Clarine's POV

Harry stood, at the least, a few feet away from me at all times. Even when I told him to come closer, he would shuffle forward a few inches and stop, as if he were afraid to pop the bubble I had created for myself. That bubble didn't exist with him; I just wanted him to be so much closer than he was, both literally and figuratively.

In truth, I hadn't stopped thinking of him. It wasn't something I was proud of, for I promised myself I wouldn't succumb to the lowliness of a man, especially one that had the audacity to hit me, but I knew deep down that he had a reason. I didn't want to believe that reason, but there was one, and I was sure of it.

Hyacinth was the only one that noticed something wrong about 'Trevor' leaving (I said something about him having some personal problem that he needed to tend to). She didn't question me crying on the plane back, but I knew that she knew something was off. She sat there and held my hand, as a good, older-by-ten-minutes sister would. I missed him and didn't have the heart to admit it to myself.

Now, as he stood by the sink with his blanket cocooned around him and I was sitting at the edge of the bathtub (a rather large, freestanding tub—the kind with the lion paws at the bottom), I felt a certain degree of safety with him back within my reach. I didn't believe in possessions, but it'd would've been nice to really call him my own. The tap filled the bath with warm water—almost hot, but not quite, just the way my mom used to prepare my baths—about midway before I peeled my shirt off and made my way over to set it on the counter. Harry sighed and averted his eyes from me after seeing the bruises that had been left on my skin by the men previously.

"If you hadn't killed them, I would've," he said in a quiet, resentful tone. "I would've found out who they were and I wouldn't have let them get away."

"I killed them because I had to, not because I wanted to. It was honestly the worst feeling, pulling that trigger at something other than a target. 'People aren't targets', that's what they used to say at police school, but they still train you to shoot at those little bulls-eye things until sooner or later, your enemy becomes just another bulls-eye for you to hit. Straight in the center, right between the eyes."

His eyes, now a softer shade of green that they had been, met mine and looked as if they were asking 'What the hell does that have to do with anything?'

"I know what they did was disgusting. It was so, so wrong, but I don't want you to hurt anybody for my sake. I can fight my own battles, Harry."

"I don't want you to fight them alone," he admitted. He coughed again, spitting into the sink and rinsing his mouth before meeting my gaze. "I don't ever want you to be alone, you know? It's not a nice feeling—"

"Harry—"

"—and I want you to know that you won't ever be alone. Not when you have me. Okay?"

"Okay," I whispered. His arms twitched for a moment, wanting to extend out and embrace me but forcing himself not to. I decided I'd make the first move for once in my life. I hugged him, grasping him tightly and taking in the scent of him as I pressed my cheek to his chest. I heard an unsteady beating underneath and fear plagued my head. However, biting my tongue was the least I could do after the absence of his arms reciprocating my actions. "Hug me back."

"Have I earned your trust back so soon?" he smirked.

I shrugged and stepped back, holding onto his hands. "I don't know...d'you wanna find out?"

"Do you know how cruel it is to tease a sick man?"

"I'm not teasing," I smiled, pouring bubble bath into the tub promptly after, then turned off the tap, the tub now filled three quarters of the way and topped with a sea of foam.

"Don't do it," he warned. I pranced over to the counter and turned on the radio that was situated there, changing the channel to the one we had listened to at the motel all those weeks ago.

"Don't do what?" I asked, pulling the blanket he was wrapped in out of my hands then tossing it out into the bedroom on the floor. I wiggled out of my pants and kicked them aside, leaving myself in a bra and underwear. "Don't tell me you bathe with clothes on."

"Sperling, I'm sick and—"

"Oh shut up and get in the tub," I cut him off, pulling him over and sitting on the edge of the tub as I undid the fastenings on his jeans. I pulled them down ("Sperling don't, you're stripping me of my manhood by undressing me,") and coaxed him to join me in the tub after he gave a very annoyed huff when I took off the rest of my undergarments. He eventually did, sinking his body underneath the bubbles and finding a comfortable spot for his legs. We sat across from each other, and I noted a sigh of relief from him.

Things were okay for now. And it was great.

"How are you not...not upset by what they did to you?"

