Chapter Text
Shoulder bags are very impractical, but Harrowhark would rather her arm be dislocated than wear a backpack at the ripe age of 26. With her stunted figure and slight frame, one might mistake her for a highschooler. Again. There was simply no other way to lug her laptop and assortment of books to the café with her dignity fully intact.
Harrow’s phone gave her the ETA of 3 minutes, helping her muster enough strength to keep going. A more bitter part of her was reminded of the reason for this 20 minute trek from campus. She could still hear the drawl of “Harry” and “I have a bone I’d like to have you examine…” reverberating behind her eyes. Ianthe discovering her nightly haunt has made her veer off routine, thoroughly ruining her week. She felt itchy and oily at the same time. Sweat prickled on her back underneath her layered tops.
Head pulsing, Harrow entered the café. Greeted by the smells of espresso, warm milk, and something nutty, she placed her burden on one of the more secluded tables. The shop did not have many hidden spots for her to dwell in unnoticed, which made another pang of anger at Ianthe run through her. She methodically unpacked her bag, sorting her books out in the order she’d be working on. She placed her laptop, closed, next to the books and lined up one of her favorite fountain pens next to it. The ink came out a sanguine color that matched with her overall aesthetic.
With a semi-dramatic swish of her overlong coat, she stalked toward the cashier. Harrow, who memorized the menu during her trek, had her order on the tip of her tongue.
There was no one manning the register that Harrow could see, but she heard someone bustling around in the back.
“One moment!” A voice called. Harrow clasped her hands together in front of her. In her wait, she’d started to worry the skin around her left thumb off. A drop of blood was blooming by the time the barista came out.
“Let me guess,” said a voice. “You take it black?”
The barista appeared from the back wiping her hands on a towel that she flung back over one shoulder. Harrow watched those slim brown hands and then the arms they were attached to, and she felt herself growing hot. She regretted not bringing her deodorant with her. The barista had wonderfully toned arms with bulging biceps that fought against the uniform’s restrictive sleeves. The barista’s apron was pulled tight over her middle, accentuating her figure. Harrow looked up.
Harrow looked. Harrow saw.
The room tilted when she met the other woman’s eyes. A familiar golden shade fanned with naturally curled lashes. The eyes of someone Harrow never thought she’d see again. The eyes of someone who haunted the memories of her youth. The eyes of a girl who never left the back of Harrow’s brain.
“Griddle?”
Gideon Nav switched out of customer service mode and beheld the smaller woman before her. Harrow could see the realization and then horror slowly creep its way onto her face in real time.
“Nona-fucking-gesimus,” Gideon pulled back, mulling something over in her head. “You’re still into the whole goth thing still? Less catholic that’s for sure.”
Harrow felt herself flushing, praying she wasn’t completely red.
“God, what how long has it been? Seven years?”
“Nine,” Harrow felt herself shrinking into the floor.
“Nine whole years, wow. You look… good?” Gideon ended her sentence with a question, probably just as unsure as Harrow was of what climate their relationship stood in after all this time. Harrow herself didn’t know how to interact with the other. Were they still supposed to be mean to one another? Harrow grew tired at the prospect.
“I’d like that coffee now.”
“Right!” Gideon snapped out of whatever emotions Harrow’s appearance had invoked. As she poured from a pot of drip coffee, she turned to look at Harrow. “You know, I never thought I’d see the day you’d drink something other than water and, on occasion, hot water.”
Harrow just blinked before pulling her wallet from one of the inner pockets of her coat. Her palms felt sweaty, and she was afraid she might be shaking. Her teeth were most definitely not chattering.
“Oh, um, don’t worry about it,” Gideon stared at the mug as she handed it off. “It’s on me.”
“Thank you, Nav.” Harrow murmured, pulling several bills out and stuffing them in the tip jar before retreating to her table. She could feel Gideon’s eyes boring into her back but could not bring herself to meet them again. Her neck and cheeks burned as her heart jackrabbited against her rib cage.
Harrow pulled herself out of her coat lest she melt into a puddle under her chair. She ripped off Ianthe’s arms in her mind for causing this situation to arise. Gideon, Gideon Nav in the flesh. After… after the last time she’d seen her. Harrow didn’t know what to feel or think; a million sirens were blaring in her brain. All she wanted to do was to sweep all her belongings back into her bag and bolt. She wanted to rewind time and never have come here.
The cup of coffee in front of her steamed. Before reaching for it, she covertly wiped her clammy hands on her pants. The coffee was good, or at least Harrow thought it must be. She couldn’t taste it. To her it went down like a mouthful of sand, or dirt. She wanted to barf.
If she got up and left now, what would Griddle think? Would she think Harrow hated her still, even in her mid-twenties? Would she smell Harrow’s fear?
The backs of Harrow’s knees prickled with sweat, but she resolved herself to at least attempt to work for thirty minutes. She took a few calming breaths before opening her first assignment.
