive to… everything the night before. He could still hear the sighs and gasps while he took you on the bed that you hadn’t even glanced at this morning. Did you regret it? You weren’t too drunk, you seemed really into him. He was almost expecting to be held hostage by your body pressed tight against his, unable to slip out until after promising to see you again. Clearly that wasn’t the case. “Last night, we-“

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong. You did what you were told.” Huh? You looked around the room and groaned. “Fine, look, I won’t be back until really late, so… hang out for a little while longer if you need to. Order food to the room, whatever. Don’t order porn, I don’t want that shit on the statement,” your list was reasonable and Harry watched as you stuffed some of your belongings into the closet safe and tested the handle after hearing the metallic trill of the lock engaging. That’s smart. “There’s a pool, obviously. Just slide the key,” you dropped your spare on to the coffee table in front of him, “under the door when you leave or take it to the front desk.” When he didn’t respond, you leaned over, placing your face in front of his. Not to kiss him though. Apparently that time had passed. “Sound good?”

Harry was a little shell shocked, but he nodded. “You have a phone charger?” He held up his little black flip phone and you shook your head.

“Not for that,” you were already walking toward the door. “Call down and have them check lost and found. People leave them behind all the time.” He was prepared to watch you leave without another glance or a proper send off, feeling very weird about the whole exchange, but you stopped half way out the door and popped your head back in. “You’re cute. I had fun.” And before he could say thank you, you were gone. Yeah, you too.

--

“Wait- Where are you?”

“The Roosevelt,” Harry said again, pulling back the curtains to look down at the pool. It was bigger than he expected and was genuinely considering taking you up on the offer to stay a while. You wouldn’t be back until late, you’d said and while he didn’t know what constituted late in your world, he assumed he wouldn’t have to endure another awkward encounter as long as he left before it got dark.

Nikki was swearing excitedly through the phone and in just over an hour, had perched himself proudly on a lounge chair by the pool. Harry swam up the edge, chin resting over his folded hands while two girls smiled and waved. He returned a similar half gesture before Nikki started berating him for not taking full advantage of his surroundings.

“You win,” Nikki conceded, nodding at a pool boy who’d just delivered a fresh round of drinks for them and for an older woman in a gold bikini across the water. He pursed his lips and held up his own cocktail when she looked over, seemingly pleased to find some young Calvin Klein model type as her admirer.

“Was the bag a fake?” Harry asked, drying his hair and face before dropping into a chair next to his buddy’s. That's how Nikki chose his girls. Based on their potential. Or how desperate they looked. Depending on his mood and where he was financially. Usually without a dime in his bank account, he settled for the wealthy and the lonely and milked it for all it was worth.

“Nah, gift from a friend of her father’s,” Nikki leaned back, unperturbed by the implication.

“Gross,” Harry shook his head and looked around the pool, suddenly hyper aware of his surroundings. In Nikki’s eyes, he’d won. He’d gone home with the right girl, financially speaking, but that hadn’t been on his mind last night. It still wasn’t. Unlike Nikki, he had an apartment. He had a job. He wasn’t on top of the world by any means and there were still nights he had to prioritize, which meant staying home with a package of Ramen and his DVD collection instead of going out, but all Harry wanted from a girl was to want him too. It shouldn’t be that hard to find and yet… he had a list of unfortunate hook ups that ended in either a fight where he couldn’t defend himself or the girl getting annoyed with his lack of ambition. It was LA. If you weren’t rising you were falling behind. At least that’s how it felt most of the time.

“I’m gonna shower and head out,” Harry waited expectantly for his friend to stand with him. When he was left standing alone, he turned to leave.

“Bring back that key before you go,” Nikki called out. “I might need it.”

“No way in hell,” Harry responded, kicking the lounge his friend was dozing off on. “Ask to use hers,” he nodded toward the cougar shooting predatory glances at them from over the rim of her bright Midori sour.

Nikki didn’t even have to think about it, abandoning the drink and left over food on the table next to Harry to dive into the pool, stay under while he crossed over to where she was seated, and pop up dramatically, shaking his hair out before stalking over to her. Harry rolled his eyes and grabbed the attention of an attendant, pointing out the mess left behind and mentioned that his friend likely wouldn’t be back. Thanking them with a low high five, Harry walked out of the pool and back up to your room to change back into the fresh clothes Nikki had brought for him. As he slid the extra key card across the desk at check in, he paused and asked if they had a phone number on file for the room. His request was denied and he wasn’t surprised. When Jay Z and Beyoncé are throwing after parties somewhere, the staff’s discretion is required. Always. If he’d been thinking about it, he would have left his number somewhere in the room for you.

Harry thanked the woman behind the desk and walked off without arguing, not surprised that his attempt to reach out was denied, just unexpectedly disappointed.

A/N: Idk what to say here lol. Had an idea, felt very cheesy like a rom com and a little out of character for someone like Bucky, which is why despite the blog name and the character that introduced me to the Seabass fandom, my first posted story isn’t about him. Spread is... not great, but Harry was a delight and struck me as both the perfect side character for the Ashton shit show and also somewhat out of place in that world. He’s a sensitive frog dad and deserves love too. Even if he’s tool adjacent. Plus I have this compulsion to write things that other people aren’t writing so this feels very on brand. 

