fear the future [harlan]

early march 2003

It wasn’t weird, meeting his family; she’d met them before, though it had been in a slightly more formal capacity when she had made the wedding cake for his sister a couple years ago. And now she — the sister, not Honey — had a baby and Honey had offered to go with for the meet-and-greet because she was, unsurprisingly, better with kids than Harlan was. It was more of a supportive thing rather than a let’s-take-this-to-the-next-level sort of thing; she wasn’t about to bring him home to meet her parents, not so soon after the article (and not while they still talked about how much they missed Will).

It didn’t end up being a huge family thing anyway; his parents had been around, separately, for a few minutes before moving onto other things; his brother was running late, which was fine enough because his kids were apparently the worst; his sister had handed the baby off to Honey and promptly fallen asleep. Honey settled into the other uncomfortable, superfluous living room, with a baby whose name she couldn’t remember in her arms.

Babies all looked the same, really, and this one was no different. Honey looked down at her again; she wasn’t doing much of anything besides existing, which was great because Honey’s usual trick for babysitting — bribery with sweets — wouldn’t work as long as candy remained a choking hazard. She looked around the room instead, but it seemed a little swanky for her tastes (and not exactly child-friendly). Tasteful decor, dark wood accents, leatherbound books, other boring, stuffy things.

“Hey—“ Harlan was leaning against the doorframe and Honey couldn’t remember him showing up in the first place. “Do you want to trade?” she asked, quietly enough to not upset whatsherface. He had a drink in his hand, which she could only assume he was bringing to her rather than anything else. Honey nodded toward the drink, to the baby. “It’s not that bad.” She nodded, only sort of lying.

@Harlan Bellamy

There was a pit in his stomach.

Harlan watched with muted interest as honey-colored whiskey drained from the decanter. His eyes glazed over. The crystal vessel floated back to the cabinet of its own accord after filling his glass two fingers, landing with a quiet clink. Being around his family always made him feel this way. Like there was no amount of alcohol that would ever be enough. There wasn't much he could do to avoid it this time, though, it being the birth of his first niece and all.

With Simon's kids, it had been different. It was Simon, and Harlan had decided before even meeting them what their relationship was going to be like. As it turned out, the boys were just as much a pain in the ass as Simon had been when they were growing up — entitled, precocious and entirely unbearable. Valerie didn't feel that way though. Not yet, at least. She was calm, light, in some way.

He chewed the side of his lip in thought. This was new. Thankfully, his older brother and the spawn hadn't turned up yet, and his parents had made themselves scarce. These days it was hard enough for them to even be in the same room, let alone even pretend that they were together. It seemed like as they got older the less capacity they had for the charade. It left only him, Honey and his sister, who had apparently gone to sleep in the time that it had taken him to get a drink one room over.

Audrey liked Honey. He knew because she confessed it after one too many martinis in the city visiting him after a business meeting. It was rare because Audrey didn't like anyone. And she'd only met Honey briefly. Audrey was admittedly terrifying. Even her husband, who was currently off to find the very specific fruit that she craved, Harlan suspected felt the same. She was the kind of woman that had a plan for everything, and anyone that got in her way would be drilled into the ground without so much as a second glance. A trait passed on from their father.

Harlan leaned against the frame of the door, pausing before entering. Honey met his eye and at once he was thankful all over again that she had agreed to come along. Otherwise, that would have been him sitting there.

"Hey," He repeated with a lazy half of a grin, taking a step back into the room that had become soaked in the early evening sun. "Absolutely not," He laughed into his drink as he made his way to the pair of them, silvery eyes shifting between them. "I'll share if you promise to keep doing whatever it is you're doing," Harlan held the glass to Honey, though he was watching his niece. She was impossibly small, much unlike her six-foot-tall mother. He couldn't help but grin as her eyes fluttered open before closing again.

"Her hands are so small," Harlan touched the top of Valerie's closed fist with the tips of his fingers briefly, before catching himself in his own sentimentality. "You look like a natural," He knew that would get Honey going. "Would you like me to post a photo to your mum?" He took the glass again and sat back in the armchair adjacent, a grin plastered over his face.

