Archive of Our Own

Harvey woke to the early morning sunlight, and the smell of coffee. Contentedly he sighed, grateful that he’d remembered to set the timer on the coffee maker the night before. Rolling to his other side, he wrapped his arms tightly around his wife and pulled her back flush against him. A warmth flooded through him, and he inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of her hair. She smelled like lilacs, sunshine and earth, and it was an intoxicating scent that he had long ago given himself over to associating with his deep-seated need for her. Already he could feel himself hardening against her, and reluctantly he pulled away so as not to wake her.

Pulling his hand back from her he went to rub the sleepy bleariness from his eyes. That was when he felt it; something warm and sticky on his fingers. Puzzled, he fumbled for his glasses with his other hand, while holding the first up to his face to squint at it. Glasses perched haphazardly on his nose, he blinked in the half-lit room at his hand. It was sticky with blood.

Ice flooded his veins for a moment, pooling like lead in his stomach. All at once, all the images he tried so hard to suppress throughout his days came crashing to the surface: all the injuries she’d brought into his clinic from the mines or farming accidents. All the times he’d lectured her, and her subsequent attempts to hide her injuries from him when that hadn’t worked. Their months of on-again, off-again courtship where they’d struggled to navigate the balance between a concerned doctor and his adrenaline-loving patient, and a man and woman desperately in love and pining for one another during every attempt at separation. It wasn’t just the memory of her real injuries that haunted him, but his imagined ones too. Visions from his nightmares, her limp body being dragged from the minds.

But she had promised, promised him, that she wouldn’t hide her injuries from him anymore. It was a promise she’d made before they’d agreed to get married. He’d worked so hard to be better about controlling his anger whenever she found herself hurt. Gone were the days when he would drag her by the hand to his clinic, lecturing her the whole way. These days, he had grown wearily accepting of the risks that came with her profession. He usually bandaged her in silence; sometimes even kissing her injuries as he went if they weren’t too gruesome. On rare occasions it had even lead them to the bedroom. As far as he was concerned, they’d come to a hard-won peace with it. It wasn’t possible she would hide her injuries from him again… was it?

Reaching his non-bloody hand across them, he gingerly pulled black the blankets. A pool of deep red marred the crisp white sheets, and he blanched. As gently as he could so as not to wake her, he sat up into a crouch beside her, running his hands over her body to check for any injuries that would account for the blood loss. After several minutes of searching and not finding anything, a thought occurred to him. Finally, his hand came to rest on her upper thighs, and he puffed out a hushed sigh of relief.

As quickly as the relief had come, a wash of shame fell over him. Of course she wasn’t hiding anything from him. She’d promised him. And he had doubted her, even after three months of marriage and hardly a single injury. As much as he’d been working on his self-control, she had been working on hers too. And he was proud of her. Grateful that he hadn’t chosen to wake her in his alarm, or to interrogate her as she found her way back to consciousness, he retreated his hand and sat back.

Rising slowly from the bed, he pulled on his pajama bottoms from where they’d been discarded on the floor last night, during a particularly enthusiastic round of lovemaking.

Silently, he cursed himself. There was no way she would have been able to hide an injury from him during that. Letting out a sigh, he forced himself to release some of the tension from his body, taking deep, slow breaths the way his therapist had taught him back in medical school. Finally, he allowed his brain to drift to a happier subject, the events of last night. A quiet smile played across his lips at the memory of it as he padded out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.

After washing his hands in the sink, he set about filling the kettle and preparing a cup of herbal tea. Once the kettle was on the stove, he poured himself a cup of coffee, the dark liquid burning his lips as he forced it down. With a deep sigh, he looked around the dimly lit farmhouse, listening to the kettle bubble as he waited for the water to come to a boil. He’d moved in before they’d gotten married, lived here almost a year now. Their lives had integrated so seamlessly into the tiny space, and the effect of it was… well, cozy. It was the first place in his life that Harvey could honestly say felt like home.

