The sun slid over Pelican Town like honey — slow, golden, and a little sticky.
Harvey stirred his coffee absentmindedly, eyes not quite awake, glasses fogged a little from the steam. The clinic was still quiet at this hour, just the low hum of machines and the rhythmic tick of the wall clock. Predictable. Clean. Calm.
Just the way he liked it.
He took his first sip — hot, slightly bitter, perfect — when he heard it: the unmistakable thump of two small feet stomping up the clinic steps, and then a knock. Loud. Rapid. Definitely not from someone over four feet tall.
Harvey opened the door and was immediately greeted by the breathless voice of—
"Dr. Harvey! I think I broke my whole leg!"
Vincent stood there, dramatically leaning on a stick like it was a crutch. His face was scrunched up in theatrical agony. Behind him, Jas trailed in, arms crossed and very clearly not buying it.
Harvey blinked once. Twice. Sipped his coffee. "Well, if you broke your whole leg, I'm amazed you made it all the way here."
Vincent beamed. "I am very brave."
"I can tell."
He ushered them in, gesturing to the check-up room. "Let's take a look, soldier."
Vincent clambered onto the exam table with zero signs of pain, kicking his legs like a kid who had already forgotten his tragic injury.
Jas stood nearby, observing with a furrowed brow and a spiral notebook clutched to her chest. "He fell chasing a beetle," she offered helpfully. "It wasn't even that big."
Vincent gasped, affronted. "It was huge! Like—a dragon with legs!"
Harvey smiled as he gently palpated Vincent's shin, already certain there was no break — not even a bruise. "Well, good news: the leg appears to be intact. No dragon bites either."
"Phew," Vincent exhaled, flopping backward like he'd just survived war.
"You'll live to chase another bug," Harvey assured him.
"I knew you were the best doctor."
Harvey chuckled, then looked over at Jas. "And how are you, Miss Jas? Any injuries? Dragon-related or otherwise?"
She shook her head solemnly. "No. But I think Vincent should rest for twenty-four hours, minimum. That's what my book says."
"Ah," Harvey said, glancing at her little notebook. "The medical opinion of a very promising future doctor."
Jas beamed, just a little.
Once Vincent was declared officially uninjured and supplied with a comically large bandage "just in case", Harvey walked them out, watching as they scampered down the path toward the museum-slash-school.
As the clinic door shut behind him, Harvey stood there for a moment, alone again with his coffee — now cold, forgotten on the desk.
But there was a smile tugging at his mouth.
(...)
The late afternoon sun dipped low behind the mountains, casting long, golden fingers across the valley. Harvey was washing out his coffee mug — finally — when he heard the soft knock.
It wasn't Vincent's thump-thump-thump, or Jas' careful tap. This one was quieter. Hesitant.
He opened the clinic door and found Penny standing there.
She looked… fine. Neat as always. Hair tidy, dress pressed. But there was something about the way she held her hands — twisted together like they didn't know where to go — that made Harvey's chest tighten.
"Hi," she said, trying for casual. "I heard Vincent came by. And Jas. I just wanted to check in. Make sure everything's alright?"
Harvey stepped aside, motioning her in. "Everything's fine. Just a dramatic bug chase and an imaginary leg injury. Vincent's going to survive. Jas prescribed bedrest, of course."
That got a tiny smile out of her. A flicker.
But she didn't sit.
Didn't leave.
Instead, she lingered near the desk, eyes fixed on a spot somewhere just past his shoulder.
Harvey tilted his head gently. "You alright, Penny?"
And that was it. The words cracked her open like porcelain.
Her mouth trembled first, then her eyes — wide, wet, desperately blinking. "I… I try so hard," she whispered. "I try to be there for them, to teach them, to be patient, to give them something good in their lives, but—" her breath hitched, and the next words rushed out, like a dam breaking— "some days I feel like I'm pouring from an empty cup and I can't— I can't do it all."
Harvey crossed the room before she could shrink into herself. He didn't say anything yet — just stood beside her, close enough to share the silence.
She kept going, words tumbling like loose pages from a diary she never meant to share.
"Mom's drinking again. I came home yesterday and she was yelling at the TV. I had to turn the volume down just so I could focus on reading. And there's bills and… and I keep thinking, if I mess this up, what will happen to Jas? To Vincent? They're counting on me, and I'm just—" she finally looked up, eyes brimming— "I'm just tired, Dr. Harvey."
The use of his title, even now, broke his heart a little.
"You don't have to do this alone," he said softly.
She gave a small, shaking laugh, half bitter, half heartbroken. "But I am alone."
"No," he said, and there was a quiet certainty in his voice now. "You're not. Not anymore."
She blinked, tears finally spilling over. And Harvey, careful as ever, offered a tissue before offering touch. But when she crumpled into the chair, head in her hands, he knelt beside her, one hand hovering near her elbow — a lifeline if she needed it.
And slowly, she leaned into it.
Not a collapse. Not a dramatic breakdown.
Just a woman who had carried too much for too long, finally letting someone see the weight.
They sat there for a long time. The clock ticked. The valley went on breathing.
And Harvey didn't try to fix it.
He didn't offer her platitudes or quick solutions or empty optimism.
He just stayed.
Which, for someone like Penny, might have been the most healing thing of all.