Chapter Text
It wasn’t intentional, this feeling growing in his chest with each passing day.
It was, arguably, quite the opposite of intentional.
Harvey is a smart man.
He’s a kind, open-minded, self-assured man.
But he’s never quite considered himself to be a brave man - at least, not with his own heart.
So yes, when his ex-girlfriend, Ada, had informed him that they were over; that she was looking for something more exciting, and he was too tiresome and just too monotonous for her (with the same bluntness he had once so admired in her), he resigned from the hospital, packed his life into a flurry of cardboard boxes, and moved to Pelican Town with the express intention of bottling up his heartbreak and starting over.
Vic, his oldest friend from childhood, had tactfully tried to talk him out of it.
“Don’t be an idiot.” He had said when Harvey had started boxing his belongings up. “We’ll find you a new hospital; we’ll hit some bars - I’ll play wingman whenever you want! Bridget has half a dozen coworkers she can set you up with! You can’t just up and leave, there’s so much more opportunity here than - where did you say you were going? Partridge Town?”
Harvey rolled his eyes. “Pelican Town. I don’t need more opportunities - and I definitely don’t need your girlfriend to set me up - what I need is a fresh start. I’ve already leased a building there - I’m going to open my own clinic.”
“You can open a clinic here!”
“Vic…”
“Look, okay, Ada is Bridget’s sister and yes, I love her like she’s my own, but she’s an idiot. I just - I don’t want you to make any rash decisions that you’re going to regret.”
“This isn’t about Ada,” This was the first time Harvey had said his Ex’s name since she left and, frankly, it came out a touch more strangled than he’d hoped. “Well, okay, it is - but it’s also something I’ve been thinking of doing for a while. This just, sort of… forced my hand.”
Vic - ever the supportive friend - sighed, grumbling half-heartedly as he grabbed the nearest box and began haphazardly throwing things inside. “Bridget is never going to let me hear the end of this.”
Harvey opened his practice in a small office attached to the local grocery market. He befriended the locals, who were open and friendly and more than happy to have their own physician right in the heart of their town - if you could call the tiny cluster of houses a town (he wasn't convinced).
He had even begun spending his days off outside - most of the time even willingly.
He would watch the wildlife on his weekly walks through the lush trails of the forest. He listened to the wrens and nuthatches skittering across branches high above him; the woodpeckers drilling away at the trunks; the hares and squirrels scampering through the underbrush. It both surprised and excited him that he knew the wildlife around him - that he had learned and understood this natural world that he, quite honestly, hadn't even known existed during his previous life in the depths of the big city.
Some days, he didn't think he was recognizable from that old life.
He spent those sunny evenings doing crosswords in the park; his rainy ones making his models, or having a drink with his new friends in the saloon. Leah and Elliot were far more artistic and opinionated than Harvey could ever hope to be, but they seemed to appreciate his pragmatic debates and dry wit nonetheless.
Overall, he was content. Happy.
“I'm honestly doing well on my own.” He told Elliot over a few beers at the Stardrop on one particularly late night last summer. The man had been playing wingman to Harvey all summer, urging his friend to one tourist or another every weekend. This time it was a curvy, blonde woman nursing a white wine with (who Harvey presumed to be) her sister. “Between my practice and my models - plus I just got that radio transceiver I was talking about. I wouldn’t have time for a relationship anyway.”
“Please, don't remind me about your model planes.” Harvey swears he can see the shiver Elliot is trying in vain to suppress. “And no one said anything about a relationship, but surely a man is entitled to a sensual night under the stars with a consenting, like-minded adult.”
Harvey took a hearty swig of his beer because, frankly, a sensual night under the stars with a stranger sounded uncomfortable (and incredibly messy in every sense of the word) and because he’d had this exact conversation with Elliot at least half a dozen times already.
“I’m serious, Harvey, I worry about you.”
Right on cue.
Harvey sighs. “There’s nothing to be concerned about.”
“You haven’t felt the love of a good woman in years.”
“Oh for God’s sa-”
But Elliott was having none of it. “Promise me you’ll at least talk to a woman tonight.”
“What are you talking about, of course I will.”
“Someone who isn’t married or Leah, Harvey, I beg you.”
Damn.
“Okay, fine, if it’s so important to you I’ll get to know your blonde friend.” Harvey sighed in defeat, leaning back in the seat and gesturing vaguely at the woman.
And because he was a man of his word he did exactly that. They talked about their pets (her: an elderly poodle that used to belong to her late grandmother, him: a mourning dove he liked to leave sunflower seeds on his window ledge for); their favourite movies (her: The Shining, him: Jaws), and the best way to roast a marshmallow (her: roasted to a perfect golden brown, him: burnt to a crisp). She was very friendly, very nice, and an overall delight to have a conversation with. But when the crowds lessened and the night grew late, Harvey excused himself, went home, and never spoke to her again.
“You’ve closed yourself off to the idea of romance, Harvey.” Elliott said when Harvey gave the play-by-play a few days later. “No one should live that way.”