In their bubble of domesticity, he had welcomed seeing a new side to his beautiful wife. A less put-together, raw version of her. The drool on his pillow, the sick days with wadded tissues strewn about, even her habit of leaving laundry scattered around the apartment. She had unfolded like petals of a flower to him, gradually lowering her guard and letting him see the not-so-perfect parts of her. He loved that she had finally let him into her life and let her guard down enough to let him see the real her, after two years of pining as they’d danced around each other in the awkward early stages of their courtship.

But it had been a difficult battle to get to this point. The first few months of living together, she had kept the apartment nearly spotless, her hair and makeup always done, dinner always on the table when he got home from the clinic. It had only been after she’d burned the candle at both ends for too long and burned herself completely out, that they’d talked about it and she had slowly begun to let her guard down.

So what was he to do in a situation like this one, where she was at her most vulnerable? He could picture it now; the horrified look on her face, the violent toss of sheets into the fireplace, her tearstained face as she slammed the bathroom door in his face. He sighed, glancing back at the bedroom door. What if she stopped letting him sleep in the bed with her altogether?

That was enough. Slamming his mug down on the counter with a hard thunk, he set to work. First, he poured a steaming mug of peppermint tea as soon as the kettle was boiled. While he waited for it to steep, he made his way over to the linen closet in the hallway between the living room and the bedroom. After pulling out some fresh sheets he paused, then grabbed a few wash cloths, along with the biggest, fluffiest towel. After laying an old quilt across the couch, he quietly made his way back into the bedroom. She was still sleeping deeply. It wasn’t a surprise. She always preferred to sleep in until at least 8:00 a.m. on weekends, while his time in residence has trained him to wake up at 5:30 a.m. sharp no matter what day of the week it was.

Scooping her gently into his arms, he carried her into the living room and settled her onto the couch, draping a second quilt over her sleeping form. After setting the mug of tea on the side table closest to her, he returned to the bedroom and got to work on stripping the bed. The stain had seeped into the mattress underneath, but thankfully Harvey had become quite skilled at dealing with blood stains. Owning a small-town clinic meant that he’d had to stretch his budget, and new mattresses for the beds were, frankly, well outside of that budget. After spraying down the stains and waiting a few minutes for them to soak in, he patted the blood out with a few wads of paper towel. When he was down, a faint brown mark remained, but it wasn’t nearly as noticeable as it had been before. Harvey flipped the mattress over for good measure. They’d been known to pull the sheets off the mattress during their… activities… and he didn’t want any unwelcome reminders for his wife the next time they found themselves in the heat of the moment. Not to mention making the bed.

Flapping out the fitted sheet, he set to work on making the bed. While Harvey was not the perfect picture of domesticity - he was sure that he fell short as a husband in countless ways - he had always prided himself on his ability to make a good bed. His hospital corners were always prim and his pillows always extra fluffed. When he was done, the bed looked as though it had just dropped into the room out of one of Robin’s furniture catalogs. Satisfied with his work, he turned to the pile of discarded sheets on the floor. Gathering them up, he tossed them in the washing machine upstairs, then set about running a bath. After he’d checked the temperature and scooped in some epsom salts, he left it running, returning to the living room.

What he saw there made his breath catch in his throat. There sat his wife, completely disheveled, her eyes wide as saucers and glassy with tears. Oh, Yoba. Crossing the floor in two quick strides, he collapsed on the sofa beside her and pulled her into his lap.

“I-I’m…” She sobbed into his shoulder, her hands resting on his chest. Her fingers curled into his chest hair, and she seemed at war with herself about whether to pull him closer or push him away. Her face was bright red, and when he pulled back into it his heart sank at what he saw there. Her eyes were looking anywhere but at him, and they were filled with shame. “I’m so sorry.”

Her voice was tight. It almost broke him, seeing her like this… as if none of the work they’d both done to come this far had changed a thing. Taking a deep breath, he pulled her closer. “You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for.”

