ride that wave

All of the exciting energy felt Nessa had been consumed by only moments ago had disapparated, and all that remained was a bit of a buzz and an empty stomach. "Oh, yeah, right," She said, and even though she believed that he had not ordered them, her tone of voice implied differently. Nessa was confident that Harlan did not need to stoop to getting witches trashed to bring them home, so she was sure this wasn't a ploy, but it didn't matter. The change of attitude had nothing to do with whether or not Harlan was trying to pull something and everything to do with the potions in front of them. Ordered or not, they brought up some feelings she would have much rather avoided tonight.

On a normal day, Nessa was quite skilled at compartmentalization, but tonight she was defenseless. Her armor was down from copious amounts of alcohol and being around an old flame. Sentimentality and nostalgia had worked their way in like weeds, and now she was in the throws of her emotions. It wasn't just that she hated any potion that distorted the mind on principal, but she wished Torrence would stop making them. In her mind, her brother was wasting his incredible natural talent making drugs. Nessa had a lot of opinions on the subject, and most of them were not happy feelings.

None of this was Harlan's fault, but that had never stopped the complicated witch from taking it out on him before. "Yes, I am fine," She said, sitting up straight and setting her jaw. It was clear she was anything but. "Can we just go?" Nessa asked, not waiting for an answer as she stood up from the booth and knocked the potion vials over forcefully. The pearly liquid oozed out slowly and began to waste on the tabletop as she waited for Harlan to escort her out.

Frowning slightly, his mouth in a hard line, Harlan watched as the gears turned in Nessa's head. He could only assume that the shift in her demeanor was because she truly thought that he would order the potions specifically for them. If she truly believed that, apparently the witch trusted him even less than he thought. Sure, the distance that time had put between them played a role, but—

Nessa straightened up. Harlan set his jaw to mirror hers, glanced back at her from over his shoulder where he was leaned slightly forward in the booth. Her question came with an answer it seemed and before he knew it was standing up and they were making their way through the growing crowd.

He couldn't be certain what time it actually was by that stage, though it was probably better they were leaving.

The doorman ushered them out the private exit— clearly didn't read the mood— and Harlan exhaled into the December air and ran a hand through his hair to push it back. "Fucks sake, I didn't order that, Nessa," Harlan said her name and it brought back an entirely new set of memories to the forefront. Back to when most of how they communicated was through their own respective defenses.

Nessa was up and moving out of the club without hesitation, fueled by whiskey and bad memories. She hated feeling vulnerable, and for the tiniest of moments, she thought Harlan might pick up on why her mood had changed. The last thing she wanted was for him to ask questions about her brother or her family, so in a twisted way, she preferred that he thought it was because of the potions. The way he was speaking to her now—however—was certainly not preferred. Whether it was the whiskey or the whiplash, she felt agitated now. Nessa folded her arms over her chest as she stared at him narrowly.

"And I never said that you did," Harlan standing in front of her, running his hands through his hair and defensive, reminded her of a time when it felt like all they did was argue. Bickering about everything, big and small. It had been consuming, and while the good stuff had been good too, with all of the reminders so fresh, the bad was all she could remember. "But, of course, you are going to assume the worst." Nessa was a judgemental person by nature, and she was rarely quiet about it. The assumption wasn't far-fetched, and she wasn't even sure why she was arguing with him.

She really hadn't thought he had ordered the potions as some ploy, she might not have known this updated version of Harlan, but she liked to think she knew him well enough for that. And the night had been going quite well, a couple more shots, and Nessa would have gladly gone anywhere he wanted, potions not required. Instead, they were arguing about a nonevent, and Nessa was already digging her heels in. In addition to being judgemental and ridiculously high maintenance, the witch was also quite stubborn.

He could remember that particular look— Nessa with her arms over her chest and her face concentrated on evoking absolutely everything to not divulge how she was really feeling. It was one that she had seemed to perfect over the years, even despite the distance that time put between them. Harlan knew it was hypocritical of him to be so put off by it given his less than sunny disposition most of the time, but he just couldn't help himself.