        But more often than not, any time the two of you spent together was when you were alone. He went out, often, to Nicky’s, went on walks, went out with the Sons of Ipswich, but not once did he ask you to go out, not once did he invite you, well, anywhere. You didn’t mind, at first. New relationships were fragile things. But the longer it went on, the more worried you got, and you could feel that frustration, that anger, bubbling beneath the surface. 

        And then the night of the dance. The night of the big storm. The last time you saw him. 

        The fight was bad. He hadn’t meant for you to see him, you had come by to see if he was still coming to the dance, but when you saw him trying to sneak out, you knew he wasn’t. He was, once again, going off to do something without you. And you blew up at him, in a way you weren’t sure you’d ever done with anyone, before storming back to your room and locking the door. 

        When the year was over, and you were back home, with your parents, your mom came up to see you often, wanting to be sure you were alright. 

“I got so mad at him,” you whispered, curled up around your pillow, as your mom sat down beside you. “I yelled at him, and I shouldn’t have yelled. I shouldn’t have.”

“Honey, you had every right to yell,” she promised, brushing your hair off your face.

“Mom...the last thing I said to him was never come back,” you whispered, closing your eyes. “And he just...he’s gone. He’s just gone, and I’m never gonna see him again, and I’ll never get to apologize, and I shouldn’t have yelled at him.” Your mother clicked her tongue, tsk soft in as comforting a way as she could manage, her hand warm and comforting along your shoulder. You knew she didn’t like Chase, had disapproved without saying so longer than you wanted to think about, but you were grateful that she was putting that aside to try and comfort you as best she could. 

        It had only been a couple of months, time you thought would have made you feel less guilty, but instead, it just left the feeling thrumming under your skin, rising just enough as you tried to sleep to keep it from being restful. You couldn’t stop thinking about the last time you’d seen him, wondering what happened to him, where he was. You wanted so desperately for him to be okay, no matter how angry you had been. 

        The storm was harsh, violent even, rain beating against your windows, the wind nearly swinging the trees to the ground. Lightning flashed often, cradled in the sharp cracks of thunder that shook the house. It amazed you every time that your parents could sleep through it, as you made your way around the house to ensure all the windows were closed, before you headed back up to your room.

        You didn’t register the sound, the clink clink of something hitting your window disguised as part of the storm, until it was accompanied by something that sounded an awful lot like a voice. Curious, you moved to the window, peering out into the dark. In a flash of lightning, you spotted someone on the grass, head tipped back to look in your direction. Your heart was in your throat as you jerked back, letting your curtain fall away. When the voice sounded again, you were more subtle, peering out the window without yanking the curtains up. This time, within a couple of flashes, you recognized the face, and gasped, rushing downstairs to open the door. 

        Chase was soaked, his clothes clinging to him, weighed down by the rain. It dripped off his hair, down his face, as he stumbled in the back door before you shut it. 

“I’m so glad you heard me out there, I was not looking forward to ringing the doorbell,” he panted, shaking his head, as you grabbed a towel off the dryer and handed it to him. “You know the forecast called for clear skies tonight? No rain, no wind. Weatherman oughta be fired.” 

        As he grumbled, and dried what he could, you just stared at him, fighting the urge to lunge at him. You watched him, breath shaky, as he patted his face dry, and rubbed the towel over his hair, before he peered out at you, as if he thought you’d left.

“...what?”

“...I thought...I thought somethin’ terrible happened…” you replied quietly, voice trembling, but you trailed off, frown on your lips, as he chuckled. 

“Yeah...yeah, kinda did. But I’m okay, now. I’m alright. I’m sorry I didn’t come by,” Chase apologized, but he frowned as you scoffed, and shook your head. “What?”

“Didn’t come by? Chase, I th-thought you were dead. Or...or, I don’t know, setting up your life somewhere else.”

“...why would you think that?” he inquired, confused. 

“Because no one has heard from you in months! Because I yelled at you! I told you never to come back!” you replied, almost exclaimed, nearly hissing to keep your voice down. Chase chuckled, shaking his head a little, as he leaned back against the dryer.

“Sweetheart...I knew you were mad that night, didn’t really think you meant it.” 

        Sniffling, you scrunched up your face, and crossed your arms over your chest, almost desperate to put up some kind of wall, block, to stop yourself from showing him how the last few weeks had affected you. But even that movement told him what you didn’t want to, and he dropped the smirk that had curled at his lips, pushing off the dryer. 

“...baby…”

“I was so angry with you...for everything. For...for having this thing with me but not wanting anyone to see us together, for not wanting to do anything with me if it meant being around others, and I still felt so awful for telling you to never coming back only for you to fucking vanish and here you are standing in my house, acting like nothing happened, like everything is fine, and ignoring...ignoring everything? Acting like you didn’t leave that night and just fucking disappear?” you sniffled, frowning at him. Chase shook his head, seeing the shimmer in your eyes, and took a step forward, enveloping you in a tight embrace despite the thick weight of his soaked, chilled closed. You slumped against him, quickly throwing your arms around his shoulders, as he pulled you close.

“You had every right to be mad at me. But there are things I didn’t get to tell you, and a lot of shit happened that night but I had every intention of telling you.” You sniffled, shrugging, as he rubbed a hand down your back. 