And while he didn’t put much credence in his friend’s obvious belief that he would, sadly, die alone, he figured that he would stumble upon something amazing when it was time, and there wasn’t much point in rushing that, was there?
He was perfectly happy focusing on his career, and re-discovering himself in the wake of what Leah had taken to referring to as ‘The Witchy Ex of His’.
(Harvey had reminded her of Ada’s name numerous times, but the denotation had stuck regardless.)
So when a young woman stumbles - quite literally, falls - into him at the Stardrop one spring day, Harvey has no immediate inclination to notice the shine of her hair; the warmth of her body; the flush of her cheeks as she dabs uselessly at the wine stain splashed across the fabric of his shirt from her now-empty glass.
Yes, she’s pretty, but she is, after all, just another tourist that Elliot will use against him in the opportunity to ‘release the pressures of his pent-up desires’.
He babbles his own flustered reassurances that everything is fine, the collision is likely his own fault, and he’s never been fond of that shirt anyway (he was - it was the favourite piece of clothing he owned) - because despite all the changes brought by this new life of his, Harvey is, in some ways, the same shy, awkward doctor he had been back in the city.
“Ah, Doc, I see you’ve run into the newest resident of our beloved Pelican Town.” Lewis pipes in from his spot at the bar, a little more loudly than necessary as he chuckles at his own (unfunny) joke. “She’s moving into the old farmhouse on the outskirts. On the edge of the forest. You know the one?”
“The abandoned one?” Harvey blurts without thinking, his brow creased.
But a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth as she eyes him, her gaze one of careful consideration. “Well, not anymore.”
“This here is our very own Doctor. He runs the clinic right in town.” Lewis tells the woman proudly, as though Harvey’s arrival had been a completely premeditated move on the mayor’s part. And because of the liquor that must be impacting the old man’s judgement, or because he just likes to see Harvey squirm, Lewis continues. “If there’s anyone who’s seen us all with our pants down, it’s him.”
The groan that Harvey tries to bite back still manages to escape in a strangled cough, but the grin that spreads across her face is nothing short of contagious, and he feels the corners of his lips twitch as she watches him, eyes dancing in humour.
“Nice to meet you… Doctor.” She acknowledges pointedly, obviously amused that Lewis hasn’t bothered with using his first name (though with the subtle slurring in the Mayor’s voice, Harvey isn’t even sure he’s noticed).
“Please,” He holds out his hand, his own smile still growing with hers. “Call me Harvey.”
Her brow quirks at the formality of the outstretched hand, but takes it anyway, introducing herself with a firm shake.
“I should probably get back to the others.” She says, gesturing to the other side of the room, where a group roughly her age are laughing around the arcade machine and Harvey agrees amiably, buying her a replacement drink - he was raised a gentleman, after all - and bidding her farewell without second thought.
In fact, the woman doesn’t cross his mind again until a few days later.
The bell over the clinic door jingles, the cheerful chime in contrast to the late spring storm thundering outside, and pulling Harvey’s attention away from the medical research paper he had been immersed in. He folds the paper carefully, tossing it to the side of his desk, and saunters down the short hallway to the front of the clinic.
“What brings you in today?” He asks, stepping into the lobby.
If there’s anything Harvey has learned about Pelican Town, it’s that no one is ever in a rush.
When he first arrived, he moved like he was on hospital time - darting between rooms, hurrying patient-to-patient, anticipating emergencies that never came. It’s what he’d been trained for, honestly. It had been drilled into him during his residency - if you weren’t in three places at once, you were already behind.
It had taken him months in his new home to unlearn that urgency. Here, there was never a need to rush from one place to the next; no one was ever in a hurry. There were never any emergencies.
Which is why it takes him a moment to register that the new presence at his front counter is, in fact, just that.
There’s a dishcloth wrapped around her left hand; seasonal, the once cheerful pattern now blooming red as blood steadily seeps through the fabric.
A chagrined grimace crosses her pale face as she, unnecessarily, indicates her hand. “Just a casual bleeding situation here. No big deal.”
“Should I be on the lookout for the other guy?” Harvey asks as he strides across the room and takes her wounded hand in his, his movements gentle as he checks it over carefully, his eyes scanning for the worst of it.
“No need.” She says wryly. “Just a screwdriver and my own poor life decisions.” He raises a brow at her in question. “There’s no air conditioning at my Grandpa’s.” She adds, as though that explains everything.
“Okay.” He nods. It explains absolutely nothing. “Well, the bleeding seems to have stopped and is clotting nicely, but you’ll definitely need stitches.” He nods once, toward the closest exam room. “Let’s get it cleaned up and I can take a better look.”
Harvey leads her into the small examination room, gesturing her to sit while he gathers antiseptic and saline solution from the cabinet. He settles into the exam chair in front of her, carefully unwrapping the now-soaked cloth and tossing it into the bin as she hisses softly.