“Absolutely not,” she repeated, lazily rolling her eyes before looking at him with a small smirk; she hadn’t expected anything different but she was his niece. “I promise.” She wasn’t doing anything special besides sitting still but if it looked like she was putting effort in then all the better for her, she guessed. It took her a few seconds to shift the baby to one arm; she held out her hand for his glass as soon as it was free. Harlan wasn’t paying any real attention to her so she took her time with the drink, a couple slow sips; she didn’t usually start with whiskey as a first drink, usually working up to it with a few other drinks first. She’d appreciate him having something better for her to steal next time.

Honey raised her eyebrows at Harlan’s moment of — whatever that was — and she looked from his hand to his face, searching for any hint that she needed to read into his statement at all, but he recovered before she had time to worry. She had another swallow, mid-sip when he spoke next; she lifted her middle finger off the glass as she finished the sip. “Merlin—“ she lowered the glass and made a face, hesitant to hand it back so soon, but (as usual) she gave it up after a few seconds.

“Don’t get her hopes up.” She shifted towards him, switched the baby to the other side; seemed like she wouldn’t be getting a break any time soon. It was bad enough— for getting up her mum’s hopes, anyway— that she had made it more than a few weeks with one man; her mum had no issue reminding her she was ‘running out the clock’ so heaven help them if she got babies on the brain. “Unless you have plans to follow through,” she added with a smirk, eyes drifting south to his lap for far too long to be appropriate while holding a tiny human.

It had been a few weeks since they had properly seen each other — anything more than a late night I-want-to-see-you-wink-wink kind of thing — so it was nice, almost, to see him now, even if it had required small talk and the tiny weight in her arms. She had heard more about him than from him but she had convinced herself that was fine; they were both busy, successful, still trying hard at this.

“You don’t have an early morning tomorrow, yeah?” She was pretty sure but she wanted to confirm that they could find some time sans-baby together. “No reason.”

Harlan's mouth pulled into a cruel grin, his hand outstretched and waiting for Honey to return his drink. The finger, he expected, but still he tutted disapprovingly before pushing it back into her palm. "Not in front of the baby," He teased just above a whisper and sat back on the velvet armchair.

There was no intention of opening that can of worms—a baby—not when it came to her parents. No matter how fictitious. The Flume's, whom he hadn't met, seemed to be the type of family that would take it to heart. Harlan's parents, on the other hand, had hardly even pretended to invest in whatever it was that he and Honey were calling themselves these days. When it came to their youngest son, they'd long foregone any hope that he would ever truly settle down.

Not after Arya.

"Absolutely not," Harlan repeated with a chuckle, gaze following her own to his lap before flashing back up to her. Languidly, he crossed an ankle over his knee and watched Honey from over the rim of his glass with a hint of mischief.

It was a relief to know that they hadn't lost the chemistry that had propelled them until this point. Even if that meant they now joked about the unfortunate prospect of a pregnancy. If he were being honest, he still expected that at any moment it would fade away—that thing that they had. Distracted, he nearly missed the question—something about an early morning.

He had to think for a moment. There wasn't a match this week, and the team was still recovering from their last. Another win. The competitive side of him wanted to push them now more than ever, but he knew he needed to tread that line carefully. If he'd learned anything this season with his new recruits, it was that he needed to trust them just as much as they needed to trust him.

"No, I've called off training for a few days," Harlan answered. "Give the guys a bit of a break before next week," He continued, leaning back on his elbows. His muscles tensed at the thought of the next game. These days he was perpetually sore. "So I'm all yours," He quipped. It had been some time since they were able to spend a morning together when the sun was up.

"At least until my father tries to get me out on the polo pitch," He made a face. Bellamy family organized sport almost always ended in an argument. And he much preferred his pitch in the air. "Will you stay around for the day?" He knew Honey rarely left Honeydukes for too long, but she deserved a break after Valentine's Day. Not that his family home was much of a reprieve, of course. "On good conscience, you can't leave me here alone..." He teased.