“...so tell me.” 

        His sigh made your stomach clench as you pulled back, brow furrowed. 

“You don’t want to.”

“I do. But I don’t know how you’re gonna take it, so...you gotta promise you won’t scream.” You frowned, but shrugged, nodding. “Nothing had anything to do with not wanting anyone to see you. It was about protecting you. That’s it. Plain and simple.”

“How was refusing to even look at me when people were around s-”

“Because I...am not entirely who you think I am. And I don’t mean that to sound threatening. Not to you.” He studied you for a moment, before sighing, and shaking his head. “Look. I had a plan, when I got to the academy, and none of it involved you. But, shit...I just couldn’t help myself. I just had to try to protect you. You really only know part of me.”

“Chase Collins. If you do not tell me what it was that was so much more important that me, I swear to God.” 

        All arguments vanished when his eyes flashed and burned, and the pile of laundry behind him on the dryer rose up into the air. You could barely breathe, startled at the sight, before you slowly looked back at him, wide-eyed. 

“Ta-da…” he mumbled. 

“What...what the fuck?” Chase’s eyes flashed again, the laundry falling back into place, as he scratched his fingers through his hair.

“I’m a witch...I’m not the only one, either.” You almost couldn’t breathe, staring at him in that moment, until his fingers grazed your arm and you near jolted in place. “Baby?”

“What the fuck.” He chuckled, he couldn’t help it, as you snapped your eyes to meet his. 

“I tell you what...can we go to your room? You can ask me anything you want, I just...I wanna stay with you.” 

        You hesitated as you watched him, weighing your options in your head. You knew your parents would lose their minds if they found Chase showed up in the middle of the night and you brought him to your room, but on the other hand, you hadn’t seen him in months, you were finally able to shake the guilt you had been letting eat you up now that he was back. 

        Carefully, you reached out, curling your fingers around his wrist. He smiled as he followed the pull, as you led him towards the basement, towards the entertainment space your father was so proud of. You felt a rush of air as you led him to the couch, quickly flicking on the light before you looked at him, only to see that his clothes no longer sagged with water, but were, instead, dry. 

“...yeah...I can do that too,” he admitted almost sheepishly, as you huffed, fighting a smile, and sat on the couch. “Ask me anything.”

“...I don’t know where to start,” you admitted, eyes slipping shut as he reached up to brush your hair from your face. “I spent the last two months...hating myself for how I acted last time I saw you. I thought you not being here was all my fault…” Chase made a soft, sad sound, cupping your face as you finally looked up at him.

“I...had things I needed to do, that night...I always intended to come back, to see you, to make everything right, but...my plans backfired, and I just had to disappear for a little while. I should’ve reached out, and I’m sorry.” Sniffling, you let him pull you close, until his arms were around your shoulders, your body slumped against his. “Nothing that happened was your fault.”

“....will you stay now?” you whispered, slipping your arms around his waist.

"Right." He nods, taking a step back, then lifts up his chin. "Take the week off, you deserve it."

"Wasn’t planning on asking for permission, but I’m glad to know my break was approved."

He snorts, probably because you both know it’s true that you never ask for permission and you’re one of those agents who are literally their own boss, to their partners and bosses’ despair. It usually works out, and you’re one of their best. You’re about to cross the street when Sam’s voice echoes again in the busy street, slightly muffled by the sound of cars, honks, suitcases rolling on the ground, hitting holes and bumps on the pavement, the same ones that make people trip on their own feet.

"He was worried about you." You’re not facing your literal partner in crime anymore, and you don’t turn around to show him your little smile, but he probably knows anyway.

Green lights turn to red and you breathe in before crossing the street, taking in the sky and the stars starting to appear and twinkle around a full moon, clouds almost perfectly still on this day — it was sunny, apparently, but you spent the first half of the day fighting your way home, the other half writing a report and delivering long-awaiting data and compromising documents to the Bureau. Then you had to spend another hour promising everyone you were alright and not injured to the point where you had to go to a hospital, and now you could finally go home.

And in that case home isn't necessarily your cosy apartment, the one you had just finished re-painting and decorating before you left for your mission, but as cheesy at it sounds, home might have become a person.

It takes you less than fifteen minutes to reach his apartment complex, but at least seven to cross the stairs when you realize the elevator still hasn't been fixed, painfully dragging your battered body up the wooden steps, a hand pressed to your ribs and stomach, and finally, another three minutes to dig out your spare key from that little pocket in your duffel bag, hand shaking as you miss the keyhole a few times before getting it right.

You don’t bother knocking or making your presence officially known because even though you've been gone for a month no one else has that key and he probably heard that your mission was over anyway. The slam of the door echoes behind you and you audibly groan, voicing your pain and exhaustion for the first time today.

"Honey I’m home," you call out sarcastically, letting your duffel bag hit the floor with a loud thump, slowly shrugging your leather jacket off — it falls from the coat hanger as you turn around but you don’t bother picking it up. Your body wouldn’t let you. "Remember when I said I was going on a small mission that would only take a few days? Well I was wrong."

Something drops on the kitchen table. A knife, a fork, a spoon — whatever, but something drops and clings and you hear him cough. A chair scrapping against the floor. You enter the bathroom. You smirk at your reflection in the mirror, splashing your face with water and watching droplets of blood trail down your cheeks and neck, hitting your already stained shirt.

