Work Text:
"You're going to hurt yourself"
The farmer, Miss Underwood, has been spinning herself on the lamp post by the saloon for quite a while now. The cool wind of autumn cuts through the sound of her laughter, a bit more laid back and loud than it would usually be when she's more sober.
"Oh, Harvey" She flung herself off the metal pole with about as much grace as a woman who was overserved free drinks at her birthday party, "Even when drunk, you still have the doctor hat on."
"You're the one who's drunk, little farm girl. I'm perfectly-" halfway through his sentence, he trips over a rock with about as much grace as a man who was overserved free drinks at his friend's birthday party.
"Sober?" She finishes for him with a smirk
"Absolutely."
"Yes, of course! You can hear it in your slur!"
Was he slurring? He wasn't sure. He found it was hard to think straight over the farmer's sarcastic teasing.
Strange to see her so relaxed. It seemed that almost everytime he crosses paths with her recently, she's on the move. Busy with chores and errands from people around town that she isn't forced to do, but does anyway, because she's nice like that. She'd pass him by with a smile and a 'good afternoon' and go back to whatever delivery she was on her way to making. He spotted her carrying a whole tree once (which was unbelievable, but impressive to say the least) She was a woman on a mission, never wasting time on old doctors who tripped over rocks and every other thing he says.
"...and since when did you start calling me little farm girl?"
Wait, she's been talking the whole time? There was probably an answer to whatever her question was somewhere in the back of his mind, but it was difficult to focus on anything that wasn't how the lamp light glowed on her face and how her bright green eyes shined under the night sky, her smile warm in the cold breeze of fall.
So instead his answer comes out in a series incoherent stuttering which prompts her to chuckle softly.
"Well gee, Doctor. I know I'm under six feet but you don't have to rub it in with a crap nick name"
She turns and walks in a direction that vaguely pointed to the clinic. It didn't take him long to recover and catch up with her.
They walk side by side around the square for a while, not in any sort of a hurry for the night to be over. When you were as in love with your work as the two of them were you'd need a break like this every once in a while. Conversations that varied in volumes, jokes and anecdotes thrown at each other:
"How old did you think I am?
"Well your height says you're around fourteen"
"Alright, smartass. Just cause I'm shorter than you doesn't mean I'm that short"
Half an hour into their spontaneous venture through town, the doctor realizes that he really enjoyed her company. Sure, he respected her diligence to work everyday of her life productively. He respected her and how she turned rags into riches in a span of eighteen months. He respected the fact that she could probably shove anyone in the valley's face a few inches underground.
But he likes this. He likes the way she does everything she can do to help. He likes the way she says anything she wants with confidence. He likes the way she wore her scars like trophies and wasn't afraid to share the stories behind them.
He likes the way she laughs when she's drunk
Shit, maybe he was a little tipsy.
"Oh! I almost forgot", they've long since stopped at the door to his clinic, deciding it was getting colder, but not cold enough to step inside just yet apparently. He watches her shrug off her backpack, "I have something for you."
"Really?"
"Well, I mean... I don't know if this is the best time seeing as we're both fairly intoxicated already, but..." various oddities clinked and shuffled around the bag as she trails off and rummages through it, "I heard you were a fan of wine so..."
She hands him a bottle of what he presumed to be wine with a green ribbon tied around it's base. He can't help but stare at the liquor for a second before reaching out to take it. The farmer was always one for gifts, giving whatever she can that people would appreciate, prompted or not. She's brought a few cups of coffee over to the clinic too, but this looked like something special.
"Wow, I... Where did you get this?"
"I've been reading up about brewing recently, and turns out I had an entire harvest of blueberries from the summer that I decided not to sell and..." She shrugs and gestures to the wine "From what Leah tells me... It's pretty damn good"
"This is- It's great! This is great. I'll, uh..." There he goes again, stumbling over his words when he just can't help but stare at her "One of these days I'll get you something nice-"
"Oh, there's no need. I just-"
"No, I insist! You're always going around handing out these gifts. I ought to return the favor."
She's still wearing her grin as she looks down at her feet, albeit a little more shyly, which was uncharacteristic of her. It's rare for her to drop that confident posture. Everytime she talks it always seems like she's so sure of what she says, but it's times like these, when she stutters, that makes him wonder if it's all some sort of mask to cover up someone unsure of herself. A more demure personality, trying to convince herself to be something more.
Or hell, maybe she's like this around him, exclusively.
A man can dream, right?
"If that's what you think is best, doctor." She finally speaks up and he's pretty sure it isn't the cold that makes the blood rush into his cheeks when she looks back up at him and smiles.
They stand before the door in silence for a good whole minute before he clears his throat.
"We can uncork it inside if-"
"No, no, I really should head home. It's a busy day-"
"Oh, do you want me to walk you-"
"No, it's alright. You don't have-"
"Oh, but it's not a problem! I-"
"Harvey..." She says, abrupt but amused, putting an end to his incessant rambling for just a moment, "I have to go."
He sighs and shuts up "Right, I'm sorry. You should get some rest..."
"Yeah."
Here's the thing though, Miss Underwood doesn't go home. She doesn't turn around to get some rest, like she said she would. She doesn't stop smiling or staring up with half-lidded eyes at this stuttering bastard who is about eight inches taller than her. She doesn't leave him in front of his clinic on a cold autumn's night on her birthday with nothing but a bottle of her blueberry wine to take home.
No, she gently tugs down at the lapels of his coat, kisses him, pulls back slightly and whispers 'good night'.
And only then, when the poor doctor is beet-red, flustered and confused, does the farmer turn to leave.
And shit...
Maybe he was a little tipsy.