Honey let her gaze linger even after Harlan had blocked her view. She smirked and (finally) glanced up, catching his eye. Honey’s desire for having children only extended as far as her ability to joke about it but there was no reason they couldn’t practice. She shrugged one shoulder, thinking about it anyway.

He didn’t reply right away -- she didn’t know if he was messing with her or if he honestly couldn’t remember his morning plans -- and she raised her eyebrows expectantly, so close to reminding him that she had agreed to stay the night with him here to some English countryside she couldn’t remember the name of so if he did have an early-- No, he said. Honey felt her shoulders relax. No training for a few days was promising for a lot of reasons -- they still hadn’t played Portree yet, for one -- and she briefly considered skiving off Honeydukes before realizing that would never happen.

“All mine?” That was promising for one very particular reason. Still, they were at his parents’, and Honey was sat there holding his niece, and his father might have plans for Harlan that were very much not what Honey had in mind for him. She’d heard of polo (she thought) but she’d never seen it; judging by the look on his face, expressing an interest to see him play wasn’t what he needed to hear. She’d sneak a peek (or something more obvious) at him getting sweaty, anyway.

She nodded, glancing down at the baby and smoothing her hair off her forehead before looking back to Harlan. “Guess that depends on if your sister ever wakes up.” She didn’t hate this baby bonding time but she wasn’t going to put off doing Honeydukes’ accounts to be a glorified babysitter. “Either way, the shop’s closed.” They could go back to London or Hogsmeade or they could stay and deal with his family and claim they were sleeping in (and then not sleep).

“Not sure if I have a good conscience,” she said before she focused on the rest of his sentence with less of a smirk. Of all the places she would leave him alone, this might be the only place she would choose willingly; there didn’t seem to be a lot (of women) around here to get him into trouble and even though she was trying to be more mature about it, it was hard not to think about at all. She’d stay, not because she didn’t trust him but because she really did want to spend time with him. “But I’m all yours,” she echoed his sentiment from a moment earlier, hoping her distracted thoughts hadn’t shown on her face.

It was hard to keep her thoughts on the up-and-up -- away from past experiences and current news -- however hard (not very) she tried. “Won’t be caught out by reporters out here, anyway.” She kept her voice low and shrugged lightly, trying to be as casual as ever.

Harlan glanced haphazardly over his shoulder, in the direction of the nearest guest room that he imagined his sister had drifted off to for a nap. He'd spent many a hungover Sunday in that very room, pretending to be studying, and knew the smell of the old books and cotton sheets well.

"I'm shocked she's asleep — " He finally spoke, then paused, aware of how the statement sounded in hindsight. It wasn't that he didn't think that Audrey trusted Honey, it was that he didn't think she trusted anyone. In a more generic sense, and especially with her firstborn. "— we can put her in that..." Eyes cast to the crib in the corner of the sitting room. "...bed," Not the right word, but he went with it. He hesitated to stand up and make the move, though, cautious of his every action around the child as to not disturb her.

Instead, he sat back, chin resting atop the back of his knuckles. There was something calming about where they found themselves — naturally, in the physical sense — but more importantly the consistency of it. It wasn't as bad as he thought, having someone around. He stopped short of a grin.

Won’t be caught out by reporters out here. Harlan frowned. She couldn't have just been talking about them — they'd made it past that. Though they hadn't publicly declared their relationship, they were no longer sneaking in and out of each others' houses. And he was pretty sure that Skeeter had lost her appetite for their story the moment it became any semblance of normal.

He should have anticipated the comment, though, with The Prophet having just come out a few days prior. The scathing article detailing his tryst with one of his players, Alannah. Completely untrue, but scandalous nonetheless. They hadn't had the chance to properly catch up on it, but he selfishly assumed that she had brushed it off as callously as he had.

"You know that article was a load of bollocks," His voice was determined, but softer than before. He knew Honey would know the article he was referring to. Not all of it was bullocks, but he brushed over that fact. "Rita god damned Skeeter would do anything to sell a paper..." Harlan finished what was left of his drink with a scowl. It didn't look great, Al pictured leaving his flat late at night after a workout and a few beers, but he didn't want to dignify it with an explanation. Somehow, that made it worse.