His voice was firm, but he could still feel her shaking her head beneath him, her tears hot against his chest. Steeling himself, he tried again. Pulling away, he cupped her cheeks in his hands, and felt his expression softening. “Sweetheart, this is natural. It’s beautiful. This is the way you were made, and I wouldn’t change any part of you, not ever.”
She buried her face in his chest, still sobbing, and they stayed like that for a few moments. Time stretched, and he held her while she shook against him, her tears pooling on his abdomen. He rubbed soothing circles on her bare back, murmuring softly against her hair.

The moment was interrupted when the sound of the bathtub filling up with water rushed back to Harvey’s ears. Wordlessly, he stood, gathering his wife up and into his arms. She gave a surprised yelp, then slowly sank back against him as he carried her into the bathroom. Gently, he set her down on her feet and bent to turn-off the water. When he looked up again, she was watching him with an unreadable expression.

“Thank you,” she said finally, her voice hoarse from crying.

“You-you’re welcome,” he stammered, his eyes still flicking over her face with worry. A blush slowly crept up into his face as his eyes traveled down her body, only partially concealed by the quilt still wrapped around her. Gesturing helplessly, he finally managed, “I…made you a bath.”
She smiled meekly, “And tea.”

“Yes,” his tongue felt like lead. How did she still have this effect on him? Hadn’t she been crying not two minutes ago? A warmth filled his chest, realization hitting him like a splash of cold water to the face: It didn’t matter that they’d done this dance hundreds of times. That they were married. She was always going to have this effect on him, even when they were old and grey. Well, older in his case. Suddenly bashful, he did his best to clear his head. He was her husband, goddammit. She needed him to be steady in moments like this, not weak in his knees.

Stepping closer, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. She hummed, pressing her face into the kiss, and tilted her lips up to meet his. The kiss started warm and soft, gentle. Slowly, the quilt dropped to the floor as their limbs tangled together, pressing closer. The heat from last night returned, their kiss deepening. Harvey was reminded of the hunger he’d felt that morning, his hardness pressing into her back as he’d held her while she slept. Pulling apart at last, he sighed. “Let me get you into the tub,” he murmured.
She glanced down, her eyes widening. “Um, Harvey?”

He followed her gaze, surprised to feel his own lips curl into an unexpected smile. A smear of blood marked his legs. He glanced back up at her, and at the sight of his smile, she seemed to relax a little. “Care to join me?”

It was ridiculous, trying to fit the two of them into their little tub. They had only tried it one other time, on their wedding night, and the attempt hadn’t lasted longer than five minutes before they’d erupted in a fit of giggles and abandoned the idea altogether. While the bathtub was a favourite indulgence of hers, Harvey never bothered on his own, preferring the shower that he still somehow managed to fit under.

It took some maneuvering, but eventually they settled with her between his legs, his ankles propped up on the edge of the tub. His arms draped along either side of it, his upper back pressed against the other end, while she laid back against his chest, his semi-hard erection pressed into the small of her back as she hummed contentedly. It wasn’t the most comfortable position for Harvey, but he didn’t mind considering the relative peace that had overtaken her expression. After soaking in the steaming water for a few minutes, Harvey pulled one of the washcloths perched onto the edge of the bathtub into the water. Lathering it with some soap, he set to work gently washing the sticky area between her legs. She hummed contentedly, leaning even more heavily back against him. Harvey tried to ignore the twitch of his cock, and decided to distract himself with talking.
“Is there anything else I can get for you, after? I have some medicine in my bag that you can take for the cramps, and I can get you a heating pad…” he fell silent as he looked down and saw her watching him, regretting his words instantly. The easy peace that had fallen over her gentle features was replaced by that unreadable expression once again. In a last-ditch effort to lighten the mood, he forced his lips to quirk into a smile, his eyebrows raised, “Chocolate? Technically the sugar and caffeine aren’t good for your cramps, but I’ve heard the cravings can be -”

“Harvey.”

Again, his words died on his tongue.

“Why are you doing this?”

Harvey’s brain fumbled, scrambling at his loss for words. Finally, he stammered, “Why am I - be-because I love you?”

