Disclaimer: These characters belong to Aaron Sorkin and the masterpiece that is the 2006 television series Studio 60 On The Sunset Strip. I am not making any profit from this except for a little writing practice.

Harriet blinked as she watched him retreat. His hair was growing long again, mousy brown and soft-looking. She wished the thought didn't cross her mind but she couldn't help the flicker of memory that overwhelmed her. His hair curled over his forehead as he bent over a script he was working on, matted with sweat at the nape of his neck as he panted above her, hilariously mussed after he took his cap off after playing in a charity baseball game. Matt's scalp had always been wonderfully sensitive, his hair sinfully soft. She enjoyed nothing more than raking her fingers through her scalp, her nails teasing a blush out of him. He was still close, all she had to do was reach out her twitching fingers, and she could thread her fingers through his hair and leave her fingerprint in the downy strands.

They'd bumped their knuckles together gently a moment ago. The soft caress of the back of his hand was still tingling the back of hers, his blunt knuckles kneading her skin for a heartbeat before his fingers slid between the spaces of hers while she held her breath. And just like that, Matt had turned around. Walked away from her.

Harriet bit the inside of her bottom lip. They'd been joking not a moment ago, ignoring Simon's unveiled attempts at nudging them together. Again. Matt hadn't even hummed his disapproval like she had, hadn't acknowledged the comment in any way.

They always acknowledged comments like that. Matt especially. He was the one who claimed their biggest obstacle was hurting everyone and being unprofessional by being together. Hearing Simon say he and the rest of the cast felt off-put by their tension and would prefer that they get their act together should have at least prompted a question from Matt. He wasn't the type to keep quiet. Or to walk away from a discussion.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe he had something on his mind. He was carrying around a notepad like he used to all those years ago before he'd ever had a sketch on the air. He hadn't done that in a while - felt the need to carry around his sketches like he was going to show any of the higher ups if he ran into them, desperate to get them on the air, carrying around the pages like he was planning on perfecting them all night until someone finally laughed at what he'd written.

Matt hadn't been that insecure about the things he'd written in a long time. Perhaps that had something to do with the articles they'd written about him in the tabloids recently. "Tired" they'd called his writing. "Reaching." Words like "lowest common denominator" and "empty" had been thrown around alongside phrases like "not his usual" and "expecting more," which bogged down a few articles.

Harriet had read those articles. She hadn't meant to. She'd been walking down the confectionary aisle after a terrible day on set when Luke had completely ignored her, which was fine by her after the things he'd said about Matt. And about her. There was a tension on set and no one else on the lot who cared enough to question what was wrong. She was looking forward to heading back to Studio 60, where Tom would question the dark circles under her eyes and Jeannie would instinctively know she needed a hug. Matt would come down, a little grumpy from his lack of sleep, under the guise of wanting to see if anyone had a new impression or idea he could write, but really it was because he remembered the day before was her last day on set or Jeannie's loud mouth had whispered in his ear that Harriet and Luke were over. He would barge into her dressing room, tennis ball in hand, shirt ironed and buttoned all the way to the second fastening from the top if it was before eleven, completely wrinkled and undone if it was after, He'd make a comment about her performance on the show, maybe give a note, and give a snide comment about Luke before he told her that despite his differences with the director, he knew her performance would blow the audience away. He'd make eye contact with her when he said that, proving with Circercean blue eyes that he was being genuinely honest. Her throat would catch the way it always did when his blue eyes sparkled in the light of her dressing room. Inevitably, Tom would walk in right as Harriet found her voice, interrupting and killing whatever sweet words Matt wouldn't be able to bite down.

Harriet had walked past the magazines on her way to the block of dark chocolate she craved and there his name had been. Printed in yellow under some actress's gaping cleavage. She'd rolled her eyes at first, half expecting the rumour of a budding relationship. Then she read the line beneath. "Losing his touch." Harriet had almost burst into tears on the spot. Matt was breaking his back for the show, everyone in the studio knew it and of the hours he kept in his office. There were two more articles like that.

But no one had brought them up at work.