Honey glanced over, not letting her gaze linger for too long, just long enough to see that Harlan had caught what she was hinting at. From what she could (very well) remember, his PR team was pretty heavy-handed so she didn’t think it was likely he didn’t know about that article. She didn’t want to come right out and accuse him; that was so two months ago and she thought she had come a long way in their relationship to give him even a few days without bringing anything up.

Maybe the most frustrating part of the whole thing was not being mentioned at all, even after Honey had her own affairs made public a few months back. They weren’t exactly being careful anymore or avoiding being seen together -- this visit to the secluded countryside not included -- and nothing. That had been her whole pitch to Harlan months ago, that they could stop any scandalous rumors by being as non-scandalous as possible but it was hard to brush that article off as being all rumor; her own article was mostly true, anyway.

Being jealous -- if that’s what it even was, Honey wasn’t sure -- was exhausting.

Honey glanced back as Harlan spoke, eyebrows raised a bit instead of agreeing with him. “She would, but--” She paused, shrugged, slowed her already gentle side-to-side swaying with the baby. “I don’t know her.” The seeker, not the writer. “It’s not the first time it was hinted at.” Since the Griffins had signed her, though it hadn’t bothered her as much then (it had). She didn’t often want to be the only woman someone was seeing, but she was definitely feeling that now.

She could probably do well to set the baby down, but she was having an oddly calming effect on her, on the room. This conversation would have gone differently if they’d had it almost anywhere else. Honey was as level-headed as  Scottish woman with a few swallows of whisky could possibly be.

“She’s pretty hot,” she said, shrugging again, drawing conclusions from nothing more than photos. She was also more his type than Honey was, she thought, but she didn’t think that needed mentioning.

Harlan slid his empty glass down on the side table. He immediately wished that he hadn't downed its contents in such haste. The whiskey, something rare and undoubtedly expensive from his fathers collection had gone straight to his head — though it still wasn't enough to cut the edge completely.

'But.' He shifted in his seat at her pause. Ever since the article had been published, he had willed it to disappear. If he didn't talk about, think about it, address it, it would simply go away. These things had a shelf life, he justified, and it was only a matter of time before the next best thing came along — something far juicier than an unearthed affair between teammates. What he hadn't accounted for, though, were the people caught in the crosshairs of his plan of avoidance.

"She is," Hot, he agreed eventually, matter-of-factly, gaze meeting her own. He'd been studying Honey's face, watching the gears as they turned, but hadn't yet met her eyes until then. He knew Alannah (and Honey for that matter) wouldn't be pleased that he was so quick to agree but it was better than pretending. Honey, at least, would see right through him fumbling to explain that he hadn't noticed that before. And he wasn't about to try and explain that Alannah was a lot more than just a pretty face. Not now.

Harlan was a lot of things, but genuine was one of the better ones. It was impossible for him not to be himself. He could have just as easily babbled on about how she was the only one that he saw, but that wasn't him. And it wasn't them, either.

"I know," He came back to her original point, sitting back against the chair. Honey didn't know Alannah. And The Prophet, as much as he tried to fight it, always had some layer of truth in their jumbled pot of bullshit. Harlan shrugged, stopping short of mentioning the rumors that surrounded her, both true and untrue. He fought the insidious urge to bar up at any whiff of accusation.

"Nothing happened," He said finally. "I invited her over to test out the facility," The renovation of one his guest rooms to a gym. He figured it was best to be forthright, that it had been his idea, but didn't stop there. "We had a few beers, after boxing," He explained, wishing now more than ever that he had that drink to occupy himself with. The latter wasn't necessarily a need-to-know, but he figured he may as well have gotten ahead of it either way. "That was it," He repeated, unsure how it would go over.

He didn’t disagree that Alannah was attractive; that was for the best really, because if Honey had noticed it from photos alone, it would have been impossible to miss after months of training and coaching. It was disappointing, almost, that she couldn’t challenge him on his ignorance of it. Almost-- she didn’t think she was looking for vaguely related topics to be upset about instead (and keep them away from the real topic) but maybe.