Her eyes were glassy again, and she blinked hard, looking away. His hand had stilled its motions, and she pulled the washcloth away, cleaning herself roughly. Harvey’s hand fell away helplessly, and he bit back the stinging in his own eyes. He hated it when she pulled away like this; when she was hurting and he had no idea how to reach her.
When she spoke again, her voice was cold and distant. “You don’t have to do this. I know it’s… dirty. It’s not your problem.”

“It-it’s not dirty,” he replied helplessly, unsure of what else to say. “It’s natural. It’s beautiful, even. It’s part of what makes you a beautiful woman. I wouldn’t change that for -”
“A grown woman,” she countered. Seemingly finished with cleaning herself, she raised her bottom a little, bending down to wipe at his legs. The water had turned a murky colour. She pulled at the drain of the tub. “A grown woman that can take care of herself, without any help from you.”

“I…I know,” he replied again.

She wadded up the washcloth, twisting the water from it, and then tossing it with surprising accuracy into the wicker basket of dirty laundry in the corner of the bathroom. Her muscles tensed, and he realized that she was about to stand up from the tub. Without thinking, his arms shot up around her, pulling her back against him. “Wait!”

She yelped, falling back against him with a start, “Harvey? What are you…?”

“I know, okay?” He said suddenly, the words tumbling out of him all at once. “I know that you’re capable and that you can take care of yourself. I’m sorry. I know that I’ve been bad at letting you do that in the past. I’m trying, I swear. But I… I knew that you would be closed off about this, and I just didn’t want you to pull away from me. It was selfish. I’m sorry!”

His face was buried in her hair, his fingers clutching desperately against her arms as his own tightened around her chest. They stayed like that for a few minutes, until the last of the water had drained from the tub. At last she sighed, and slowly her tense muscles relaxed against him. “My old boyfriend…”

Harvey instantly tensed, pulling her impossibly closer. He’d been a source of conflict for them in the past. The scars he’d left in his wake were invisible, but potent; not unlike the scars that Harvey’s parents had inflicted on him. He couldn’t resent her for it; it wasn’t her fault she’d been hurt. But every time another piece of the puzzle from her past came into view and he had to put her back together, he felt that same helpless feeling overcome him, like he wished he could have known her sooner. Like he wished he could have somehow saved her from all that pain, and saved himself from those wasted years he’s spent alone without her.

“...he always thought that. That it was gross. If he saw stains on the sheets, or even in my…” she paused, her breath hitched, and swallowed hard before she continued, “in my panties, he’d… It wasn’t good.”

“That…” Harvey breathed into her hair, trying to slow his breathing. When he spoke, it came out as a growl, and he paused, trying to even out his voice. It was hard, this balancing act of being the reassuring husband when what he wanted to do was find this guy and burn the motherfucker’s house to the ground. It was a very un-Harvey-like impulse, and one he’d been struggling with since her first story about him over a year ago. “That piece of shit. You’re perfect.”

She hummed humorlessly in apparent disagreement, and he lowered his lips to the shell of her ear. Her breath hitched again, but not unpleasantly this time. His breath was hot in her ear as he whispered, “Perfect as you are. Just like this.”

In one swift motion, his hand reached out and turned on the water again, then replaced the plug in the bottom of the bathtub. She shivered, as if just realizing how cold they had become in the absence of it. As the water steamed around them, his face lowered, his lips pressing hot against her neck.

“I love you. I don’t want you to hide anything from me.” His hands drifted down, down, down, as he continued, “Not your scars, not your fears, and definitely, especially, not something as natural as this.”

His hand found its mark, resting firmly against her folds of her sex, and she let out a reluctant whimper.

“H-harvey…” she whined, her breathing shallow. His teeth grazed against her neck, nipping gently, his tongue lathing over the marks as though in apology before he continued back up to her ear. Her legs straightened involuntarily as his fingers pressed against her, tracing lazy circles around her clit. Unhooking his ankles from the lip of the tub, he lowered his legs over hers, pressing her thighs apart and locking her legs to the sides of the tub. Another desperate cry escaped her, and she felt him smirk against her skin. “This is… it’s dirty…”

A rumbling growl echoed in her ear, reverberating down her spine. “I like you dirty.”