"I am, it's just...I'm just happy you're back, that's all."

He gestured at me to scoot over to him, and I did so, sitting in his lap and leaning back into him. He wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed my cheek, holding me as tight as he could.

"Can I ask you something?" I questioned, intertwining my fingers with his as we soaked in the water.

"Anything," he replied.

"Did you mean what you said in that voice mail?"

"Every word."

"Every word?"

"Mhm."

I stayed quiet, relaxing my shoulders.

"Why do you ask?"

I shrugged and played with the bubbles on the surface of the water. He did so too, piling some on top of my head while I sculpted a moustache and beard on his face.

"Ever think about how it'd be like to live with no strings attached? No obligations, no bullshit—none of that. Ever think about that?" he asked, still donning the bubble beard.

"Not really. I used to though."

"What was that like?"

"I always thought I'd grow up living on some ranch, somewhere warm, with my own cow. I'd have this walk-in closet—"

"Obviously—"

"—and I'd drive around one of those fancy vintage cars, windows down all the time because it'd be summer all year long. I'd walk around barefoot and wear a long, flowy dress—"

"It's funny because none of it ever involves a guy," Harry remarked, brushing my hair back.

"I didn't think a guy would ever make me as happy, you know? I never based my happiness off someone else."

He chuckled and kissed my cheek again, passing his bubble beard along to me.

"What about you? How did you imagine your life would be?" I asked him.

"Well I thought I would be a famous spy, so I pictured myself in a tux all the time, surrounded by pretty ladies and living the life on a small private island."

"That sucks," I laughed, "your dream life is a bit of a long shot."

"Not really," he reasoned. "I've always believed that the only thing better than being in a tux is being...well...not in a tux,"—he looked down and himself and implied what he meant—"I'm in a private cottage, which is pretty nice, and I'm in the company of a very pretty lady."

"Is that so?"

"It is so. And you know what's best of all?"

I always hated answering these types of questions, but I made an exception for Harry.

"What?"

"I'm pretty fucking happy."

***

As I lay my head on Harry's chest while we lay in bed together, I couldn't help but to pay close attention to the rhythm that his heart beat at. I was very sure it would drive any dancer or musician insane. He didn't say anything though, so I didn't want to ask either. He held onto me as if I were going to float away into the night.

"You know, all of this"—he gestured to the room—"is a bit of a long shot too."

"How so?"

"Things aren't going to be this good again," he explained, sighing and stroking my hand. "We're never going to have as much freedom as we do right now."

I paused to think about what he said; it was true, every word. 

"This could be our long shot dream," I whispered.

"Our?"

"Mhm."

"You're honestly the hottest cop, I swear to God," he chuckled, pulling me closer to him. "Sperling, can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"I...I want to know how you dealt with your mom dying," he said, looking at me with solemn eyes. The purple that lay comfortably under his eyes begged for sleep, but also yearned to stay awake as long as I was. It was a very peculiar question, but I figured there was no harm in telling him.

"I think I dealt with it by writing. Letters, you know? Letters to her. When we were kids, my mom used to read us stories by our fireplace and she had this addiction to sunflower seeds. Always threw them into the fire after we were all done. After I wrote the letters, I'd read them in front of the fire and burned them."

"Would you still do that for someone who died?"

I shrugged and nestled my face into the crook of his neck. "Don't know. No one's died since her in my family. I might cry a bit more now though."

Harry was quiet for a moment before asking me, "What if I died?"

"Don't talk like that, Harry—"

"No, it's just a theoretical question. What would you do?"

"I don't understand why my answer would even—"

"I just want to know, Sperling."

With a sigh, I gave in. "I wouldn't be the same. I'd probably feel pretty fucking empty, and I'd probably refuse to believe you were really gone."

He kissed my forehead and stared at me, his eyes flickering with hope before opening his mouth to speak. "Would you kiss a sick man? Because I really want to kiss you right now."

He had such a way with words, I almost doubted any of this was real.