Nothing happened. Honey wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but maybe something a little more than that. (She only briefly considered the thought that maybe he didn’t look like he was hiding anything because he really wasn’t hiding anything.) He explained a little -- but not too much -- and she glanced down at the baby again to keep herself from rolling her eyes. It should have been a relief; nothing had happened, the paper had overstepped, they could move along; it was hard to move past, maybe because she had been the one to bring it up in the first place.

It sounded like something she would say -- that was it -- and had said at a few points in her life; it didn’t exactly inspire confidence. She glanced up without saying anything, considering him for a minute. Was this how the rest of their lives would go? It would be one accusation after the other, like it had been for the past couple years (never mind that his accusation about Will had been well founded but hadn’t technically been her cheating). Things would be printed, things would be denied and apparently Honey wasn’t newsorthy enough for Harlan on her own.

She was gutted that she was considering any sort of ‘forever’ with someone, even one with Harlan. Things with him had been different, obviously, to get them to where they were (minus this minor little setback), but it was still a lot to wrap her head around. Her typical long-term planning involved what sort of chocolate to make for the next big holiday and this was certainly not that. Being with Harlan was almost more work than her actual job.

She couldn’t exactly yell while holding a baby, but then again, confronting her own feelings and discussing them calmly wasn’t exactly her strong suit. She settled for something in between: “Fuck, okay.” She said it quietly — or quiet enough that no one besides Harlan would hear her swearing in such close proximity to the little one — with a bit of an added sigh. It was as close as she was going to get to saying she believed him. “Looks a lot worse if you ignore it,” she said a little louder, looking at him again. “Not just you, here.”

As he waited for Honey to say something, anything, Harlan became acutely aware of the uptick of his heartbeat. It felt irregular against his chest, uncomfortable even, but he avoided shifting again in his seat. It wasn't that he was nervous — he had no reason to be — it was more that he knew how bad the whole situation looked. Those grainy black and white images splashed across the gossip section of The Prophet told a story all on their own. If the roles had been reversed, he most certainly would not have been as collected as she, and he tried desperately to hold onto that already fleeting thought.

Finally— fuck, okay. He frowned, studying her face before flicking his gaze down the velvet design on the arm of his chair in thought. Honey had a way of letting things roll off her back, it was an art, so he selfishly assumed that this would be no different. They'd already faced their fair share of press debacles at this point, what was one more? Now, though, it felt different. He could feel the pressure of the words that she wasn't saying, making it hard to think straight.

"I don't care what it looks like," Harlan spoke up, voice more harsh than intended, and regretted it immediately. Of course, he did. Not in the sense that he cared what random people thought of him, but because as it turned out this impacted more than just him now. He'd gotten so accustomed to taking these things on his own that the thought that she was just as much a part of that article as he was hadn't truly dawned on him until then.

Rubbing his forehand with the heel of his palm, Harlan let out a sigh. "Sorry," He spoke more softly now, eventually getting up from his chair and approaching where she sat with his niece. He resisted running a hand over her soft, wispy white hair and instead focused on Honey. "Look," She didn't immediately look up at him. Harlan touched the underside of her chin with two fingers and pulled it up.

"All that matters is that you believe me," Harlan's hand curled under her jaw, thumb running along the side of her mouth down to her chin. "You know I'm much better at keeping things a secret," He couldn't help himself at mentioning the afterthought, smirking. Honey more than anyone knew that. He turned more serious again. "The rumors are always going to be a thing," His hand explored her skin distractedly. So long as they were both in the public, articles were inevitable, both justly and unjustly. "Get out while you can," He offered, darkly, only half joking.

Honey’s eyebrows shot up. He didn’t care what it looked like, which was all well and good for him but— her parents were far from being as disconnected as his were; they were bound to notice if she showed up to Christmas with someone she was rumored to be dating ages ago, long before he was rumored to be dating so many other women.

