Hello, hello! Thanks for all the feedback, kids. :) My lil ankle biter is being super chill at the moment, so I'm taking advantage of that and posting. Now for this chapter, it's been on my list for some time now. I kept putting it off because I just couldn't get it quite right. Finally, a silly conversation between myself and my husband inspired a line or two of this and helped make it flow. Also credit needs to be given to Scaryscarecrows. The end of the chapter was directly inspired by a few lines in "We Looked Like Giants" where Harvey's drinking beer and watching "Say Yes to the Dress". I liked that idea so much that I bastardized it here. Happy weekend everybody!
ladylampetia: Seriously, I need to settle up with you for your cheerleading services. The check's in the mail.
TheOneder5: Thanks, pal. And thanks for putting up with the soapbox moments. I know how you love those. ;)
(x)
6 Years Prior
Harvey's inside voice went through varying decibels throughout the days and weeks. Today it was screaming.
As he huffed it up the stairs to Madeline's apartment, he thought back to his day at the precinct. The station was always a zoo, but it had been especially wild that afternoon. Looking around the chaos of the GCPD, he came upon the idea - and not for the first time - that there was no one running that railroad. His insides felt coiled up like piano wire, and he doubted relief would rise up to meet him any time soon.
He paused at the top of the third floor, her floor, feeling winded. When he reached the door of her apartment… he found it hanging ajar.
Harvey heard a loud BANG sound from inside. The sound of something hard and heavy dropping onto the ground with blunt force, followed by a short, soft yelp.
He had his gun out and inched up against the door before he'd even registered he'd done it. He peeked around the corner, saw no one, and moved soundlessly through the doorway with a quickness bred from practice. The kitchen light was on, and he heard muffled movement. Someone turned on the water at the sink.
Harvey burst from around the corner, gun drawn.
Madeline screamed and ducked down. "Harvey!"
He instantly brought down his gun and nearly keeled over in relief.
She stood back up, her eyes capital O's of shock. "What … the hell are you doing?!"
He holstered his gun and pointed angrily back at the way he came. "What the hell are you doing with the door wide open?!"
He noticed now that Madeline held a handful of paper towels around her right hand. She turned off the faucet. "I just carried a bunch of groceries and a twelve pack up the stairs, and when I dropped it down, I cut my finger on the cardboard."
"And before that you didn't think to close the door behind you?"
She frowned at him. "I -just- stepped inside. I've been in here for exactly thirty seconds before you came around the corner…and pointed your gun at me!"
Frustration throbbed dully in his ears. "I swear to God, Maddie, you're just asking for someone to run in here-"
"Run in here and what? What next? I shouldn't have been out so late? My skirt's too short?"
It was not open mike night at the feminist coffee bar last he checked. Harvey moved his hands from left to right as he spoke. "You reach up. You lock the door. It ain't rocket science."
She rolled her eyes in an incredulous way that made him see red. "Could you stop talking like my father or worse my grandfather, please?"
He boomed. "I'm the third generation of men trying to get this point across?!"
She held the paper towels hard around her fingers and looked at him carefully. "This is not about a door and whether it's locked or not."
Oh, Christ. Here she goes again. "Maddie. I can't do this right now."
"This is about you pulling a GUN on me."
"This is what my job is."
"That's bullshit," she fired back.
His voice hardened. "We've been over this."
"Yeah, and you were full of crap then too. But I let you get away it. Not this time."
He hesitated before he repeated her words. "... Let me get away with...? What the hell … are you even talking about?"
Her shoulders slumped down at his answer. She all but ordered him, "Just tell me how bad it is."
Harvey sent her a bewildered look, and then his face fell. He sighed out loudly as he realized exactly what she meant.
She kept going. "Do I need to be in protective custody?"
His head pounded. Every night she was with him she was in protective custody. What about that did she not get?
She said a little more softly. "Do I need to leave town?"
He made himself stay even. "It ain't like that."
And she went the other way. She brayed at him, "Then what is it like?! Tell me. Right now."
Harvey reared up and bit back. "It's like you just need to learn to shut and lock the goddamn door."
Madeline shot him a look of pure indignation, right before she pushed past him, hard.
He called after her. "Hey, just … stop. You're bleedin' all over the place. Let me take a look." He gently took her arm, and to his surprise, she let him. He pulled away the paper towels, and when he looked over the small, superficial cut, he noticed something else.
Harvey stared down at a thick, dark bruise that dug across her forearm. Then he looked back up at her. "How'd you get that?"
