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.

This one is dedicated to the lovely Llewyness.

It comes into fruition because I've always wondered what happened that morning between the 4AM Miracle and Breaking News for Simon to be glad Matt and Harriet are talking again but for the two of them to be openly flirty with each other and not scowling when their friend says they should be together.


Look, professor. Look, professor. Don't you see, professor?

Matt couldn't concentrate. That wasn't anything new. Strictly speaking, He didn't need much to distract him from writing. But there were a lot of thoughts rattling around in his mind. How had Ricky and Ron let those conversations go on in the writer's room? It was disgusting and unprofessional. And they'd been the head writers for five years.

Matt wasn't a violent man but he was vibrating with anger.

Harriet and Jeannie, and Samantha to a lesser extent, had dealt with that behaviour for almost five years and the thought made Matthew seethe.

Had any of them ever . . . ?

No.

Matt shook the thought from his mind. He and Harry were solid back then, if someone had been harassing her she would have said. Still, those men, scum, he corrected himself, had been near Harriet. They had been talking about her. Discussing her in the most vulgar, intimate ways in an environment where that was neither appropriate or consensual and there had been absolutely no need for it.

Matt took a small amount of comfort in the fact that whenever Harriet had complained about the writers, it had always been in the context of Ricky and Ron being hacks, being mean and being juvenile and crass, but not obscene. He hoped that meant she never overheard the comments Matt had just read and not that she hadn't told him about it. He'd spoken to the main cast and Cal at dinners and whenever he visited the studio after he'd quit and Matt didn't think they would have all lied to him for so long, swept that sort of behaviour under the rug. Not when he knew how much they all loved Harriet and protected her religion.

Matt recalled that Wes and Joe liked to keep the "ink" separate from the cast so that there was never any funny business concerning who got written more sketches or none. That may have had a lot to do with himself and Harriet and Luke as well. That thought assuaged some of his fear that Harriet hadn't told him things. It also made him feel a little better when he thought about Jeannie. She was the confident, self-sufficient, sort of person who wouldn't take someone talking about her in that way. She and the rest of the big three would have been sure to step in and say something if they heard anybody say anything about Harriet. Especially in the context of her faith. Besides, Jack wouldn't have let those conversations continue if he had known about them. Surely.

The woman who alerted him to this behaviour was a sexual harassment lawyer. Mary was working late into the night just to warn him that this intolerable behaviour had gone on before he took over. By his friends. Granting him the opportunity to have a hand in suing them for it. For revenge.

Matt had liked that Mary gave him all the details to read. He hadn't understood at first. But it meant he discovered exactly which of his friends had been talking about Harriet so crudely while they were dating, which of his friends he should never talk to again. She seemed quite impressed and not at all surprised when he threatened them. Matt was also looking forward to ending their careers in a courtroom. He imagined it would be very satisfying.

Mary reminded him a lot of Harriet without the added honey-nut crust. Jordan hadn't been wrong when she said the lawyer was just his type. She was straightforward about her needs and wants, and the pair of them seemed to be on the same page, which was a little unsettling. Everything Matt found himself thinking, Mary was already forming the sentence, or pointed to a line in her notes that suggested she thought the same. It was nice, to a point. Except there could be no intellectual debate between them if they saw eye to eye.

The blonde lawyer had called him out on his behaviour with Harriet in no uncertain terms, describing how unprofessional their relationship had been when they were together. She'd shown him, with one sip of her drink and a casual line, that he was just as indiscrete as everybody else. Mary read him like an open book or had studied his life and relationship for six hundred dollars an hour. Another thing that unnerved him about her. At least, if she had done her research, she already knew his opinions and mistakes and she seemed to like him, anyway. That did make him feel good. Not really warm and fuzzy, but validated in some small way.

Despite Mary pointing out that he was entitled and not jealous, Matt didn't feel right about calling over to the set himself. Not after everything that had been said between himself and Harriet recently. Besides, while Mary seemed to have read up on Matt, she didn't know all that much about Harry, who would have definitely viewed him as petty and juvenile if he called over to the stage and put his foot down.

Or worse.

This movie was a huge break for Harriet. Matt wasn't going to be the one to jeopardise that. He refused.

Mary was nice. Intelligent. She had the inside track on ethics. Not because of the belief in some divine power that gave her an air of morality. But from years of education, training, and working. And in Hollywood - the most amoral place on the planet - to boot.