Maybe Simon had to Matt. Maybe even Dylan or Samantha. Certainly, Danny probably commented on it to Matt. He might have even said a few things to some of the newer cast members who might believe that was being reported about Matt.

But Danny didn't approach her and ask her to be kind to Matt, or make him feel like the whole world wasn't against him. Matt didn't walk in without knocking and sit on her couch, staying quiet until she broke into an impression and took his mind from whatever was going on. Harriet supposed she was at fault a little by not approaching Matt either. She could have said something but didn't. She'd wanted to but Harriet had stopped herself or been stopped whenever she tried.

She should have tried harder to fight the distance between them.

Except it hadn't mattered. Matt was smiling again and that was completely without her bolstering.

Harriet felt a twinge. Matt smiled easily at Danny's delayed "shut up." She tried not to jostle her shoulders as she chuckled, the familiarity of those boys teasing each other warming her chest. She folded her arms over her chest to stop herself from commenting. But her mind wandered anyway. Did they still have Saturday lunches together? Was Jordan invited to them now? Did Jordan and Matt browse through baby catalogues for things she and Danny needed, Matt being oddly educated in what infants needed and Jordan keeping him on budget? Or was Matt giving the couple space on a Saturday, sitting alone in his house instead?

Which, of course, made Harriet wonder why she expected Matt would be alone. There was no reason he would be.

Bile tingled at the back of her throat at the thought.

Matt had a dry sense of humour and a deadpan delivery of almost everything he said, especially if he was attempting to tell a joke, but Harriet couldn't quite tell if his awkward chuckle meant he was joking with her when he said "she knows which side her bread is buttered."

She probably should have left the line alone, not feed the fire, or conflict with his position in any way. But bantering and teasing was a staple of their relationship, it always had been. Besides, Matt was joking. He must have been. He wasn't the sort of man to make jokes about women's inferiority. He wasn't even the sort of man who believed that sort of thing. Matt was teasing her, he must have been. Expecting her to tease him in return.

It was weird, pretending they were back on track like this. Because it certainly felt as though Matt was pretending. He was engrossed with his sheaf of paper in front of him but putting on a happy air for the cast. For her.

Harriet had to think quickly. That spunky repartee that had endeared her to him in the first place had been missing from their relationship recently as, for the first time ever, they had stopped being friends. Professional and courteous, but mere acquaintances.

She wanted to change that. The "jackass" slipped from her mouth without premeditation, muscle memory of teasing Matthew and following it with a winning smile or a kiss on the cheek. Harriet bit the inside of her lip, praying that Matthew recognised the history of the term and didn't take offence.

He hummed as though he was amused, tilting his head to look at her and scrunching his nose in that adorable way he did when he was lying on the other side of the bed with his head propped up on an elbow and it was too late to talk in anything but hushed tones and muted laughter.

Harriet met his blue eyes, his face shadowed in the dim light. She wished she could see him better. She couldn't even remember the last time Matt had made such unwavering eye contact with her, looking her dead on, vulnerable. For a brief moment, Matt smiled. He was grinning that beautiful, insufferable, maddening, completely genuine smile at her, pearly white teeth showing and everything.

He hadn't done that in a while.

Although, Matt had been good at hiding it. Danny might have noticed, given how close they were. Maybe even Suzanne by the sheer amount of time she spend with the man as his assistant. But it was unlikely that anyone else even noticed. Matt took his job seriously, he was stressed and being hounded in the media and that played out on his face. Still, they worked in comedy. A smile should have been par for the course.

Except Matt was careful to temper his expression these days. He kept the sparkle out of his eyes somehow. His laughlines didn't crinkle his eyes as often as they used to. He bit his lip when he was typing instead of chuckling as he read back his work. During table reads Matt pursed his lips into smiles that didn't quite reach his eyes and looking away when he laughed. She couldn't blame him, the things the papers were printing about him were critical and cruel and he was concentrating on his job. He got like that sometimes, so involved in the work that he shut out the rest of the world.

Only the world had never included her before. Harriet wasn't sure what to make of the radio silence.

No matter what, Matt would barge into her dressing room and ask for her opinion on a sketch, stretching out on her couch and making himself right at home without invitation.