She cut her eyes away from him. He knew that look. She made the mistake of being too predictable. "It's not what you think-"
"Quit lyin' to me."
Madeline twisted her arm out of his hand, and her face settled into a lingering glare. "Don't you dare talk to me in that voice, Harvey Bullock."
Great. They'd entered the 'Harvey Bullock' zone. He shook his head. "Stop changin' the subject-"
"This is not an interrogation room. I'm not here to sign a confession."
His eyebrows rose. "So what? I'm supposed to believe you got that some place else and not inside that nuthatch?"
When Madeline fell quiet, he didn't stop himself from looking at her with full and absolute certainty. So she might cut the shit and play it straight.
Her voice was raw. "Maybe I wouldn't hide things from you if you didn't act like this."
"Like what?" he dared her.
Her face took on a cold, reproachful look. She screwed up her mouth, rose up … and froze in place. All of a sudden in quick, deliberate movements, she turned and went for the door.
(x)
Madeline's jaw clenched tight and her temples pulsed. White hot fury all but radiated off of her and made it hard for her to even see straight. She'd barely, just barely, gotten a hold of herself before it was too late.
When Harvey touched her arm again, she rounded on him. "Look, I need to leave."
"You live here," he spelled out for her, as if she didn't know.
"I'm not leaving…" Like your father. She grabbed up her keys. "I'm taking a break. I need twenty minutes."
"Your hand-"
"It can wait." She emphasized each word. "I will be back."
When Madeline closed the door, she heard him loudly turn the snick of the lock behind her and frustration built up in her throat. She clamped her teeth against it, because it wouldn't come out as a growl. It would be a war cry.
She stomped down the stairs, still feeling her face flush with anger. When she reached the back metal door, she threw it open so hard that the slam echoed against the brick wall in a fitful, gratifying way. Out of habit, she double-checked her pocket for her keys and then let the door bang shut behind her.
Madeline pressed her back against the cool brick wall of her apartment building. She closed her eyes and tried to quiet the storm raging beneath her exterior.
She wanted to punch something. She wanted to let off a fireball scream. She wanted a goddamn cigarette already.
And underneath that?
She screwed up her face and mentally spouted off at her inner therapist. Who the fuck asked you? Could you give it a fucking rest already?
That sounds like what Harvey probably wanted to say. And no wonder he wants to say it. After all the shit you threw at him.
She didn't open her eyes because if she did she was afraid she might go dizzy from the spinning of her thoughts.
Madeline made herself breathe, even though it was pointless, even though it was stupid, even though she didn't want to breathe; she just wanted a cigarette. Inhale, exhale, fucking repeat. A strong, welcome breeze came up from somewhere, brushing back her hair, cooling her face.
She was equal parts relieved and aggravated to find the breathing technique worked. Her mind began to settle, and she leaned back as exhaustion pushed her up harder against the brick wall.
As her anger started to recede, it made way for a suffocating wave of embarrassment. ...Why couldn't you just close the door?
Madeline brought up her knee and kicked the heel of her sneaker against the wall. The action brought her closer to something else. When Harvey shot out from behind her living room wall, gun loaded, she felt her heart stop. She'd never been so absolutely terrified.
What the fuck was going on over there at that station? What kind of mess had he gotten himself into anyway?
If she had to hazard an educated guess, she'd say the short answer to both those questions would be 'nothing good'. Or more likely 'nothing out of his ordinary'. She frowned as she wondered just how often Harvey had to deal with situations that started out like the one upstairs and went a different way. Then she shook those thoughts away and tried to get to what might actually help her, to get to what was honest.
I scared him shitless today.
I know he deals with dangerous criminals who no doubt regularly threaten him, me, and whoever else is in his life. Yet another delightful job perk we share.
Then, finally...
He's not the enemy here.
Madeline checked in with herself. Though she felt drained from the experience, she no longer wanted to punch a hole in her drywall upstairs or scream horrible things at him.
You've made excellent progress during this session.
She imagined what her progress note might look like. 'Therapist reports talking to herself in the second person when upset.' As she headed back upstairs, she rebelliously muttered back to her inner therapist, "And I just want a cigarette already."
(x)
Harvey cursed under his breath as he noisily rooted through the medicine cabinet in her bathroom. Every freaking time, like clockwork. She came out with her claws, ripping into him to her little heart's content. Then just as he was certain she couldn't get him any more worked up than he already was, she turned heel and walked out. Leaving him to stew and taking her sweet ass time getting back while she was at it.