Since Christmas, maybe even before, Matt had found that his resolve was slipping when he thought about the wall his new job put between himself and Harriet. Harry always thought it was wrong and silly of him to put his foot down about him being her boss and unable to date her. A lot of her questioning gaze and snorts that he was being hypocritical stemmed from the fact he'd always been in a position of power. As the writer of her sketches, he'd had professional power, but they'd never let that turn unprofessional. And wasn't the power all Harriet's no matter what, anyway? Then he'd taken over Wes' job as head writer unofficially and Matt never let that jeopardise their relationship. Or let their relationship impinge on his ability to be diplomatic. After that, he'd been the acting head writer right before he'd quit and they were separated then, but still he was professional and they were civil.

What Harriet didn't know was that there were other reasons he couldn't be with her. Like the fact Matt didn't think he could take her leaving him again or the big, terrible thing he'd started doing recently. Matt knew that he could sort those two things out with a little effort. The Betty Ford Centre and a proposal would be easy enough to organise. But only if Mary, the leading expert on ethics at the studio, said the head writer and executive producer dating a cast member wasn't as grossly unfair and disrespectful to everyone else under his employ as he'd always thought. So he asked her.

Matt should have figured that a like-mind like Mary would only solidify his beliefs with the same arguments he'd been making.

Unfortunately, Mary exposed Matt's biggest fears about his past and present relationship with Harriet Hayes to be true.

With one sentence, she doused any hope for a future with Harriet if he wanted to remain professional. The worst part about her answer was the fact that Mary couched it in exactly the same way he had explained it to Harriet about distributing workloads. She'd thrown in a citation about the NBS conduct between employees code just to bolster her argument and it had felt like a kick to the gut.

It seemed everyone else was an exception to the rule. Even Danny and Jordan. A couple who he was thrilled about. If anything, their relationship was probably more of a red flag than himself and Harriet, surely.

However, Mary didn't mention them. She focused on alerting him that his moping and mourning were causing a dip in the ratings and that she'd be happy to pick up the pieces, which he'd laughed at until he'd realised she was serious.

The lawyer's business card slapped against the wood of his desk when Matthew threw it down to listen to Danny try to cheer him up about their slipping ratings. Mary had said she was happy to wait for him to be over Harriet. Only, Matt knew he'd never actually moved on from the woman before. That it wasn't likely to happen in the future. He dropped her card onto his desk with no intention of picking it back up. If not because they were too similar, then because of their earlier conversation. If Mary agreed it was unprofessional for him to date Harriet, then there were certainly conflicting interests in having a date with the sexual harassment lawyer representing the studio.

Matt didn't explain any of that to Danny, or that he really wasn't ready to throw himself into a relationship, couldn't afford to feel worse about himself.

He nearly revealed his secret to his best friend then. Not out of any desire to seek help, or garner advice from his best friend about how to wean himself off the hazy high a drink and a pill he didn't need gave him. But to explain that this time it was not just cyclical interests and break-up blues that were weakening his acuity. This was the one woman he'd ever loved telling him it was over for good. It was the stress of writing the show alone and the razed ratings falling squarely on his shoulders. Not just that Harriet and he were over. It was that she didn't even look at him anymore, and Matt was completely lost without her.

Matt held his breath until Danny left, desperate not to say anything. Shamefully, he worried that him admitting he was barely keeping himself afloat would ruin Danny's mood. He'd been so happy of late. Full of life and excitement all the time. Matt hadn't seen him like that in a long time, and if Danny knew Matt was following the desire path Danny had carved, Danny would doubt all of his past and future decisions. Matt wasn't going to do that to him when Danny was about to become a father and had just decided to propose to Jordan.

Matt moved out onto the balcony just to get out of his stuffy office.

The emptiness of the studio gave him a clinical sounding board to mutter half-formed lines into and formulate conversations without anybody overhearing. The height gave him the illusion of being invisible and important simultaneously. He had a view of the whole studio, all the people following his orders in a bustle of stress and laughter. But nobody ever looked up to see the man who scripted all their words and actions.

No one but Harriet.

He missed her. Just the simple promise of her eyes on him, her presence nearby, made him better, lighter. He'd always known he was better when Harriet believed in him. He hadn't realised just how much she inspired him. How much he needed her, relied on her. Not for writing ideas or a comedic bent, reality supplied all that. But that unshakable faith directed at him, that voice of reason pulling him out of a downward spiral into stress and despair, that was where Harriet saved him.