Another whine died in her throat as her head fell back over his shoulder. His left arm wrapped tightly around her chest, roughly kneading at her breasts, while his right hand continued to work her clit. Slowly, painfully slowly, he pressed his palm against her, his fingers teasing at her entrance. Behind her, she could feel his erection pressing into her back with increased urgency, and a low moan escaped her throat.

“Did you know,” His breath was hot against her ear again, his voice echoing down into her core as he murmured in his best doctor voice (he knew how that drove her crazy), “that sex during menstruation alleviates the cramping? That the hormonal increase that occurs during menstruation is completely normal?”

Another cry escaped her in answer. He’d slipped two fingers in while he was speaking, curling them up against her inner wall, seeking out the spot that made her twitch in agony. It hadn’t taken long. There were definitely advantages to marrying a doctor.

“Do you get horny when you’re in this state, sweetheart?” He continued, adding a third finger as her cries intensified beneath him. Her hands clutched the side of the tub, white-knuckled, and she was pressing her ass back against his erection. The sweat of her skin tasted delicious against his tongue as he teased his teeth against her skin. “Do you take care of it when I’m away at work, all alone in this tub?”

“Ha-ha-harvey!” She panted, grinding up into his hand.

She mewled in disappointment at the loss of his fingers as he pulled out of her, his hand grabbing her hips roughly. The agony was short-lived however, as his legs released her and he wordlessly maneuvered her forward until she was bent over the side of the tub, her legs trapped on either side of his.

“Harvey?” Her voice shook with uncertainty.

Reaching around her, he turned off the tap. The silence that filled the room in its absence was deafening, the only sounds their hushed panting. The curl of desire in her belly fluttered, and she waited in anticipation, barely daring to breathe. Finally she felt him line up at her entrance, but before he went any further she felt one of his strong arms wrap around her, the other bracing on the side of the tub.

“Put your hands on the floor,” he said, his voice firm but with an undertone of gentle reassurance. She did as he told her, bracing herself with her palms flat against the floor. A moment later she felt him lift her and - oh - felt the friction of the lip of the bathtub directly against her clit. Her fingers curled into the plush, faux fur bathmat and she waited, holding her breath.

He pushed in with agonizing slowness, all the way to the hilt. His hand on her chest played with her breast absentmindedly, pinching and flicking her nipple, and she let out a low whine at the tension building in her again. He leaned down, pressing kisses up her spine to the back of her neck, and murmured against her skin, “Are you ready for me, sweetheart?”

“Mmm,” she managed, pushing back onto him in a desperate motion. He huffed a quiet laugh, easing himself out a few inches, then thrusting back in with more force than he knew she’d be expecting this early. She yelped, writing against him, and he realized with satisfaction that she was grinding against the side of the bathtub, stimulating her clit as she waited for the next thrust. He didn’t make her wait long.

The thrusts began slowly, even if they were more rough than usual. But as her yelps and cries became louder, he picked up the pace, the slapping of his hips against her ass the only other sounds in the room, apart from her cries and his strangled groans.

“H-h-harvey fu-uck!”

He knew she was getting close. She clenched around him, and he buried his face in the sweet soft skin between her neck and shoulder, ramming himself deeper, deeper into her until even the pauses between her cries melted away.

Finally, he felt her clench around him, her orgasm overtaking her. He pulled her back against him, her back flush to his chest. His other hand shot down to her clit, treating it roughly as she clenched around him, her cries shifting into wails as he trapped her against him. When the shuddering around him stopped, he pulled out, turning her to face him. She looked spent and exhausted. He reached down to finish himself when she shot her hand out to catch his wrist.

“In me,” she croaked, her voice strained from all the feral sounds she’d been making. Damn, if that didn’t turn him on more.

He quirked an eyebrow at her quizzically, something he never realized he was doing, but which she always found adorable. Biting her bottom lip, she nodded and positioned herself above him, slowly sinking back down until he filled her completely. Letting out an unsteady breath, she pulled herself up a few inches, then let herself fall back onto him again. He moaned softly, his hands coming to rest gently on her hips.