“So,” he starts, wetting a small pad with the antiseptic, “Explain to me how ‘no air-conditioning’ leads to this.”
She exhales. “It’s been warm, right? My grandpa never felt the need to install A/C, so I tried opening a window for a breeze. Except it stuck. And I’m apparently incapable of giving up -”
Harvey hums as he cleans the wound.
“ -so I grabbed a screwdriver and tried to pry it open. It slipped.”
“Mm,” he says. “It always does.”
“I thought about disinfecting it, but I haven’t unpacked all of my boxes yet and the only thing I could find was an old bottle of whiskey -”
“Honestly?” Harvey says, glancing up. “Not the worst improvisation. Doubles as a coping mechanism.”
She gives a snort of laughter. “Well, I figured I shouldn’t come here smelling like a distillery. If I’d known you’d be so cool about it, maybe I’d have changed my mind.”
“Not ‘cool’, just realistic” He begins, his mouth twitching. “First lesson of medicine: always stay one step ahead of your patients.”
“I imagine this town has a habit of keeping you on your toes.”
This earns a chuckle from Harvey. “You have no idea.”
She watches him as he injects the anesthetic. “So what’s your story Dr. Harvey? Local boy, or did you get mysteriously trapped in a storybook village.”
“I took over the clinic a couple years ago.” He says, carefully tugging the suture closed. “Came for the picturesque town, stayed for the colourful characters.”
“It sounds like the town has a way of holding onto people.”
Harvey nods with a grin. “Oh absolutely. Some weeks it's charming, others it’s more of a hostage situation.”
“Duly noted.” She says through a laugh. “I guess I’ll find out soon.”
“Preferably without additional injuries. Try not to impale yourself again.”
“No promises. My Grandpa’s house is like a booby-trapped time capsule from 1952.”
“Your house.” He corrects gently.
“What?”
“You keep saying your ‘Grandpa’s house’.” Harvey points out, tying off his thread in a neat knot. “But you bought it. That makes it yours.”
She goes quiet for a beat. Then, softly, “Yeah, I guess it is.”
He wraps the stitches with a length of gauze before pushing back from the exam table, the wheels of his chair squeaking across the tile. “There. You’ll live.”
“Thank you, Dr. Harvey.” She says with an impish grin.
“Just Harvey. Seriously. Keep it clean, take it easy for a day or two.”
“You got it. No more work today - I have to stop by Pierre’s on my way home anyway, I seem to have officially ruined my last dishcloth.”
“Look at it this way,” he says, leaning back. “It’s an excuse to make the house feel more like your own.”
“Ooh - something with a little floral pattern, maybe?”
Harvey gives a low whistle. “Floral? For a farmer? How unexpected.”
“Come on, maybe some moss green? A little dandelion yellow?”
“Dandelion yellow?” Harvey crosses his arms, amused. “Isn’t that just… the colour of weeds?”
She gasps dramatically. “The colour of sunshine, Harvey. Honestly - no taste.”
Harvey hums, raising his hands in surrender. “So how are things going on the farm?”
“Good! Marnie brought in chicks for me.” Her expression softens “I swear, a couple days ago they were just balls of fluff, and now they’re real chickens. They’re growing so fast!”
“That’s great! You know, I have a bunch of sunflower seeds back at home, I could drop them by if you want - I bet the chickens would like them.”
Her eyes light up. “They’d love that! They peck at everything right now, it’s actually sort of fun to watch.”
He smiles at that. “I’ll stop by on Monday, after clinic hours.”
“I’ll hold you to that. The chickens will be disappointed if you don’t show.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” he says lightly. “I take my reputation with livestock very seriously.”
She laughs, carefully sliding off the exam table. “Thank you again. For the stitches.”
“Anytime,” Harvey replies, adding, “If the window gives you trouble again, maybe call before reaching for any power tools.”
“No promises,” She says, already backing to the door, amusement dancing in her eyes. “But I’ll consider it.”
The bell jingles as she leaves, the storm outside having already softened to a steady drizzle, and Harvey finds himself watching the door for a moment longer than strictly necessary.
He shakes his head, faintly amused, and turns back to his desk.
For reasons he can’t quite put his finger on, the encounter lingers - not in any dramatic, heart-pounding way, but like a half-remembered melody, pleasant and easy. It surprises him how easy the conversation had felt; how little effort it had taken to talk about chickens and dishcloths and stubborn windows.
Human connection, he thinks. That’s all.
Elliott’s voice drifts unhelpfully through his memory, half-laughing over an unfinished pint: ‘Promise me you’ll at least talk to a woman tonight’.
Harvey exhales, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You’ll never let that go, will you?” he mutters to the empty room.
He hadn’t expected for Elliott to be even a little bit right.
And he’s sensible; he knows better than to read too much into a single pleasant interaction - especially with someone new to town; someone younger; someone still trying to find their place in the world.
If anything, it’s just nice to meet someone who feels so… genuine.
Who laughs so easily.
There are worse things than being open to possibility.