Matt gripped the banister and shouted, frustrated.

Then, as though she was answering his silent prayer, her soft voice pierced through the darkness; strong and clear and there.

Right there. She moved close but didn't come down the step, but Matt found himself being pulled towards her. Something in her eyes urging him forward. Something sad and sincere and sorry.

After Harriet promised to be right back, suggesting she had rushed straight upstairs from the car Suzanne said would drop her off instead of staying on the ground floor and putting her things away, Harriet bent forward.

Matt watched her cautiously. He swallowed.

The cold tip of her nose pushed against his cheekbone. He held his breath.

Harriet had barely looked at him since their fight. He knew, because he'd been waiting for her to feed him a scrap of attention and because he'd been trying his best not to be so desperate, trying everything he could to stop his gaze from drifting over to Harriet, refraining from walking past her dressing room just to ask her opinion on a line. He hadn't wanted her to think their fight affected him and definitely didn't want to see that it hadn't affected her.

Or that it had. Matt never wanted to be responsible for Harriet being hurt.

He wasn't sure why she was sparing him a moment now, or what changed between them. Every fibre of his being wanted to ask what she was doing here now, after all this time. But he wasn't about to look a gift-horse in the mouth or decline a miracle. Not when she was right there, finally, and he had a tendency to say all the wrong things. Harriet's presence seemed a bit like a surrender and a little like an apology.

He tried to keep his eyes open when her pillowy lips met his skin, her warm breath sparking against his cheek. But Matt wanted to remember the way it felt to have Harriet Hayes kiss his cheek, so his eyelids fluttered shut so he could pay more acute attention to the sensation.

She smelt like camera makeup and hairspray and that vanilla soap she always used when she tried to scrub the day away. His skin tingled and his left hand went alarmingly numb, as though his heart had stopped. Matt only noticed because he wanted to reach out, to touch Harriet, to pull her closer, but couldn't lift his fingers from his side. Perhaps that was a good thing because he couldn't feel Harriet resting her petite hand on his chest like she normally would have to balance herself. Regardless that she was kissing his cheek, she was holding herself in check. As much as Matt's heart soared and his mind wondered why, that distance Harriet maintained between them held him in check.

Then, as though he wasn't already confused by the mixed messages she was sending him, Harriet hesitated as she pulled away. She wouldn't meet his eyes, but she swayed toward him. Harriet idled right in front of him with her hands over her heart and her blue eyes downcast. Her mouth opened as though she was going to say something.

She never did. Instead, Harriet left him on the balcony, feeling like the world might finally be spinning on its correct axis again. At 4 A.M on a Thursday morning. All because Harriet Hayes thought he was worth her time.

Suddenly, he was struck with an idea, not for that sketch, but a different one. He only had a line, but it rattled in his mind until he'd scribbled it out on paper and it quickly turned into a two-page sketch, practically writing itself.

He sat on the very edge of the couch cushion and used the coffee table as a desk while he put pencil to paper. The idea just flowed out of him. Once he'd gotten it written down, he shuffled backwards, his back against the armrest, and his eyes flicked up to the open blinds over the windows. He wasn't watching the door. Wasn't waiting to see if she was serious about coming in to un-stick him like she'd promised. Or if she knew she needn't because her presence had been enough. Not at all.

Matt looked over at the doorway.

There she was.

Back-lit by the hallway light, her skin pale as ivory, her lips unsmiling. She was beautiful and rumpled and her hair was still wet.

"You sure a single cell paramecium is the joke you want to go with?" Harriet asked as she walked in.

"It's funnier than a unicellular microbe," he waved his hand in response.

She was there, really actually there, the old bulbs in his office painting her skin gold.

"Is it?" Her lips quirked into a smirk as she leant against the doorframe.

That was the question, wasn't it? If ratings were going down - which Matt knew they would because the tastes of the nation waxed and waned as fractious as an infant. But nevertheless, he worried was his fault because he knew he'd been stuck for the last two weeks, working in a caffeine and painkiller induced haze right up until the deadline that was Friday - then every indication suggested his best wasn't good enough anymore.

But maybe Harriet, actually looking at him for the first time since their fight, would inspire him. He did always work best when she was his audience.