"Turns out, it was the same group of freaking mad scientists we thought we dismantled last time. You know, that time Sam got shot?" You turn the faucet off.  "So I had to stay undercover the whole month." Hands all dried up, hair tied into a messy bun. A band-aid covering the cut on your forehead. Cream on your nose and bloody lip. "So. Yeah. That wasn’t planned."

You exit the bathroom, passing the entrance again, carefully avoiding tripping on your discarded combat boots lying on the wooden floor. They're full of mud and there is probably a lot of blood that you can't see. It’s usually very neat and clean here, all sorts of shoes lined up and in their place, a spotless wooden floor that contrasts with the white walls, and Chris would probably scold you if you didn't have a valid excuse right now.

You sigh, feet following the noise. "And my cover got blown yesterday. It was honestly one of the hardest missions I have ever been on." You shiver, pausing for a second as you close your eyes and try to shake flashbacks and images off your mind. You clear your throat, plastering a smile on your face even though Chris can't see you yet.

"Anyway — " There’s a small table right at the entrance of the living room, where you drop your gun and badge with a deafening bang.

There’s a small shit that’s being muttered over and over again but that you don’t really register, still not looking up. " — now that I killed them all I’m allowed to discuss secret details — remember their boss, Helmer? That was a nasty fight, ugh. I had to shoot him at point-blank range and I think I’ve still got pieces of his stupid brain in my hair." You shudder. "Ugh." You massage the back of your neck, rolling your head from left to right, cracking your bloody knuckles, while taking in the smell of his cooking with closed eyes.

You follow the smell, smiling softy as you enter the kitchen.

"Hey!" Chris rushes out of the room at the same time you step in, eyes wide as he takes in your form, his hands gently grabbing your forearms, caging you. Gently, tenderly, as his fingers run on your skin, but with a grip that feels urgent.

"Hey," you reply more softly, your voice still raspy. You blink, head titled to the side, grabbing onto him as well. Your hands find his toned stomach, relishing the warmth you have missed as you sigh contently. You refrain from resting your forehead on his chest, remembering the blood still splattered on your face and burning your skin, and the smell that has been invading your senses ever since you escaped literal hell.

So you gently cup his face with your hand, thumb brushing against his skin before stepping aside in order to enter the kitchen. Chris' arms reach out to you, in an attempt to keep you from entering the room, but you slip out of his embrace.

"Wait — "

"Oh — "

Your breath gets stuck in your threat, everything going still around you. You can’t even gasp or express your surprise, because every single bone and cell in your body has gone completely rigid. You stand here by the door, Chris' arms still outstretched in vain behind you, a new set of eyes staring back at you.

"You're… — " You gulp. No. “I didn't know you had company.” 

Not like this. It can't go like this. This gaze is unblinking, confused, curious, disgusted as it seems to scrutinize your outfit — ripped combat pants looking huge compared to your small feet and their dirty socks stained with mud and dust. Crumpled white shirt — more red than white. There's a wound on your stomach that won't stop bleeding. Arms painted red, blue and black with scratches and bumps and dirt smeared across your skin. Swollen lips parted and face sporting what probably looks like the stupidest facial expression ever.

Your hand find the back of your neck, angrily scratching your already chafed skin as you feel the discomfort settle into your chest, until you hear Chris clear his throat behind you, hand gently peeling your fingers off your skin, then sliding down to rest on the small of your back. You wince and it doesn't go unnoticed.

"Y/N," Chris sports a smile that looks very painful, mentally and physically. "Mom. Mom, Y/N. My colleague." A side glance. “And girlfriend.” 

There’s a small beat of silence where you think you’re going to pass out. She manages to look so composed despite her eyes literally screaming terror and horror and get this woman out of my son’s appartement ; and you, the FBI agent, look like a deer caught in headlights, a stuttering mess, shoulders dropped in despair. Maybe she would do a better job at being an undercover agent.

"I - shouldn’t shake your hand. Or, touch you...at all. I think you can guess why. See why. Clearly see why," your voice wavers. "But, um. It’s very nice to meet you. Ma’am. I should probably take a shower." You turn around, avoiding Chris' gaze, but only taking a few steps before stopping and turning back to him, resignation painted on your features.

You sigh, and try to whisper as you add : "I didn’t want to go to the hospital but I kinda need you to stitch me up right now." His blue eyes go to your stomach and his hand to his forehead, rubbing it tiredly.

"Yeah," he nods before twisting his body to face his mother, still quietly sitting at the dinner table. "Mom, I need to take care of her. We'll be here in half an hour, okay?"

You don't wait for her answer before heading straight to the bathroom, sitting on the toilet seat with your eyes closed and lips in a thin line. You hear his feet on the bathroom tiles, the sound of his dress shirt ruffling as he crouches down in front of you, palms spreading warmth on your aching thighs.

"Hey," he mutters again, soft eyes looking up through his lashes as you open your own. The beginning of a smile and a small greeting is quickly turned into a wince as his fingers gently lift the hem of your top, to fabric sticking to your skin. "Sorry."