Their rhythm slowly began again, gradually increasing in speed with his hands guiding her hips. The water sloshed back and forth to their tempo, spilling over the sides of the tub until it was almost as empty as before. His eyes were half-lidded with pleasure, and when he met her reflecting gaze under her eyelashes, her mouth open and bruised lips pouting and breasts bouncing as she leaned back to gain momentum, it undid him.

“Sweetheart,” he ground out through his clenched teeth in warning, his back arching up to meet her, his eyes clenching shut, “I’m gonna –“

His cock twitched inside of her, filling her as she continued to bear down on him from above, unrelenting as she drew every last twitch and moan from his body. Finally they stilled, panting, as she gently pulled off of him and fell forward, nuzzling his neck and resting her head on his heaving chest. He tucked her head under his chin, stroking her wet hair softly, and she hummed contentedly beneath him.

After a few minutes, he felt her shiver above him. Slowly he rose, helping her to her feet, and passed her the fresh, fluffy towel he had retrieved for her earlier. He stepped out cautiously, crossing to room to where his own towel hung on the back of the door, and wrapped it around his hips.

“Careful,” he murmured, holding her hand as she stepped out of the tub on wobbly legs. “The floor is pretty wet…”

Her eyes sparked with amusement as they met his, and he felt his eyes roll in silent protest, “If you say what I think you’re about to –“

“Not the only thing wet around here,” she murmured, stepping past him. From the bedroom, he heard her give a huff that sounded like a suppressed laugh. On his way out he pulled a pad from the box under the sink. When he entered the bedroom, he passed it to her wordlessly, a gentle smile playing on his lips. Her eyes met his, and under her affection he still saw a ghost of the pain she’d shared with him earlier. He leaned in to kiss her softly, and when he pulled back it was gone. He knew that this wasn’t going to be a battle won overnight, but he’d resolved to fight for her every day, long before he’d married her. He’d chase down every last one of her ghosts if it meant he could be hers.

“Don’t guys usually prefer a woman wearing tampons?” She huffed, pulling out a pair of cotton panties and flattening the pad against them before pulling them on.

Harvey blushed, glancing away. “I don’t know where you get these ideas… I don’t see how men could find one feminine product more attractive than another…?” When he looked back up, she was still staring at him quizzically, and he tried again, “I figured you would be too… um… sore?”

Her face broke into an appreciative smile, and she turned again, digging through her dresser until she pulled out an oversized sweater. He watched her silently as she pulled it over her head. It was far too big for her, hanging down to her knees. She looked adorable. It was one of his sweaters, of course. He’d been looking for it last week.

With a sigh, he pulled on a pair of slacks and one of his more casual button-downs, making a mental note to ask Emily how much a few more sweaters would cost the next time he was in town. It was clear he’d lost another one for a while.

A warm pull brought him back from his thoughts, and he wrapped his arms around her as she nuzzled her face into his chest.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her hands balling into fists in the back of his shirt, “for everything.”

He stroked her hair, resting his cheek on the top of her head. “You’re welcome, love.”

Their silence was broken by an insistent growl, and they glanced down between them, laughing quietly.

“What were you saying about those period cravings?” She asked, her voice returning to its usual light and playful self.

Harvey felt his shoulders finally relax instinctively. “I’ll make us some breakfast.”

While he cooked, his wife sat on the couch, sipping her tea absent-mindedly. He was waiting for the bacon to finish, so he took a moment to pull his medical bag onto the kitchen table, rifling through it. After a few minutes, he returned and began plating their food.

“Honey?” he called softly.

When he looked back over his shoulder, he saw that she had nodded off, their black cat Juniper curled into her lap. Picking up the two plates, he made his way to the couch and sat down gingerly. Placing them on the table, he turned to her. He hated to wake her, but he also knew that she wouldn’t easily forgive him for letting her sleep through her farm chores. He’d made that mistake in the past, after one particularly enthusiastic night together when they were still dating.

Reaching out, he gently shook her shoulder, and repeated in barely a whisper, “Honey?”