"Right, then," Harlan let out a sigh. She wasn't wrong when she said that he so often turned to assume the worst, but then again, could she really blame him? The context clues were there, all signs pointing in the same direction, what else could have been going on?

Harlan studied Nessa instead of continuing to belabor his point (and Merlin could he ever, he thought). Even drunk he couldn't miss the innate similarities in their tendencies— neither more likely to self-sabotage and destroy anything that cut too close to the heart. He figured that had been a contributing factor to their inevitable demise, and what was proving to rear its ugly head at present.

"So what is it then?" He had lowered his voice slightly but was still adjusting to the quiet of the otherwise uninhabited London outside. The air was pitch black and offered no indication of the time, but Harlan could assume that it was well beyond the hour of anything good to come.

Adamant on standing her ground, Nessa did her best to resist the urge to sway. Drunkenness was easier to manage inside the bar, tucked behind the dampening charms, with Harlan's hand resting on her thigh. And while there may have been some way to get back to that, the passage was closing quickly, and Nessa knew it. And with every second they stood out here, the cold air broke against the nostalgic little bubble they had been in all night. The shield that time had built was slowly chipping away, and with it came the memories. Fighting with Harlan about everything, from her need for attention to the lies about her age, all the things they had done wrong, and everything he did right that annoyed her anyway. It was a mess she had no intention of recreating.

"It is nothing, don't worry about it." She snapped, but she knew better than to believe that would put an end to it. Maybe they would drop this particular conversation, but they had no chance of heading back into the bar and having a good night. At best, they'd part ways quietly, and at worst, it'd be another ten years before she could face him again. "Can we not do this?" She asked suddenly, dropping her hands from in front of her as she sighed. The more the liquor coursed through her, the less she could properly separate the past from the present. There were plenty of things that went unsaid before, and whiskey had a way of digging up old arguments.

"I would like to go home." It wasn't Harlan's responsibility to get her there, but Nessa implied it anyway. She was a grown witch, and while she was far too inebriated to apparate safely, there was always the floo.

Harlan didn't dare pull a face. He was old enough to know that anytime a woman said don't worry about it, that pressing buttons further was not a good idea. At her next question though, he felt the heat in his chest start to rise. Could they not do this? His eyes narrowed on her before he let out a breath somewhere between a sigh and a groan. That would be easy, he thought, considering he had absolutely no clue what it was that they were doing. One moment they were having a surprisingly good time and the next—

"Gladly," He quipped, unable to help himself. There was no real point in belaboring the question any further, his best option was to just leave it as it was. When it came to him and Nessa no one really won when they got to arguing— both hard-headed to the point of blind spots.

"Right," Harlan agreed, not intending on talking her down from that one, though not at all hiding the question on his face when he realized she wasn't just storming off. He opened his mouth to spout something off about her being well equipped to handle getting home on her own, he knew himself better than to think he would ever allow that to happen, regardless of circumstance.

"You shouldn't apparate," Harlan couldn't stop himself from making up the rules. "Mine's not far," It dawned on him she hadn't seen his place in London, a gift from The Griffins as part of a signing bonus when he joined the team. He also hoped it was implicitly clear that he wasn't trying anything with his suggestion, he seemed just as dark about it as she was. "You can floo from there," He decided, leading the way.

fin

Nessa tried to narrow her eyes at Harlan, he had no business telling her what she should or shouldn't do right now, but she just wobbled instead. It had been a bad idea to drink this much; she knew she had gotten carried away, and Nessa was already starting to beat herself up for it. Some part of her knew it was because she had been around Harlan again. Old habits, and all that.

Shivering a little, she held her jacket closed and nodded. "Okay, yeah," It would have been silly to argue with him at this hour. She was drunk, there was no chance she'd end up in the right place if she tried to apparate, and that was if she didn't get splinched just for trying. Most establishments were closed, and she wasn't going to try to go back into Eschelon to use their fireplace, so what other option did she have?

"Harlan Bellamy, living in London... a lot has changed..." Her thoughts became words as Nessa waited for him to lead the way. She hoped this wouldn't be the last time she saw Harlan; despite everything, his hold on her had not faded entirely.

[/end]