You stay silent, sighing and hissing and biting your lower lip as your eyes stay glued to the ceiling. Chris works in silence, like he always does, and like you always do when the roles are reversed. What is there to talk about? You both know it hurts, you both know the other is sorry that they're hurting you, and it's part of the job. But the silence isn't really about your wounds right now, and you're too mortified to even glance at his face. His bottom lip is probably stuck between his teeth, eyebrows set into a focused frown, hands steady as yours still tremble from this encounter.

"All done." Hands gently pressing a bandage to your wound then sliding back to your thighs, a sigh escaping his lips.

You meet his gaze and there's this small pause where you gaze into someone's eyes and both of you are serious but you don't know if it's truly serious or if you should laugh. You raise your eyebrows, slowly, gradually, until a smirk makes its way on your fellow agent's lips.

"You do have bits of…red stuff…in your hair."

You chortle, throwing your head back, tension in the shoulders easing.

You put your hands on his shoulders as your legs spread to let him get closer to you, between your knees, and as you look down to him and his locks you feel a sense of comfort wash over you - it's been a month, and you’ve missed his hair and the smell of his shampoo.

"You could have warned me," you say. Fingers trail along his neck, beard tickling your palm and fingers. Traces of his last undercover mission are almost gone - shaven head and this sort of big goatee. It wasn’t your favorite look on him ; and now he’s gone back to this softer version of himself.

"Yeah, well, that’s kinda hard when you disappear undercover for a month, right?"

He does have a point. He holds your gaze for a moment, a slight crease between his brows, and you exhale softly, watching as he looks down to your bare stomach, bloody shirt discarded on the cold floor.

"I'm sorry. You know how it works."

"Yeah, I do."

A small pause, where you both get closer, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging, scratching.

"Maybe you can make it up to me."

"I have bits of brain in my hair." Chris' lips find the sensitive spot behind your ear, along your neck, your collarbones. Protests dying away and replaced by whimpers, already desperate for more. It has been a long month.

"Good thing we're in the bathroom, right?"

Hot breath on your skin, face nuzzling between your breasts, down your stomach, carefully avoiding your bandage as your back arches. It doesn't take long for you to find yourself pressed against a tile wall, legs wrapped around his bare body, limbs quivering - pleasure, the exhaustion of the day and the last month.

The sound of water hitting your bodies before crashing on the floor is enough to conceal your frantic heartbeats, strangled whimpers and mutters, feverish pleas. A fuck escapes your lips in the form of a low moan, Chris’ lips crashing into yours in an attempt to hold in the sound. A hungry kiss, sweet, loving, yearning.

"I've missed you - so - much." It comes out as three little gasps, matching each thrust into your body, each time your back hits the wall, each time you feel like you're finally complete. The pull in your chest, heart - it's so fierce. It almost hurts, how much you've missed him.

"Every day - " A muffled moan, fingers digging into the skin of his tense back. "I was just trying - to come back to you."

Skin prickling and tingling as droplets of water follow the curve of your tangled bodies, chills running down your spines, he buries his face into the crook of your neck as the last thrust takes all the strength that was left in your body. And as you're left quivering and panting and heaving, in this daze, there's this shared gaze that holds a thousand moments - everything it took to get here. Dodging, hitting, ducking, kicking, shooting, stabbing. Blood splattered on your face, the taste of iron in your mouth, the smell of death forever rooted in your senses. The lethal instinct that overtakes your whole body and mind when you have to fight your way home.

A throaty laugh resonates in the bathroom, traces of blood on the floor soon wiped clean, sewing kit back to the white closet right above that plant you insisted on buying specifically for his bathroom, ruined shirt thrown into a corner as if the laundry basket wasn't right next to him - you don't comment on that, relishing the feeling of a warm towel on your skin with your eyes closed and head thrown back. Different moans this time, as you get dressed painfully.

It takes a few minutes for someone to talk again, steam still fogging up the room, warmth embracing you. The mirrors are misty, and so is your mind. You roll your head from right to left, make your neck crack, stretch as far as your body lets you.

"Well," Chris drawls out lazily, visibly fighting a smirk. "I have to go back. I suppose you want to stay in my room and avoid further humiliation?"

You huff, dragging a hand across your face. "Scared I'm gonna start another extremely graphic depiction of my mission? I bet she wants to hear more about bits of scattered brain."

You wince as your hear yourself - it's gross.

Walking away from standing in front of him, she was now heading back to her desk to complete her work but she informed him, “You’re free to go after you meet up with that appointment.”

He nodded and debated about whether or not he should apologize for what he had said earlier. Deciding against it, he went inside his office to quickly retrieve his car keys and other items. As he brushed past her work desk, he muttered a simple goodbye to which she just curtly nodded as she typed away on her desktop.

The drive towards his destination was filled with his denial of his current state of being. He kept convincing himself that truly, there was no problem with how he was living his life and that there was no reason for him to be alarmed, right? Upon arriving at the address, Carter’s confusion increased. He was standing in front of what looked like to be a residential building. 

Walking in front of the entrance, he noticed how the building seemed to be the location of some services — some doctor, lawyer, legal advice. He shrugged off his doubts and trusted Y/N’s words that he had an appointment here that he was putting off for some time. The lack of elevators in the premise prompted him to take on the two flights of stairs in order to reach room 207.