Harriet couldn't quite pinpoint when it had happened except that she'd walked into work one morning and the light had been gone from Matt's eyes when he watched them rehearse. He laughed at the funny movements and he nodded along at the punchlines, biting his nails when things weren't quite right but he wasn't sure how to fix it. He'd lean towards Danny and Cal, whispering about moving the cameras down hallways and stretching forward to talk to Lucy, Andy and Darius about jokes not working.

Harriet would flub her lines and improvise while they waited for the kinks to be sorted out, breaking into impressions as a callback to something Tom had said earlier. She'd seen Matt press his lips together like he did when he was amused but didn't want to inflate her ego by laughing.

She had looked directly at Matt between her lines, hoping to gauge his response, and tested how well she had her lines memorised by looking at him in the audience seats when she was delivering them. But not once had Matt met her gaze.

He was being very careful. Too careful.

Matt was hiding something.

Harriet couldn't shake the feeling that there was a chasm between them, something she'd never felt before.

She needed to talk to Matt about it before it became a rift. Unbridgable.

As worried as she was about Tom and the Jeter family, her concern for Mark and indecisiveness about telling Tom about what his parents had said to her gave Harriet the perfect opportunity to approach Matt in the middle of the show. He was an executive producer after all, the wellbeing of his staff was part of his job, and he loved Tommy like a younger brother.

Harriet changed for her next sketch and then checked in with Simon one last time - still no word - before she dashed off down the hall from her dressing room, heading towards the stairs up to Matt's office.

"Mensa lady."

Harriet paused. That was Matt's rumbling tenor. He sounded like he was beaming widely, a warning but simultaneously entertained.

Harriet ducked her head around the corner to view the wider, well-lit corridor that filtered out into the lobby of the studio. Matt was standing with his back to her, slouching a little which caused his crisp suit to crinkle. He had his hands in his pockets like he did when he was nervous, worried and disinterested.

Harriet leaned forward, pressing her hand against the wall, and wondering which Matthew was feeling.

He was talking to the blonde lawyer, Harriet couldn't remember her name. The woman wore a tight dress beneath an ironed blazer that shadowed her frame to make her look petite and curvy. She had thick-framed glasses perched on her nose and a bright smile splitting across her face as she watched Matt.

Harriet's throat was tight. Her mouth was dry and when she tried to swallow she felt like being sick instead.

Professional. Courteous. Polite. Weren't those the words she used to describe Matt's behaviour when she was lamenting to Jeannie that it felt like he was pulling away? She'd told the brunette last week that she was afraid Matthew had another reason for not getting back together with her.

Jeannie had told her it was nonsense. That Matt's never had eyes for anyone but her. But here he was, stubbing his toe in the carpet awkwardly and rocking forwards on his toes, not letting the executive walk turn her back to him.

Harriet held her breath in the hopes of slowing her racing heart, silencing the beating drum in her chest as her anxiety grew.

"I already think you're hot stuff."

Harriet's knees buckled as Matthew's words wafted over her. He always was charming.

His voice dipped to a whisper but Harriet heard it perfectly from her spot at the corner of the hallway. His tone was unmistakably sultry, meant only for the woman standing across from him who swayed at the compliment.

Harriet jerked her eyes away from the couple. She couldn't watch any more. Her gaze landing on her hand where she gripped the corner of the wall. Her knuckles had turned white with the effort of trying to keep herself steady.

It's working on you, isn't it?

Hurriedly, Harriet backed down the hallway. There were more important things to worry about tonight; Mark Jeter's silence and the disquiet of the cast as they worried about ratings and reviews. More important things that should distract her from what she'd overheard, the open body language, the willing tilt of Matt's body as he swayed towards the blonde woman and the won-over expression on Mary Tate's face.

Yet blood roared in her ears like a storm over the ocean, muting the cheer of the audience completely. Harriet parroted her lines, unthinking. Harriet couldn't be sure whether she got them right or not, her own voice sounded dull and whispered to her ears. Her insides were trembling and her knees kept buckling and Harriet was fairly certain that she forgot to smile at the goodnight.

But all that paled in comparison to the reason for the silence from Matthew.