She rolled her eyes, stopped in her tracks before she got a chance to say anything. He apologized and it caught her off guard; they weren’t exactly the type to do that and she wasn’t sure she loved hearing it, even if she thought she deserved to. They didn’t venture far past a ‘sorry I’m late’ here and there or the more common but less sincere ‘sorry I’m drunk’ — for two years. The more she thought about it — all two seconds — the more she decided she didn’t like it, that it looked weak and that wasn’t what—

Honey remembered after another second that she had apologized for her article, the one that had implicated Harlan in her affairs; she had no idea what she was mad about anymore, the paper, the apology, Harlan in general? She’d be mad at herself as a last resort, and only then.

This, this, the whole mess of the relationship, was far more serious than she had thought. She was more committed (and more quickly) than ever; she hadn’t immediately sought the out when she saw the paper, hadn’t accused him and left, hadn’t let that be the end of things; she would have, had it been literally anyone else but Harlan. He sat next to her as she waited for the tiny little mental alarm bells to go off (they didn’t) and told her to look at him as she tried to figure out if that scared her or not (it did).

She looked at him only once he had tilted her chin up, caught his eye for the second of silence before he spoke again. She thought she believed him, wasn’t sure she cares that much after another second.  His fingers were distracting, clouding her thoughts; it was like night and day how one minute she was worried about how much she liked him and the next thinking she couldn’t possibly like him more. It was easier to think with him across the room.

He smirked and she matched it; he had been her well kept secret once. It was a fleeting thought, though, because the next second they were right back to talking about the rumors, the rumors that didn’t involve her at all. His fingers traced along her collarbone and she blinked away the distraction (for once), shaking her head. “I know that, I just—“ Get out while you can. She rolled her eyes. “Right, yeah, this has been fun,” she said, but she made no move to leave (nevermind any movement with the baby would have been slow anyway).

“It,” she started again, any hint of residual smirk gone. “It didn’t bother me as much, before.” Before the dating, before any sort of feelings got involved. “Knew you’d be back, we’d be—“ It was inevitable, really; they were inevitable. It was easier when things were casual. “Should bother me less, now.” In theory, anyway, as she wasn’t about to admit she had any doubts in her ability to keep a man (or keep him satisfied).

Harlan's hand moved distractedly from Honey's jaw, to her neck, then collarbone as he watched her try and formulate her thoughts. He had the same problem, articulating himself. It was easier than taking— showing how he felt, after all. He stopped the slow circular motion he'd been making with his thumb on her neck, pausing at her statement.

Knew you'd be back. How very Honey of her, he mused to himself. With a grin he gave a final affectionate squeeze before half sitting back on the arm of the chair, one leg crossed over the other. "Oh did you?" He raised an eyebrow. "You're just that good, hm?" Harlan joked with a chuckle to himself. If it were anyone else the proclamation wouldn't have sat as well, being told anything about himself wasn't something he particularly enjoyed, but he let it go. He was the one on trial, here, not her.

His face went serious again, eyes glued to the architecture of the raised ceiling overhead. He wasn't sure that he'd ever actually noticed it, how ornate it was, before then. Letting out a sigh, he finally glanced back down to Honey. It should bother her less, but did it? The question burned against his tongue, but Harlan bit back. The answer was one he wasn't sure he wanted just yet. He knew if the tables had been turned, his own answer would without a doubt have been a no.

A fuck no, at that.

"I can put out a statement, or—" Harlan began, still deep in thought, though his face pulled sour at the very mention of it. Her comment about him seemingly ignoring it was not lost on him. At the time, he had done what felt right, not add any fuel to fire, not give in to wasting time or energy on baseless stories.  He wasn't sure when he became comfortable with doing something he categorically did not want to do purely for someone else, but with Honey it was different. He wanted to just put it behind them, all of it.

“Aren’t I?” It was nice to not be so serious for a second, though she was definitely serious that she was just that good. Of course, half of that was her coming back to him — always him, in the end — as well, but she shrugged off that little detail. They were back to serious things, anyway.

He wasn’t looking at her and she watched his face, the little creases at the corners of his eyes as he squinted at the ceiling. He sighed before he looked at her again; Honey swallowed, not exactly eager for him to break the silence. The conversation hadn’t gone as planned — not that she had genuinely planned for it, but still — and she was out of her element. She avoided these sorts of talks (especially with people she was sleeping with) if she could help it and her usual tactics for distraction weren’t feasible with a baby in her arms.