"It just needs another line." Her arms were still wrapped around her body as though Harriet was cold, and Matt almost got up and wrapped his arms around her to squeeze some warmth into her. To stop himself, he prepared to ask her why her hair was wet. Then he realised that was an invasion of her privacy, and while there was a valid reason to ask about her wellbeing - as both her boss and a friend who were concerned for her - Matt refrained from interrogating Harriet. He didn't want her to turn around and leave him alone in his office, not after hoping she'd walk in every day this week and being disappointed because she still hadn't forgiven him for his behaviour on her special evening. Besides, if Matt was going to say anything, he'd end up falling all over his concern and sounding smug instead, because, in all honesty, it looked like she'd run in the rain from Luke's set.

Matt shook his head. That was a terribly romantic image. It was so far from Harriet's behaviour toward him since they broke up. Plus, wasn't she dating Luke? If anything, the wet hair and red eyes were from a romp in the shower going a little wrong.

He watched as Harriet stepped out of the doorway and moved over to his desk to read the screen. Matt could count on his fingers the amount of times she'd been in his office since he and Danny took over the show. But she walked in as though she belonged, no awe or surprise or shock at any piece of furniture, no question about why there were no frames on his desk or over at the bar. In all that time, she'd never sat at his desk.

But Harried did now.

Matt watched as Harriet lowered herself into his chair, still facing his computer, and adjusted the seat.

"What hare you doing?" he asked accusatorially. "Don't touch my seat."

That made her glance over at him.

Matt watched her shoulder twitch, her blue eyes never leaving his. The seat continued to rise.

Matt chuckled and shook his head. He felt like he hadn't laughed in years and it was a warm, bubbly sensation in his chest that didn't dissipate once her smile was gone.

Harriet turned back to the computer, reading the screen again.

"Hey," she exclaimed. "Dolphin Girl's in here."

"Blame Andy," Matt moaned. He loved that character, the way Harriet was so innocent and shy and delighted the audience the first time they heard her make the noise. But Andy had taken the reins last week - nostalgia and grief making him insist adamantly that he wanted to do something with the character.

"How is Andy?"

Matt shrugged, not wanting to betray the man's confidence. Andy barely spoke on a good day, but he was a great instructor to Lucy and Darius. Sardonic and satirical, any praise he gave was genuine and intensely influential, as he mostly stayed silent and serious. However, he did speak to Matthew about his personal life. Not Danny. Not Jordan, not Suzanne or the other writers. Matt suspected it was because he was the only person Andy really knew. Except there was also more to their friendship that had a lot to do with Matt being the only person in the studio who had met Jessica and Millie. The only one who'd been at their funeral.

More than not wanting to lose Andy's friendship, Matt didn't want any betrayal on his part to alienate Andy any further from people at the studio. If he stopped talking to Matt, Matt wasn't sure Andy would turn to anybody else. That couldn't be good for a person.

Then again, who was he to judge what was healthy or not? Recently, he'd learnt Suzanne didn't question the pills in his drawer if he complained about a headache and washing it down with Red Bull gave him a nice jolt of caffeine that didn't last long but did take the edge off.

"The anniversary was Monday." Matt figured that was safe to reveal. "He's holding it together somehow."

There was a pause there as Harriet squinted at him. Harriet looked like she wanted to talk more about that or chide him for not doing enough for the man. Matt wanted to say more, delve into the fact that he wanted help holding things together because his current method was assuaging his anxiety and dulling the sharp pain in his chest, but it was also ephemeral and fleeting.

Matt watched Harriet turn around on the chair to look at the mostly empty board.

"I heard Dylan working on Metric Conversion yesterday. The boys are getting good with that one."

Matt hummed. The topic was safely professional and awkwardly stunted, as though the pair of them couldn't talk to each other anymore. "I thought I saw Danny walking around with a doll before. Might be funny for Jenny Doesn't Have A Baby."

"That could work," Harriet nodded, not looking at him. "Got anything for the news?"

"News is mostly done," Matt explained. "Normally I wait 'til Friday, so it stays as current as possible."

"Who's Mary Tate?"

He looked up at that. Matt tucked his pencil behind his ear, and then he slid it out from over the curve of his ear and pressed the end with the cold eraser to his temple. He absolutely did not want to explain that Mary was the woman who looked a little like her and thought a lot like him. Someone he could have a conversation with without butting heads, who wanted to have more conversations with him. "She's a lawyer."

"It says she's a sexual harassment lawyer," Harriet observed. There was something in her voice that Matt recognised as something ancient and familiar. Then she paused, as though she wasn't sure if she should start her next sentence. Matt watched her twist the business card, holding it between her thumb and forefinger and flicking it so it rotated clockwise. "How'd you meet her?"