Knocking on the door, he heard someone give him permission to enter. A female receptionist immediately greeted him warmly, “Welcome, do you have an appointment?” Carter scratched his neck and looked around, trying to get a hint of what kind of appointment he was going to have. “Yeah, I believe a 2:45 appointment,” he replied meekly, which was unusual for him to sound like for he always needs to sound confident.

 As she nodded, her auburn wavy hair moved along with her and quickly typed on her computer, “Dr. Richards will see you know, it’s the door to your left.” She pointed at the door to which Carter followed his gaze at and mumbled a soft, “What?” to. 

Not sure what came over him, he did follow where the receptionist pointed to and found himself knocking on the door. “Hello, Mr. Baizen, come in and make yourself comfortable.” A woman kindly welcomed him as she opened the door and directed him to sit on the couch near a coffee table.

Once he sat down, the lady with salt and pepper hair immediately began to strike up a conversation, “So, how are you today, Mr. Baizen?” As she sat down on the opposite side of the coffee table, Carter noticed how she had a clipboard on her lap as she held a ballpen on one of her hands.

“Honestly? Confused. I don’t know why I’m here, my assistant just told me this was an appointment I’ve been holding back on,” he blurt out as he started to feel that his long sleeves were too tight on him, which prompted him to unclasp the top button as he settles both his hands on the arm rests of the couch.

The woman nodded and smiled warmly, “Y/N has been telling me for months how much she worried about your well-being. And that she was trying her best to convince you to see a therapist even though,” she was quickly cut off when Carter questioned, “Y/N? Therapist? What the hell are you talking about?”

Dr. Richards was silent for a few seconds, and Carter was waiting for her to admit that she was pulling his leg and that she really was a businesswoman who was interested to work with him. However, she was just really trying to piece together what was going on. 

“Y/F/N is one of my patients, and I am her psychologist. You know her as your assistant, yes?” She began her explanation, Carter nodded in confirmation and as a cue for her to continue, “One of the things she usually talks about during our sessions is her worry for your well-being. That you might be abusing certain substances as a coping mechanism. She told me how she desired for you to meet up with me, in order to address your issues and other possible problems.”

After hearing her explanation, Carter found himself with his mouth wide open in shock and disbelief. He didn’t think how serious Y/N really was when she said that she was concerned about him. That she would go out of her way to clear his schedule and book an appointment for him, it made him feel something that was weird and something he hadn't felt before — he just couldn’t name what it was.

“Well I’m here now so how does this work?” he managed to say as he shrugged his shoulders. Dr. Richards smiled in surprise and appreciation, in her point of view, it looked like he was willing to comply and cooperate with her. “Let’s start with you recalling your earliest memories with alcohol.”

Coughing up the promethazine

Living like an evergreen

Sorry for the things that I've done

Now Selena won't be friends with me

I was kissing Emily

I love you, it was never your fault

(Got me like)

Nursing a scotch, Carter laughed quietly as he recalled the events of earlier. 

He could not believe how he immediately opened up to Dr. Richards. How he told her that his father introduced him to alcohol at an early age and he saw it as their way of bonding. How he picked up on his father’s habits of turning to alcohol when they felt upset, confused, sad, or if he felt any emotion really. On how he fears he might turn up like him or worse. How he wants to continue to be successful in his business ventures.

Part of him is thankful for the appointment Y/N set up; it allowed him to be vulnerable and open up to someone who listened to him without judgement or careless replies. But the bigger part of him felt angry with her. Why did she think that he needed professional help or some shit?

A girl flirted with him earlier, to which he of course flirted back with. He suggested that they go back to his place to which she agreed but first she had to tell her friends about where she was going. Finishing up his scotch, he dropped a few bills on the counter, while another girl approached him.

In his distracted and preoccupied state, he asked, “You ready to go take this to the bedroom?” The girl looked taken aback, she had yet to mutter a word and yet he was already asking her to go home? Seemed like a win for her either way. She nodded and looped her arm around his and he guided her to where he parked her car.

The following morning, Y/N knocked on the bedroom door and hearing groans was her usual cue to enter the room. “Oh God, you didn’t mention you had someone with you.” She exclaimed as she avoided looking at the bed where Carter laid with his female companion and instead made a beeline to his closet to pick out his outfit.

“Selena, babe, you need to leave now,” Carter sweetly cooed to the woman beside him which was a contrast to what he wanted her to do. The girl shot up and slapped him, “Dick! My name’s Emily not Selena!” The slap added to his headache but he was relieved to see her wear her clothes from the previous night and hastily make her way out of the suite.

Carter removed the duvet from his body and stood up and walked to where Y/N was, he leaned against the wall, “You know I’m still mad about how you deceived me yesterday.” On cue, he was handed his outfit for the day as his assistant brushed past him, “And how exactly did I deceive you? I said that it was an appointment you were holding off on which is true because you scoff at the mere mention of help.”

He threw his clothes to the side and angrily snapped at her, “And what makes you think I need help huh? So what if I drink every now and then? Don’t think that equates to me having a problem!” She rolled her eyes and pointed a finger at him, “That right there is a problem! Your denial! You deny the idea that there’s a problem with how you always need alcohol! Not want, need. You deny the help I give you! You know what Dr. Richards told me following your appointment? She said that when you left you seemed a hundred pounds lighter!”