“A statement?” She could tell that wasn’t his idea of a good time, never mind what ‘a statement’ would actually entail. Was it a nothing happened sort of thing about that last article specifically or a nothing will ever happen because look how happy I am with Honey sort of deal? Neither would stop it from happening again. He — or she, maybe — would do something that looked wrong to the right people and they’d be right back at it again. It couldn’t hurt, though, and it’d be better than nothing.

But it was so serious. Were they that serious? Even if they were she didn’t want to tell him what to do, not like that. A smart man who knew he was being watched and chatted about might time his workouts with beautiful women for daylight hours, but she didn’t want him policing her either so she kept her opinion to herself (for once). “Don’t you have a PR person?” Honey did the marketing for Honeydukes so she at least had a vague grasp on the whole concept. “Maybe get a better one.”

His gaze narrowed. It had never been easy to read Honey, but he felt it especially now. That confusion Harlan learned early on, but now that there was more invested, that he was more invested, it felt significant. Harlan was analytical, to a fault, some would say— he watched how people acted, listened to the things that they said. Perhaps he was too literal in his interpretation because those things were never black and white, but he couldn't help himself. With her, especially.

"A statement," He repeated, pulling his arms behind his head and stretching. Hadn't that been what she was referring to just moments before? The not ignoring it. Folding his arms across his chest, Harlan leaned forward at a slight noise from his niece but sat back again once her eyes fluttered closed.

At the mention of Meridith, and what Honey ascertained to be a lack of skill, Harlan paused, suppressing a grin. That woman, his PR person, would unearth someone's deepest and darkest secrets within an hour if given the chance, and she certainly knew how to bury them, too. Harlan trusted her when she suggested that he keep his mouth closed after the article came out. There were always going to be bigger fish to fry, and this wasn't one of them.

"Looking for the job?" Harlan turned to Honey, eyebrow quirked. He really had no ground to speak up, given the circumstances, but his pride and his protectiveness of his team got the better of him. "How did you envisage it, then, me not ignoring it?" He used her own words, but sighed, immediately regretting his harshness. "I'm just trying to figure out what you want here," Harlan corrected. It felt a simple thing to ask, really, of the person he was dating, to know their feelings.

A statement, that was it. He offered no clarification like she had clearly -- clear to her, anyway -- been asking him to do. He crossed his arms, defensive or frustrated or a little bit of both, and Honey glanced away as he leaned in; it was easier to concentrate when he wasn’t crowding her space. She could ask him a second time, but she was sure she’d just make herself look stupid (or, more likely, like a nag). He sat back and she looked at him again, able to breathe, able to think.

“No,” she said quickly, ignoring his grin -- she wasn’t trying to be funny and she was well on her way to getting defensive over nothing -- “You know that’s not what I mean.” She really ought to have kept operating on the assumption that she was far too good of a girlfriend to be cheated on; she could have ignored the whole thing; they might have actually had a nice afternoon together.

He circled back to what she had said earlier: looks a lot worse if you ignore it. She refrained from rolling her eyes -- just barely -- and took a breath instead. He didn’t know what she wanted from him, hadn’t followed her logic that she hadn’t bothered to explain. “Harlan, I--” she paused, took another breath to stop herself from saying that she didn’t care what he did now (because she did, of course); she’d congratulate herself later for catching her temper a second early. “I don’t care--” she did, just less-- “What other people think.” She was still dealing with opinions about her because of her article, so what was a little more unwarranted opinion on top of all that?

“I’d like if I didn’t think you were cheating on me.” Cheating sounded so harsh out loud, like she was admitting to thinking the worst because of what a stupid ‘journalist’ had decided to write about him. “You knew about the article, obviously, to tell me it was all shit once I asked about it.” There was a noise from the next room over -- Audrey waking up, maybe -- but Honey ignored it; she had managed to keep her voice down but was talking quickly to make up for it. “Might be easy for you to ignore it, but--” she shrugged, again stopping herself from going too far, too close to claiming she must care more about them if that’s how this was going to work.