Luckily, her love for academia saved her from looking like a nervous freak. She stayed planted in the chair working with only the awareness of Gideon’s presence vaguely pressing at her.
It had been more than thirty minutes by now; Harrow could make a normal exit now. But. But she stayed.
She couldn’t explain why she did it. Something about working while occasionally hearing the past bane of her existence chat with or laugh with a customer made her feel. She wasn’t sure of the feeling, but she could confidently say she was feeling something.
In a lull of study, she honed her ears to the front of the store. Gideon was manhandling what seemed to be a coworker. A glance up revealed the coworker to be a young teenager, probably about ten years younger than Griddle. Another teen stood off to the side of the pair, writing something down on a piece of blank receipt paper.
Gideon had put the first teen in a faux chokehold, musing the kids hair up at the same time.
“Issac, you need to drop! Remember what happened last time!” (“noooooo, Gideon don’t stuff me in the milk fridge again!”) The girl holding the receipt paper made another note, shaking her head as Gideon started dragging the boy into the back.
Harrow watched as the boy suddenly rag-dolled in Gideon’s arms. This freed him to slither away, hiding behind the teen girl.
“Great, now if Gideon ever tries to kidnap you you’ll maybe be able to escape.”
“Jeannemary, why would I ever kidnap him?” (“ouch, harsh!”)
“Good point.”
“Hey! Mean! I am totally worthy of being kidnapped! Gideon, if you kidnap me I could give you a cool tongue piercing or a stick-n-poke!” The boy, Issac, grabbed at Gideon’s apron. “Don’t kidnap Jeannemary over me!”
“There will be no kidnapping.” A managerial looking man walked out of the back room. He had a mock disapproving look to him, but the smile lines around his mouth gave away his true nature.
“Aw come on, Magnus. It’s all in good fun, right guys? You see, they want to be kidnapped, bossman.” Gideon said, reaching out to grab the girl teen, Jeannemary.
“The customers do not want to see you, a grown woman, harassing two minors. We’ve had complaints, you remember. The first few times it was funny but now…” Their boss closed his eyes in remembrance, slowly shaking his head from side to side.
“Heard and understood.” Gideon said.
“We won’t let her harass us, Magnus.” Jeannemary said, saluting.
“Great, well, now that that’s settled, I am going to head out. Gideon is in charge of closing, I will pick you two up after!” They bid him farewell before returning to their stations behind the bar.
Gideon glanced over at her and Harrow hurriedly flipped a page in her book and typed a nonsense sentence into her powered down laptop.
Harrow worked for another indeterminate amount of time. She zoned into anything she out her mind to, tuning out the world around her. When she stretched her arms up and popped her back, she realized the café was almost empty save for her and an older woman sitting closer to the register. Harrow recognized her to be Abigail Pent, a researcher and professor she’d been acquainted with for several years now.
Pent worked in the same building of Harrow’s doctoral classes and had helped Harrow make connections outside of the school. Abigail Pent was the reason Harrow was guaranteed a job after graduation.
Harrow started packing up her shoulder bag, slipping it on after her long coat. She carried her mug to the disposal tray before going over to Pent. Abigail looked up at Harrow’s approach, smiling when she recognized her.
“Harrowhark! I saw you when I came in, but you were so focused that I hated to bother you! How are you? I haven’t seen you in this neck of the woods before.”
“This is my first time here,” Harrow tried to think of more things to say but words failed her. She asked why Abigail ended up there so late in the day.
“Oh, I walked over here after my students left; I usually come here after. My husband will be around in-“ She checked her watch “-about twenty minutes to pick me and my kids up.” Abigail’s gaze flickered over to the teens pretending not to eavesdrop. Harrow felt awkward. It had never come up that Pent had a whole family, but then again, Harrow never asked.
“That’s… nice. I was just leaving,” Harrow readjusted her bag. “I’m sure I will see you at some point again this week.” As she turned to leave, Abigail called her back.
“Did you walk here, Harrowhark?” Harrow nodded uncomfortably. She’d found no point in purchasing a car if she were living so close to her internship and school.
“That won’t do, it’s too dangerous this time of night. Lets see, would you be alright if one of my husband’s employee’s drove you home? She is a very trustworthy young woman, great head of hair, I’m sure you’d get along famously.” Harrow squirmed, knowing where this was headed.
She wasn’t sure what had happened. Somehow she’d chosen the wrong words, or she’d arranged her sentence out of order. Everything seemed to happen in a flash. One flash and she was climbing into Gideon’s grotesque Jeep.
She was being painfully awkward, she knew this, but there seemed to be nothing she could do to fix her demeanor. She didn’t know how to interact with a fully grown Nav.
“I can’t believe you let her talk you into this.” Gideon said, trying for the third time to start her Jeep. When it finally roared to life, she quietly cheered before turning her attention back to Harrow. Harrow kept her eyes fixed on some point in the distance.