Carter’s jaw clenched and he looked cold, but he was just really trying to organize his thoughts and prevent himself from lashing out on Y/N. “I care for you, Carter,” she softly said as she was brushing her hand up and down his forearm, “I don’t want to see you lose everything you worked hard for. Or even worse, see you lose yourself.” 

His heart twisted upon hearing her say that. He never had someone genuinely care about him and go the extra mile in proving so. But there was something about the unfamiliarity with the situation that made him resort back to denying this kind of comfort and care. “You’re suspended from your duties for 2 weeks.”

She looked at him in disbelief at what he said, and if he was being honest he too was surprised with what he just told her. But there was no turning back now, was there? Her look of disbelief was only visible for a brief moment before she looked at him pointedly, “Fine. I’ll forward your schedule to Melissa and the other files you need.”

The sound of her heels clicking away made him look at her retreating form, he found himself following behind her with small and slow steps. Before she exited his bedroom, he gave her one last look as she bid farewell to him by saying, “I’m not sorry about what I did. Alcohol’s not the only thing that can be there for you, I’m always here for you, Carter. But I guess that’s not what you want.”

Harry woke the next morning to the sight of your back turned toward him, sleeping half on your stomach while clutching a pillow. Your hair was a mess, but he didn’t hesitate to brush some of it away, making room for his fingers to slide up the back of your neck. It was just enough movement for you to stir, turning to face him without opening your eyes.

“Good Morning, sunshine,” he whispered, shuffling his body across the mattress until you were close enough to hold. You responded, not with words, but by throwing one of your arms around his back, fingers immediately finding the hem of his t shirt to slip under. Your palm was a welcome warmth against bare skin. He smiled to himself and leaned in to press his lips between your eyebrows, chuckling to himself when they furrowed and tickled his nose. He hadn’t planned to fall back asleep, but with your fingers making tight little circles against his back and your breath warming his chin, the boy was out cold again in a matter of minutes.

Harry failed to savor the feeling of waking up next to someone, without the stink of regret or confusion spoiling the sweetness. So he wasn’t surprised to find himself alone in bed when he woke the second time that morning. When wandered out of your bedroom, he found you sitting cross legged on the couch in front of him, shorts riding up your thighs to reveal light dimples that would look better with his fingers digging into them as he-

“Hey, hey,” you called out, pulling from what was about to become a very saucy daydream. Fuck. He was a man with his fair share of morning wood experiences, but this level of fantasizing this early in the day was new. He tilted his chin up in a silent greeting and ambled over to join you, falling into you and the thick brown cushions like a rag doll. You fought the intrusion momentarily, but soon gave in and Harry sunk deeper into an unexpected comfort as his head landed against your thigh.

“You gonna run away to work again?” He asked casually, taking his time to get comfortable with one of his leg thrown over the back of the couch, the other bent at the knee with his foot on the floor.

“Comfy?” You looked down at him in an easily dissolved annoyance. He shifted once, mm twice more, before giving you a sarcastic thumbs up and folding his hands on his chest, head tilted back at an almost uncomfortable angle to smile up at you. You rolled your eyes, but answered him anyway. “No, not this time. I actually have the weekend off.” Harry’s face must have lit up like a child’s. The next thing he knew, you were laughing and he was launching himself off the sofa. “So now you’re leaving?” You called out after him as he made his way back into your bedroom.

“Yep,” he answered, spinning in his socks to find you up and following him around the corner. “But you’re coming too.”

“Am I?”

Harry was already pulling his jeans back on when you entered the room. Without him answering, you walked right through the bathroom and into the large closet on the other side, presumably to join him in the land of the clothed. When he was dressed, he started toward the bathroom before thinking better of it. He’d made himself quite comfortable in your presence already, but watching you get dressed for the day felt like skipping a few steps. Even if you hadn’t turned down any of his affection yet. At least not yet that day. You had the first time you slept together, but something felt different about last night. Harry didn’t spend too much time thinking about it, solely focused on making sure it happened again. Soon.

“Yeah,” he projected from his seat on the bed. Boy that felt familiar, but also brand new. “I gotta place near here, best burritos you’ve ever had in your life.” His promise echoed through the bathroom and soon you emerged, half dressed and looking at him like a mad man.

“You’re taking me out?”

Harry shrugged. “I’m hungry and I owe you a meal, maybe a couple.”

“You don’t owe me anythi-“

“Fine,” he stood and crossed the room, stopping in front of you with his hands on your arms. “I want to take you out. Is that okay with you?” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so bold with a woman, but really is it bold when you’ve been dancing around each other for as long as you had?

You pondered the question for longer than he expected, but the second his grin started to wither in worry, your smile returned and brought his back to life. “Fine, I’d like that-“

“Great!”

“But I have to burst your bubble.” Harry frowned and gave you a hard look. “Wherever you think we’re going, I know a place with better burritos.”

“No way, José,” he said in an accent so awkward he physically cringed. “Besides, you don’t know where we’re going, it might be the same place.”

You looked at the shoes on his feet and shook your head. “We’re definitely not talking about the same place.” Without another word, you slipped by, leaving him alone in your bedroom and so so confused.

Harry found you standing in your kitchen, feet still bare as you stood halfway between the island and the refrigerator, shuffling ingredients from one hand to the other. He looked around the airy space, almost entirely white yet still homey and welcoming. “There is no way you cook in here.”