Muttering to himself, Harvey grabbed up a couple cotton balls, a colorful box of band-aids, and a half-empty bottle of hydrogen peroxide. He slammed the cabinet door shut and carried the items out with him to her coffee table. Then he plunked down onto the couch in her living room to wait.
All that waiting amplified everything until he was unable to get the bruise out of his mind's eye. It provided a swift, obnoxious reminder. Of how every workday she walked into that cage with those animals - plenty of them ones -he- put away. And maybe they got a good look at her and couldn't help but dream up a little payback. It reminded him of how much power he didn't have to stop any of it. It drove him absolutely bugfuck.
Right. Because he didn't have enough grisly little visions to fill his nights with the current rate of shit going down.
See, this. Right here. This was why her twenty-minute commercial break didn't fly. It threw open doors he kept shut and for good reason.
He looked up as the door clicked open, as if in direct response to his thought, and he saw Madeline walking back into her apartment. She met his stare straight on, her face impassive. Then she closed the door, reached up, and locked it.
Harvey released a pent-up, flustered breath of relief.
Madeline glanced at the box of band-aids on the coffee table. Then she slowly crossed the room and sat down next to him. He gently took her hand and got to work, dutifully cleaning up her cut.
After a few moments, she said, "I'm sorry. That I scared you."
He finished wrapping the band-aid around her finger. "You don't scare me."
It clearly took real effort on her part to say her next piece. "I should have closed the door. It was careless and I know that."
Harvey felt the knot in his stomach uncoil a little at her frank admission. "I heard you slam down the beer. Then I heard that noise you made when the box got your finger. I reacted."
She hesitated before she said, "I know you think you're hiding your stress from me and dealing with it in your own way. But you're not."
That reminded him. He pointed down to the bruise on her arm. "Right. 'Cause you ain't got nothin' to hide."
She graced him with that condescending stare of hers. "I didn't tell you because it's obvious..." She threw up her hair motioning back toward the kitchen. "That you're under enough stress already."
"And seeing you hide shit from me? That's not stressful?"
"I didn't tell you about it for exactly this reason," she said, her voice hardening once more. "Because you'd think that I don't have things under control-"
"You don't have things under control," he said plainly. "Nobody has things under control in that psycho bin."
She shot back, "Oh and your job does?"
Harvey refused to be taken off task. "Do you know what it does to me?" He pointed to his temple. "What I get up to in my head when I see one of those wackos got their hands on you?"
At that, emotion washed over her face. "Yes. Because I do it, too."
He squinted and then frowned. "... What are you talkin' about?"
Madeline's eyes widened. Apparently, she was shocked by the question. "When I think of the bullets that miss you?" Her voice intensified. "And all the ones that don't? When I've gotta crack jokes while you sit there with fresh blood on your shirt up in your Captain's office?"
Harvey relented just slightly. All right. So he wasn't the only one worrying. But she needed to understand something. "That's different."
"No," she said clearly and firmly. "No, it is exactly the same."
Harvey let loose a long exhale. "Look. I signed my name on the dotted line. I said, 'If I catch a bullet, it's on me.' I'm givin' them the green light." He pointed at her. "You're not."
"You think I don't know what I'm signing up for every day when I walk through those doors?"
Harvey shook his head. "That's my point. Those type of risks don't belong in your job description."
She stared off. "You may be right about that, but they're there all the same. I mean, there are days I don't even want to go into that place... I know I stick out like a neon road sign over there because I actually give a shit. But I can build something in that prison. Something they could stop just about anyone else from building except me." She crossed her arms and muttered. "If only because I'm the biggest fucking pain in the ass they'll ever meet."
He watched her as she talked, and he had thoughts he'd had before. What she said only further demonstrated how though that brash little mouth hers told everyone otherwise, really she was too softhearted for her own good. Harvey had learned a long time ago that you just couldn't make criminals behave. Going in and being human with those types was just about the worst way you could play it.
… And the fact that she forewent that and did her job anyway meant that she was an actual good person who wanted to help people. People who didn't deserve an ounce of the energy she gave them but she did it anyway. Fuck if he knew why, but she did. He'd never be as good as she was… Which didn't bother him. He'd made peace with that a long way back. It wasn't in the cards. But she made him want to try to be halfway decent at least.
Once he rolled through his thoughts, he was glad he didn't blurt them all out like a total putz. Instead, he wrapped his arm around her waist and allowed sarcasm to carry him through. "Least there's one thing we can agree on."
She said, "I know your job's dangerous. But I know you're building something there, too."
Harvey made a face. "Slow down, half pint. You wanna get some height climbin' up on that high horse? That's all you. I ain't tryin' to be up there."