“I was coerced.” Harrow lied.
They fell into an uneasy silence, only talking about the directions to Harrow’s apartment.
Harrow wanted to jump out of her skin. She wanted to leave her body behind and fly home as a specter. This was a bit too much for one day. She wondered what Gideon must think of her. She wondered if Gideon had thought of her at all since the last time they saw one another. She wondered if Gideon could tell she was an abomination.
“I didn’t think you’d actually ever leave Drearburh for good. It always seened like you’d take over the family business of torturing orphans and eating babies.” Gideon said without looking at Harrow. She was thankful for this as her saying that name made a sharp pain travel from her heart up into her brain, making her wince.
“You thought wrong, I suppose.”
Gideon gave her a sidelong glance and Harrow sat up straighter. She clutched her bag in her lap, comforted by the weight of it crushing her legs. Chewing the skin on the inside of her cheek, she dared a question.
“Where did you go?”
“What?”
“After graduation; where did you end up?” Harrow said staring at the dirt smeared glovebox. Gideon took in a long breath, like thinking about it caused her great suffering.
“I looked for my parents.” And at Harrow’s quizzical look she said, “Turns out I’m not as much of an orphan as I thought. Before I left, I broke into the record room, found my file, and saw there was a name listed under the mother section. She’s dead. I think everyone under the moon knew that, but there was also several names under the father section. They couldn’t pin down who exactly squirted me out, so they just listed all the possibilities.”
“Did you find them?” Harrow ventured.
“One of them was also dead as a doorknob, so I hunted down the living candidate. I found him—he’s a rich bigwig, bet you feel stupid now huh.” She smirked. “Anyway, he was not the greatest. Kind of controlling, wanted to pin me down and keep me, so I ran off.”
“Ran off where?”
“I applied to colleges at the same time as you, you do know that right? I was accepted to one not far from here. Got my bachelor’s degree and moved here. My dad is in my life a little now. He mostly just sends ‘I’m sorry for being a shitty dad’ money, which is nice.”
Harrow churned this information around in her head. She hadn’t ever come up with any plausible place Gideon had gone, only focusing on the part of her being gone. How ironic that Gideon got a parent when Harrow lost both of hers. She ground her teeth together.
“And you? I mean, what did Harrowhark Nonagesimus get up to after her archnemesis vanished?”
“I’d hardly say you were my archnemesis.”
“Your bête noire?” Harrow snorted, smoothing her eyebrows with her thumb and middle finger.
“I didn’t get up to much.” Harrow lied.
“Come off it, you had like twenty books with you earlier.”
“Oh, you meant after that summer. Well, I moved to school here and have been here ever since. There isn’t much else.”
“What are you in school for?” Gideon asked.
“I’m working on my doctorate right now. I did anthropology as my undergrad and forensic anthropology for my master’s.” Gideon’s eyes went comically wide, she took her eyes off the road to give Harrow a dramatic look. “What?” Harrow asked, baffled.
“What the fuck, shouldn’t you be doing theology? Where did anthropology come from?” She sounded genuinely interested in Harrow’s education.
“I’ve always had an interest in osteology, and I just so happened to be going to a school with a phenomenal anthropology department.” Harrow lifted her chin up, trying for haughty.
“What did your parents say to that? They must’ve been furious.”
“They would’ve been furious, but they died before I chose my major so I didn’t get to hear their opinions.”
“Wh- I’m sorry?” Gideon tried and failed to sound empathetic. Harrow knew that Gideon’s experience with her parents was only a degree worse than hers, and hers hadn’t been very good at all.
“You don’t have to try and feel sorry for me. They were terrible people; they did terrible things.” Harrow said. She thought she could hear the cogs in Gideon’s brain overheating and exploding.
“I never thought I’d hear you ever speak like that about them. You are different aren’t you, Nonagesimus.”
“Did you think I kept my air of teenage bitchiness and old opinions with me all these years. I am more learned now; I can look critically at my past.” Harrow said as Gideon pulled up in front of her studio apartment. “Thank you for the ride, Nav.” Harrow started climbing out.
“Wait!” Gideon said and Harrow stopped in her tracks, hair obscuring one side of her face. “Will I, um, see you again? Will I see you around?”
“Maybe.” Harrow answered noncommittally, slipping out the Jeep and speedwalking to her door. Gideon’s Jeep grumbled as she fumbled with her keys. Only when she was safely inside did Gideon drive off.
Harrow locked, deadbolted, and chain-locked her door before collapsing with her back to it, sliding until she met the floor. She felt buried memories trying to rise up in her head. Fighting off the waves of panic, she rose to go to bed. A trail of clothes formed as she walked, leaving her to crawl in bed in her underwear and a full face of makeup.
A part of her strangely wanted to cry.