"Can I?" he asked in an even softer voice, his eyes reflecting the frailty of his body. I gave him a weak smile and nodded, leaning up to plant the softest, most careful pecks to his lips I could deliver. I could feel his hand rest on the skin of my lower back, gliding up slowly and back down again. He knew exactly where to place his hands, exactly how to move his tongue, and exactly how to make me just as weak as him in my frenzied state. I climbed on top of him and kissed him harder as his hands travelled down my bare thighs, resisting the urge to do anything other than feel.

"This is a little heartbreaking. I'm always the one on top," he groaned with a grin. He gently pulled me down to him, but I lifted my hips just a bit higher so he couldn't grind into me.

"Settle down, hot shot. You need some rest," I crooned into his ear. He rolled his eyes and sighed in annoyance, relaxing his body once again. "Relax, okay? Just relax."

"I am rela—oh, shit—" he gasped as I worked my way down his body, breathing over his length. He gave a breathless laugh before spreading his legs a little for me. "Fuck, I missed this."

"Just this?" I question with a raise of my eyebrow, pausing.

"No, no, and a lot more, just"—he sucked in a sharp breath when I descended upon him again—"fuck, just—you're really good at—at this—God—"

It might've been something quite trivial, but the both of us needed to escape. We had fun. We used each other, but not in that sense; no, we played off of each other, like water and watercolours, and gave the other something that so many people yearned for but very few ever found.

We made each other happy, and I thought that was the sincerest form of love anybody could ever ask for.

***

I woke up the next morning sprawled out against Harry. The sun was high in the sky, filtering in through the curtains, our legs were tangled together, and nothing felt more right than this.

But still, the irregular beating coming from inside his rib cage struck me as hard as lightning, or a wooden stake, or, ironically, an electric shock. It never occurred to me how I would feel if I were to lose someone as important to me as Harry. His voice, asking me what I'd do if he died, resonated in my ears, and I couldn't help but wonder if it had anything to do with how sick he was. 

In the middle of the night he started coughing uncontrollably, then broke out into a fever an hour later. I did my best to help him out, fetching him a cup of tea and blankets, but he passed in and out of consciousness after that. I thought about how horrible of a mother I would be; I had never taken care of someone before this instance, for Hyacinth or my dad were always the ones that made me chicken noodle soup and gave me lozenges to calm a sore throat. It was different when someone else's comfort was in my hands. I stayed up and watched him sleep. Now, a couple of hours later, Harry stirred when he felt me shuffle around on the bed to find my clothes.

"Morning," he croaked. He went into a fit of coughs, and I sat him up, rubbed his back, and held his hand until he stopped. He looked at me and raised an eyebrow. "Where are your clothes?"

"I—what?"

"Your clothes? Why're you naked?"

"We...wait, what? We had sex last night?" I tried to explain. He looked confused.

"We did?"

This wasn't right. Harry usually forgot what time we went to sleep, or what song was playing on the radio, or which cheek he spanked, but never did he forget if we actually performed the act or not.

"Harry, are you...what do you remember from last night?"

"I remember throwing up," he stated. 

"And?"

"I don't know. Bria left for the Okanagan to check on your family."

"And?"

"I remember something about black cars. And your gun. Why the hell did you have your gun out?"

I frowned and felt his forehead with the back of my hand, which was feeling better than it had last night. I pressed my ear to his chest—still slightly off beat. 

"Are you tired?" I asked him. He shook his head.

"Just sore. Are you sure we had sex—?"

"Yes, we did," I ran my hand through my hair in frustration. I couldn't place my thumb on what was wrong. Why the hell was he forgetting so much? "Do you know who Peter is?"

"Who?"

Fucking hell. 

"Never mind. I'm gonna brush my teeth, okay? Do you want anything?"

"I'm okay," he replied with a smile. I quickly scampered off to the bathroom and locked the door, turning on the tap of the sink and splashing my face with cold water, letting the cool droplets run down my face and my neck. I needed to focus: what was going on?

If anybody knew what was going on, it would be Evans. It wasn't something I wanted to admit, but if we were going to get anywhere with anything, I needed her.

***

man i don't wanna end this story BUT LO AND BEHOLD it must be done (sometime idk when lmao soz)

im gettin hella sad by writing this story man this hurts //sigh//