"Yeah, well, here's a little newsflash. You're up there by default." Her dark eyes had a way of making him look back. She did that thing where she tried to go all mind reader on him. "I know you're caught up in something serious. And all that really means ...is that you're actually doing your job. And it's probably pissing people off because you're good at it and you won't -stop- doing it."
Harvey had to look away. He could argue it all day long, but she hit pretty damn close to the mark. That was the way it went with this broad. Totally naive in one moment and all but psychic in the next.
She furthered her point. "People don't shoot at you on street corners or get you so amped up that you wave your gun around in here, unless it's that serious."
He expelled a long sigh. Over the past months, some part of him had been wondering how much she knew or guessed. Now that she laid it out for him, it was time to close the books on this thing. "You really think you want to know about that?" He looked her in the eye. "About all the scumbags out in the street that come through my precinct and get locked up in your prison? All the messed up shit that goes through their minds when they see you walk through this city? Because I do. And trust me, I wish I didn't."
Her eyes filled with concern. "...You really believe that's what most people in this city are thinking?" His face must have answered the question in the affirmative. She shook her head, clearly disagreeing. Then she held his hand tight in hers. "How do you look into that ugliness every day and then come home to me and pretend you don't know it?"
Harvey brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. He said the first part out loud. "I make it work. 'Cause I don't know if you've figured this out yet, but I really like you." He kept the second part to himself. And I'd never forgive myself if you wound up dead, you know what I mean?
She favored him with a look of distracted affection. "Yes, well. If you hadn't noticed, I've grown quite fond of you, too."
His smile mirrored hers. It was an offering, a way out of their argument, and he knew that. Not to mention that she demonstrated looking so kissable in that moment that he felt compelled to take advantage of it. Harvey's hand wound through her hair and wrapped around the back of her neck. And it looked like they both had the same idea. She took his collar in her hands and yanked him to her, kissing him soft and easy.
When she broke the kiss, she kept her grip on his collar. "But listen. Here's the thing. You gotta trust me."
"All right. I get you. But here's my thing." He leveled with her. "I can take a whole hell of a lot, but I can't take you doubting me. When you need to know something, you'll know it. You gotta trust me, too."
She gently released his collar. "Okay."
He ran his hand over the top of her head down over her hair. "That and quit leavin' your door unlocked." He added, standing up, "Gives me ulcers."
Madeline made a show of rolling her eyes. "Fine. I'll remember to lock the goddamn door."
He hissed out. "That's more like it." He walked back toward the kitchen and pulled open the box of beer.
She fell backwards softly into the couch, the picture of exhaustion. "Watch out," she said. "That box is a total jerk."
"Lucky for you, even cardboard boxes know better than to get between me and a drink." He stacked the beers in the fridge. "The downside is I won't get to wear a cool Ninja Turtle band-aid like you."
Madeline picked up the box from the coffee table and set it aside. "They glow in the dark."
He brought back over two cans. "So are we done talking about all this feeling stuff?"
She accepted the can. "All this feeling stuff," she recited back, "is real and raw and doesn't like to be pushed to one side." It earned her a muttering sigh from him. "You want to be with somebody who's going to ignore that you better find yourself a different girl, fella."
"All right. All right. Just drink your calm down juice."
She popped the tab on the beer can. "That's not a bad strategy," she said thoughtfully. "If you get me drunk maybe I'll settle down."
"Uh-huh." He took a long swig. "'Cause that's how that works."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "It was one time."
He sat down hard on the couch next to her. "Miss I have issues and they need tissues."
"It's way more fun to rhyme after you've had a couple." She picked up the remote and turned on the TV.
Harvey settled in next to her. "What's on the idiot box?"
"Project Runway," she answered. "I keep waiting for the day Tim Gunn's finally gonna lose his shit after a decade of dealing with all those divas."
It beat the hell out of watching another one of her cop shows. He couldn't take one more night of dramatic music and plot devices that made her say ridiculous things to him, like 'do I need to leave town?'
But that wouldn't stop him from trolling her purely on principle. "I'm guessin' this my punishment? Cruel and unusual, doc."
She scooted closer to him and rested her legs across his lap. "Hey, you're the one who said you 'make it work'."
Harvey pulled her legs closer to him. "Fine," he said. "But you're gonna owe me."
Madeline did a fair job of guessing who would survive elimination. Harvey did a fair job of imitating Tim Gunn ("Can I be honest here?") and Michael Kors ("It's like a giraffe and sadness both made a dress before they died.") And he got to roll his eyes and drink his beer, when really he loved every second.