She stirred, her eyes opening blearily, “Hmm?”

“Breakfast,” he said, his voice still low. A slow, easy smile spread across her face.

“You’re too good for me,” she mumbled, sitting up slowly.

The cat, unimpressed with being shuffled, let out a loud mewl of protest before jumping down and scurrying off in the direction of the bedroom. Leaning across the cushions,

Harvey captured her lips in a quick, soft kiss. “I am exactly good enough, thank you.”

There had been a time when his self-confidence had convinced him that he would never be good enough for her. They’d come a long way in two years, and he felt a little puff of pride in his chest.

“What are these?” When he looked back at her, he saw that she was holding the two tiny pills in her palm; the ones he had placed on her plate. She was peering up at him curiously.

“Oh, um,” His hand rubbed at the back of his neck nervously, and his cheeks flushed as he glanced down, avoiding her gaze. “The uh, little white one is a painkiller for your cramps. And the capsule is a standard antibiotic. I thought that since you, um, we… Well, your urethra is so close to your vaginal-“

“Harvey,” she interrupted him graciously, her tone amused, “are you trying to prevent me from getting a UTI?”

“Um,” Harvey paused, his face growing warmer, “…yes?”

If she’d been smiling at him before, she was positively beaming at him now.

“I… I know you’ve gotten them before, after we’ve… well. I can write you a prescription, if you want. Just in case. I don’t have much experience with them myself, but they sound painful. And more than eighty percent of premenopausal women who experience UTIs have had sex within the twenty-four hours prior, so I made an educated guess…”

She was silent for a moment, still smiling openly, as her eyes fell on the tall glass beside her plate. “And am I to assume that’s cranberry juice?”

Harvey put up his hands defensively, “Of course not! Cranberry juice has far too much sugar; it would make the bacteria multiply faster! That’s ah… uh.. a cranberry extract powder. Tastes like chalk, but it does the trick in most cases.”

She arched her eyebrow, then threw the pills back, washing them down with the cranberry water. Her face puckered at the flavour, but she continued to gulp down the rest of it, then set the empty glass on the table with an accomplished flourish.

“Um…” Harvey stammered, “wow.”

“I really hate getting UTIs,” She said, although her tone didn’t match her words. If anything she was downright cheerful. Pulling her plate into her lap, she began to tuck into the complete breakfast he’d made her. He watched her for a moment, feeling a small sense of accomplishment dancing in his own chest. She’d let him take care of her, and she hadn’t fought him on it.

“I’ll… write that prescription, then?”

She glanced up, her cheeks stuffed with pancakes, syrup dripping down from a corner of her lips. Harvey sighed inwardly. She was always so adorable when she was hungry. “Yes, please!”

The accomplishment in his chest spilled into the rest of his body, filling him with warmth. Pulling his own plate into his lap, he tucked his feet under him on the couch and reached for the remote. “We still have twenty minutes… what do you want to watch?”

They snuggled up together on the couch, letting the time drag past them, watching reruns of The Queen of Sauce before switching to the fortune telling program, which always gave them a laugh. Finally, she looked up at him from where her head rested in his lap and sighed. “Must be getting close to nine… don’t you have to go into the clinic?”

Harvey blinked. “It’s Saturday… I wasn’t really planning on it. Maru’s asked for extra hours so she can save for her tuition next fall, so I wasn’t planning on working weekends for the next while. I’m on call, but… I’m kind of already watching over my most frequent patient here… hey!”

Giving a scowl, he rubbed at his knee where she’d pinched him. She looked up at him, her innocent face contrasting with her sparkling, utterly unrepentant eyes. Unable to stay mad at that face, Harvey reached down and grasped her chin, pulling her into a sweet, brief kiss. “What about you?”