Matt's eyes drifted over to the bar. He'd very much like to get up and pour himself another drink. Or step over to his desk, pull open the top drawer, and take a couple of the pills he had leftover from his operation to alleviate the headache that would undoubtedly ensue from this conversation. He figured one action would be less conspicuous than the other, but Harriet would find either suspicious.

"She's representing the studio in a case."

A look passed over Harriet's face, disappointment and understanding and something else. "Ricky and Ron?"

"Denny and a couple of others, too." Matt couldn't even say their names.

"Why's she talking to you?"

"I'm a witness."

Harriet squinted at him like that didn't fit with her understanding of his character. "Did you ever witness anything?"

Matt shook his head. "An old writer, Karen Something-Or-Other, overheard some things that show the room..." He swallowed, waving his hand in the air in front of him. "The part about her losing her job because of it is bogus. But she has a point about the room. I've been reading the transcripts. It's pretty ugly. Mary's calling me as a witness that writing rooms aren't normally like that. Shouldn't be like that."

"Does she know that by pulling you into it, the press is going to make it look like you were the one doing the harassing?" Harriet asked.

Matt grinned. A couple of hours ago, he'd made the same remark to the lawyer. "She knows."

"And you agreed to do it, anyway?"

"I had to," Matt told her. He wasn't going to tell her the things that had been said about her. If Matt was lucky, that part of the trial would never be publicised and Harriet would never know how her religion had been fetishised by the people she worked with a few months ago.

"You didn't, Matt," Harriet argued. "You weren't even a witness to anything. But that's not going to matter. You know how cruel the media gets. Don't give them ammunition like that."

Matt shook his head. Harriet knew better than anybody - except maybe Jeannie, Jordan and Danny - how stories were warped by so-called journalists. At least Harriet was consistent, Matt thought as he shifted in his seat. No matter what, she cared about how he was perceived by the press. Now. Five years ago. Both times she'd been dating Luke Scott, but that hadn't mattered to her. Harriet stood up for him, to him, desperate to protect him. He didn't think he deserved that kind of loyalty, but Matt let it warm him like a tight embrace, anyway.

He met her eyes and smiled. "I have to, Harry."

She'd be proud, if she had any idea, Matt imagined. As it was, Harriet furrowed her brows at him in confusion.

"Are you going to write a sketch about it?" She stood from his desk and approached the lounge.

The best part of their lengthy involvement was that they could read each other easily. Harriet knew the conversation was closed in Matt's opinion simply through his body language. Matt knew she wasn't going to let it drop but was going to let it linger for a while, hoping he would change his mind on his own before she demonstrated why he was wrong in excruciating detail.

That was a good sign. It meant she was planning on talking to him again.

Except that Harriet knew him better than anybody. The longer she spent with him, the more likely she was to notice something was off. That he was off.

His heart raced. Not just because Harriet sat down on the other end of the lounge and he could smell the perfume he'd bought for her last birthday.

"About sexual harassment?" He knew she didn't mean that, but it was easier to make her laugh than it was to tell her that he wanted to kiss her but needed her to leave lest she find out what he'd been doing. "Because there were issues with politics and religion making it to air, I really don't think that sort of thing is going to have more luck."

She giggled. It was small but bubbly. Like she was a little unsure if she should. "Or maybe a journalist."

"Don't we have too many news based sketches already?" He liked the idea. A journalist who only reported the exact opposite of what was happening. It had the potential of being the frat humour they so desperately needed to keep the under 25s. Plus, it could be a long-running character.

"Doesn't that show there's a problem with the journalism degree teaching how to write a story not how to research a fact?"

"Do you still even get a degree?" Matt asked, leaning forward. "Or do you just go on the Internet these days?"

"Journalism class taught by Internet nobody because nobody needs the news anymore," Harriet suggested, an elbow on her knee as she leant toward him too.

Matt picked up his legal pad, a humbling reminder of how far he'd come from the days when he'd scribbled down a play in the back seat on a long road trip. The first sketch that ever made it to dress, he wrote that on a legal pad too. The first sketch he wrote for Harriet, even though he'd had an office by then. Matt still wrote all his first drafta on paper, it gave Suzanne something to do on those late nights at the office. He leant the flimsy cardboard back page against his thigh and picked up one of the pens from the coffee table.