“Who do you think does it, then?” Your smile is real and it’s taunting him and Harry finds himself fresh out of clever quips, so he slides a wicker top stool to the other side of the island and makes himself comfortable. You work so efficiently, he has no room to argue with you. 

“Okay,” you turn to face him with a serious expression that makes him straighten in his seat. “I have to warn you, it’s so good, that you’ll probably fall in love with me.” His laughter carried across the counter. “I mean it,” you were trying not to smile, but it wasn’t working. “-but try to remember, Harry... it’s just your stomach, not your heart, okay?”

Clearly you are very comfortable in the kitchen, but it goes beyond that. Knife skills he’s only seen on tv, the blade rocking expertly over the thick butcher block as you feed green onions and red peppers under every quick pass with your fingers tucked for safety. When you ask if he wants breakfast or lunch and he says both, he stands to watch up close as you crack eggs into a bright green mixing bowl with one hand. Chopsticks are in the second drawer to his left, or so you tell him, gesturing with your elbow as you pull cheese and butter from the fridge. Harry is your beautiful assistant as you perform culinary magic on the gas burner. It clicks to life with a blue glow and the vegetables smell like heaven and you’re using the chopsticks to beat the eggs into the smallest fluffiest curd he’s ever seen and his hands are meeting yours on a plate to wrap a wide tortilla around everything that’s sliding out of your pan. You won’t let him eat until there’s a handsome pour of salsa over the dish and you’ve grated more cheese directly onto it. He doesn’t even see where you pull fresh parsley from, but he can smell it as your fingers tear leaves from stem in a garnish that shouldn’t look so at home on something as simple as a breakfast burrito. You spin the squared off plate on the counter and it stops in front of him. Again. Magic.

“I can’t eat this with my hands though,” he complains half heartedly and your eyes roll so hard he wonders how many of his jokes he can risk before your eyes are stuck in the back of your head. Without a word, the beautiful plate before him slides away and another appears with a jar of label free salsa on the side. “Much better.”

Harry joins you at the round dining table halfway between your kitchen and living room and dammit it all if you weren’t right. It’s the best burrito he’s ever had in his life, but with eggs and cheese, adding a gooeyness so decadent and delicious he doesn’t even notice the lack of meat. He doesn’t bother trying to mask his moans and feels little shame over palming his breakfast, stretching his neck out over the table so any droppings land on his plate instead of his lap. You don’t seem put off by it and even reach across to wipe something from higher on his cheek than the food should have been able to reach.

You’re a chef, he finally knows what you do for a living and it all comes together. How picky you were over Darius’ kitchen, how comfortable you were in your own. Even the connections you had at Taix, it fits. Harry isn’t pleased that it’s taken him this long to ask, but the big reveal is so delicious he quickly decides he doesn’t care. You laugh when he applauds your performance and you admit that it’s not always like that. In a kitchen, you don’t have time to plate or play, someone else does that and lately, you haven’t had an audience at all. He asks if you were showing off a bit and you don’t have to say anything for him to know it’s true. The suddenly meek way you look away from him is enough. It’s not what he’s come to expect from you, but he likes this part too. He can’t tell if it’s because you like him or because you love what you do. Maybe both. He hopes for both.

It’s probably rude, definitely tacky, but he’s already been naked for you, so he doesn’t think asking about the money is really off limits, but you stiffen slightly before answering. The answer is comfortable, like you’re happy to talk about it, but something is off. Maybe the way he asked?

“I’ve worked in… shit a lot of your big kitchens in town, under a lot of big names, talented guys. I appreciate it,” you said softly and he almost believed you. “But you don’t make anything for yourself when someone else’s name is on your coat, you know? It’ll always be Wolfgang Puck’s food, but they were my hands.” Oh, wow. You weren’t kidding about the big names. “So I left the commercial business a couple years ago.” Harry asked you to go on and learned that you were a personal chef. Obviously making great money and feeding some of LA’s pickiest eaters without all the flash. You took meetings with their fancy nutritionists, spiritualists, whoever, made up their meal plans, prepped dishes for them every week, and ran a whole business out of your own home. Very clearly out of his league.

“Anyone I know?” He asked, wiggling his eyebrows and running his hip into yours as you loaded the dishwasher.

“I can’t tell you that,” you checked him back before bending slightly to add detergent. Harry dried his hands on a towel that he tossed lazily onto the counter before stepping up behind you. Your little jump at the surprise only pushed your ass into him and made him groan. Hands on your hips and back, Harry leaned over you, letting you feel all of him on your back. “Harry…”

“What?” He asked innocently, straightening himself out to follow your lead, but without fully removing himself from your body. His lips were on the side of your face, hands rubbing everything he could reach and despite the warning tone you used with him, he felt you leaning back into him, felt your fingers dig into his legs.

“Don’t you have to go soon?” You asked, but it was a breathless question as you guided one of his hands under your shirt to your chest. No bra this time and Harry fell forward, catching himself on your counter with his other hand to trap you between him and the white cupboard, squeezing and playing and letting the sounds of your quiet sigh spur him on. 

“What if I want to stay?” He asked into your shoulder and you turned to face him, his hand still in place up the front of your shirt, mouth now hovering over yours.

“Then stay.”