She hummed contentedly into his mouth, then reluctantly pulled back. “I actually don’t have that much to do today. The crops are in, and thanks to Maru’s new sprinkler system I don’t need to water them. The automatic feeders are set up in the barn and coop, so they’ll be fine. All that’s really left to do is the milking and collecting the eggs…”

“I can do that,” Harvey interrupted. He paused, glancing away under her gaze, and he felt his face growing hot again. “I mean, I know you’re independent. And I know that you’ll ask me for help if you need it. But if you, if you need the rest…”

He thought of how exhausted she’d looked curled up on the couch while he’d made them breakfast. He almost wished now that he hadn’t woken her, consequences be damned.

And why had he made love to her again, when she was probably already exhausted from last night? He could feel his own muscles aching from the strain, and he didn’t even have to do manual labour on top of it.

She watched him, seeming deep in thought. He was surprised to see that she didn’t look displeased about his offer, just… thoughtful. At last she sighed and sat up slowly. He’d lost then. Harvey tried to ignore the bitter feeling that always came when she insisted that she di things on her own. The farming, the mining expeditions… It wasn’t that he wasn’t proud of her for her independence. If anything, he loved her more for it. No, it was his own feeling of… inadequacy? Like she didn’t trust him to be useful outside of making her dinner, wrapping her wounds and taking her to bed.

She was talking again, but he didn’t hear her. Walking the plates into the kitchen, he began filling the sink with hot, soapy water. He was finally pulled from his thoughts by a particular sentence, though it took him several moments of the words echoing in his head before he understood their meaning. “…meaning to show you how to do that part for a while now. Yoba knows I’ll need you to know how if I’m ever pregnant or something.”

Harvey just about dropped the dishes. Whirling around to face her, he felt his face flush in full force.

“Pregnant!?” he blurted.

His wife paused, her laugh incredulous as she took a step towards him. Without a word, she reached around him to turn off the sink tap and gathered him into a tight embrace.

“Well, obviously not anytime soon. But when we’re ready, I’ll obviously need more help around the farm. And Yoba knows we can’t always rely on Shane. And with you taking the weekends… I mean, of course you’d still need to take some time off to make sure you don’t get burnt-out, but –“

“You want me to help on the farm?” Harvey repeated, still dumbfounded. She laughed again, pulling him closer.

“Not if you don’t want to, of course. I just thought –”

“Absolutely I want to!” he exclaimed again, and dammit he just couldn’t wipe that stupid grin off his face. His wife paused, looking with him with such affection that he honestly felt he might melt.

“I know that I haven’t always been good at… accepting help,” her eyes lowered, and her smile faltered for just a moment, before she looked back up at him. “But I’m finally with someone who makes me feel safe to be vulnerable, and… I love that about you. You make me feel like I can be enough, and like I can do things even if they get overwhelming sometimes. You make me feel like it’s okay to be…”

“…messy,” he finished for her, and she nodded, leaning up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He sighed contentedly, his eyes fluttering closed as he inhaled the scent of her, pulling her closer to him.

Without pulling away, she nuzzled into his neck and continued. “I never used to feel like I could be a parent. I don’t know how to be put-together all the time, or be that perfect version of myself that I always tried to be in the city. But now, with you…” She took a deep breath. “I feel like if I can be myself with you, then we can do it. If you want. Someday.”

Harvey felt tears stinging behind his eyes, and when he tried to answer his throat was too tight to get out the words. He nodded vehemently, hoping that ‘someday’ would come very, very soon. She squeezed him gently, then reluctantly pulled away, looking up at him with a grin.

“So, do you want to learn how to take care of the barn babies?” She asked, already digging her feet into her work boots. She was terrible for crushing the ankles of every shoe she owned, and it seemed that her latest pair would be no exception.

Shaking his head, he chuckled good naturedly and wiped his hands dry on the dish towel and pulled on his oxfords. He paused under her gaze, though, and his brows furrowed.

“What?”

She was grinning at him again, only now it was her turn to shake her head, “We’re going to need to get you some farming boots, Doctor Dad.”

And just like that she was out the door, laughing as she skipped down the porch and off to the barn. Stumbling after her, Harvey yanked on his jacket. The chilly spring air filled his lungs, shocking him awake, and he smiled up at the sky. ‘Doctor Dad,’ he thought, falling into step beside her. That has a nice ring to it.