"We could have a whole University like that," he suggested. "Professionals in the field getting taught by amateurs how to do their job better."

"Like recipe books," Harriet bounced a little in her seat and Matt jotted down the idea. "No one buys them anymore because they can look up the single recipe."

"I love it," Matt grinned, hooking his arm over the back of the couch. "You think you, Dylan and Alex could have fun with that?"

"And whoever's hosting," Harriet agreed. Her legs came up and folded beneath her body, her feet against the far arm of the couch. "Who do we have hosting this week?"

"Tony Shalhoub," Matt replied. "From the crime show. He's been filming all week but he'll be in tomorrow to rehearse all the sketches."

"I know who he is," Harriet sighed. "You liked that show, if I recall."

Liked probably wasn't the right word. He put it on in the background because it was the only thing on TV that was slightly different from all the other murder mysteries and Matt liked background noise. Harriet would try to watch it, to unwind to the dark humour of the script. Inevitably, she'd fall asleep with her head in his lap. Once he heard her begin to snore, Matt would take that as his cue to turn in for the night and carry them both to bed.

"I'm looking forward to having him on, but I'm really struggling to do his character justice."

Harriet's hand lay across Matt's arm. Her fingers touched the roll of his sleeve while her palm made contact with his hot skin. The pulse in the underside of her wrist thrumming against his.

"So." Matt couldn't tell if Harriet actually caressed his forearm, her fingers swirling against his sleeve, the heel of her palm kneading into his skin, or if he imagined the hot, loved sensation. Either way, Harriet's words soothed him, showing him she still knew everything about him long before he figured it out. "We'll get down a couple of ideas we like and then we'll get him to see what he thinks and what he can do with it. He knows the character best, after all. And he would know where the line is between rude and comedic, too."

"How do you do that?" he blinked at her. All week his insides had been coiled tightly, wound painfully with anxiety. He hated having guests on the show that he knew from their work but not in person, it made it very difficult to write for them. Harriet squinted at him playfully, curiously. "Put everything into perspective with one word?"

She shrugged happily. Matt liked seeing her like this. An absence of makeup and self-consciousness. Harriet Hayes as her complete, unadulterated self. In his opinion, she should never be anything else.

"Matthew," her gaze was intense and Harriet shuffled closer on the seat. Matt sat stiffly on the opposite end of the lounge. He hoped she wouldn't move any closer, even though he definitely craved her touch. He didn't want her looking him in the eye for too long and seeing dilated pupils. For either of the two reasons they would be blown wide. "You don't need to be afraid. Writing's who you are, you're great at it."

"Yeah, well," he didn't know how to finish that and she was too close to concentrate, the scent of her wafting over him, the clumps of her still-wet hair tickling his arm. "Lately, it's been feeling like -"

Harriet nodded as though she understood. Matthew suspected she probably did. Perhaps not the extent to which he'd gone to pull himself from perdition, but Harry knew him better than anybody, she knew how much he relied on the audience for his self-worth.

"We're stuck."

His lips twitched sadly at the sound of her voice but his mind was far away. Somewhere there, the part of him that was wired for grammar and poetry and made the Dean's list more times than anyone else in his class, he did notice which pronoun she used. He wholeheartedly agreed with it too. She was right there. If he leant forward just a fraction, he could stamp her down like Wendy has told him he should. He could press his lips to hers softly and breathe her in, allowing her light to combat his darkness until all those bad thoughts went away. Except he was too dark now. He liked the pills sitting in his desk - not the person they made him, but the way he didn't think about how much he missed Harriet or how the audiences didn't like him anymore when he took them. But taking them put another barrier between him and her.

He'd die if she found out what he'd done, what he was doing. Harriet would never look at him the same way. He could deal with the disappointment that he didn't understand her faith and the sparkle in her eye as she defended her Christianity to him. But he wouldn't be able to handle the disgust if she ever found out he'd been keeping himself medicated just to avoid the reality that his life had devolved into.

Still, right now, with her head dangerously close to leaning against his shoulder, her eyes sleepy and her smile wide, or maybe because she was so close but still out of reach, Matt craved another fix.

Then she dropped her eyes to read his handwriting on the pad in his lap, her shoulder against his chest, his arm almost around her. The back of her head was right under his nose, the wet strands falling against the hot skin at the open collar of his shirt. Harriet turned her head upwards to look at him, watery blue eyes shining at him and Harriet laughed. That quiet, shy giggle of hers. And he didn't need anything else.