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“I mean, after all, it’s a free meal, right?” Gideon said. Harrow looked up from her book to see her girlfriend standing in the doorway of their bedroom, rubbing at her red hair with a towel.
Harrow hadn’t said anything to prompt this; Gideon was in the middle of an ongoing debate, mostly with herself, over whether to go to dinner with her father. Harrow was trying not to participate, given that she could not make herself impartial in the least.
John had called Gideon on her walk home from her workout (not that he knew this, or even that she worked out every day, in the park if the weather was nice and every other day in the gym a few blocks from their apartment, because John didn’t know anything about Gideon). He had asked her to dinner, this Friday night. Gideon had said she’d think about it; since then, she had gone back and forth on the subject several times as she toed off her shoes, ate a banana, and got ready to shower. No doubt her mind had changed twice more in the bathroom.
“He suggested some fancy place downtown, but like a steakhouse, not one of those places where the food looks like a little craft project. So you know, I could just order extra and get it packed in a to-go box,” Gideon continued, coming to sit next to Harrow. She lifted Harrow’s legs where they were stretched out on the sofa and settled them on her lap. “Also, hi, sorry I can’t shut up about this,” she said, kissing Harrow lightly.
“It’s important,” Harrow said. “He is extending an invitation, and your response matters.” She was trying to remain neutral, to prevent her eyes from narrowing in suspicion and distaste.
“Yeah, I guess it’s nice that he wants to get in touch. He fucking call ed me Kiriona, which is so weird,” Gideon’s face twisted up. Her mind was about to change again. She fidgeted anxiously with her phone.
Harrow’s jaw clenched. “Isn’t that–”
“Yeah, Gideon in Maori. From the Bible, I think. I mean, that’s just like him, right? He can’t take that I’m named after some dead guy who betrayed him, so he’s got to take it and make it something from his fucking Classics degree.” Gideon took a deep breath. Harrow itched to move closer and comfort her bodily, but she knew this conversation was important. “I mean, it’s cool that it’s Maori, and I would love if he actually wanted to share that part of our culture, but this just feels like… he’s staking a claim on me.”
This time when Harrow inhaled sharply through her nose, Gideon noticed. She looked up at Harrow with soft, sad eyes and Harrow was unable to hold herself back. She climbed onto Gideon’s lap and wrapped her body around Gideon’s, and felt Gideon squeeze her hard in return. This, this was the greatest advantage of the evolution of their relationship into physical. Harrow could not express herself accurately in words often. But she could hold Gideon like her life depended on it, because it did.
Face pressed into Gideon’s neck, she whispered, “You don’t belong to anyone but me. He doesn’t get to claim you, ever.”
She felt Gideon relax into the touch, into the sentiment. They breathed together for a moment.
Harrow didn’t even think the dinner was a bad idea. It could be interesting, and Gideon would certainly enjoy a fancy steak. But this, what he could do to her, pick apart her sense of self with his sick desire for ownership and control, was abhorrent to Harrow. She had witnessed his slick manipulations firsthand when she was in his classes. He had been keen on mentoring her and situating her to follow in his footsteps, but the way he’d reacted when he found out Gideon was his daughter had raised every red flag. She was glad she’d chosen a different path.
Reflecting on this gave Harrow an idea.
She lifted her head, feeling Gideon’s hands tighten minutely around her waist. But she wasn’t going anywhere. She just wanted to look Gideon in the eye when she said, “Gideon, I believe you should say yes. And I should go with you.”
On Friday evening, Harrow sat in their bedroom and watched Gideon agonize over her outfit. This was rare for Gideon; she knew what she looked good in and she wore it, and she didn’t care about much else. Harrow was already dressed in three layers of black lace and satin, and she was currently in the process of applying her thick black eye makeup. She watched Gideon change her shirt again behind her in the mirror.
This third shirt was a dark brown rugby pullover, more casual than the first choice, a maroon button-down, but more suitable than the second shirt, a worn “save water, shower with a friend” tshirt.
“Gideon, as much as I enjoy your little fashion show and seeing you shirtless, you’re going to make us late,” Harrow said, getting up.
“Fuck you, Nonagesimus,” Gideon said, absently. “Which should I wear?” She reached out anxiously to Harrow, who tugged on the tshirt insistently until Gideon pulled it off, and then held up the maroon button down. Gideon pulled it on, buttoning it over her binder. It was wrinkled from the floor, but it stretched nicely over Gideon’s chest and arms. Harrow admired this for a second, and let Gideon see her admiration before reaching up to kiss her. Gideon relaxed into the touch.
“Are you ready?” Harrow asked, brushing hair off Gideon’s forehead. She nodded, exhaling.
“Yeah. Let’s fucking do this.”
On the train to the restaurant, Harrow checked her phone. Making sure it was out of Gideon’s view, she opened a string of texts from Palamedes.
PS: are you on your way to the dinner?
PS: remember to take deep breaths. 5 in 5 out
PS: and no murder
Harrow suppressed a laugh. Gideon was staring into space, tapping out a pattern on Harrow’s thigh. Harrow knew this meant she was truly anxious; quiet for her was a red flag. The problem with her tactics of physical comfort is they were rarely appropriate in public.
She thumbed in a reply to Palamedes with one hand, twining her other with Gideon’s.
HN: Yes, we’re on the train now.
HN: I hate this. I have no idea what to do for her.
HN: And don’t you dare suggest breathing.
PS: being there is really good
PS: support is really good
PS: telling jg he can fuck off could be good too
HN: And what if I told him exactly how I would deglove his right arm bones from his body?
PS: cam says if we’re discussing crime use a secure channel
PS: also idk he might already know that he is a doctor
HN: He’s a cancer doctor. What does he know about bones?
PS: bones can get cancer harrow
Harrow rolled her eyes and put her phone in her jacket pocket. She squeezed Gideon’s hand, watching her break out of her dead-eyed stare. When she turned to Harrow, she was struck as always by the beautiful deep gold of her eyes. She squeezed again.
“Our stop next,” she said. Gideon nodded. She rolled her shoulders and they both stood.
When Gideon and Harrow entered the restaurant and closed the door behind them, all sound from outside was immediately muffled. The whole place had a warm, welcoming atmosphere, with soft live piano music and lighting set low on the walls. The wealth was unmistakable.
“Nice digs,” Gideon said. Her hand tightened in Harrow’s.
“I would expect nothing less from a celebrity doctor,” Harrow said drily. She was unimpressed; gaudiness was often lost on her.
“He’s only a celebrity to meganerds like you and Pal,” Gideon shot back.
“He puts his face on billboards, Gideon.”
The hostess returned to her station and saw them then. When she asked for their reservation, Gideon nervously said John’s name, and the server smiled and led them inside.
When they saw him across the room, Gideon let go of Harrow’s hand. She almost would’ve been offended, but then Gideon was nervously smoothing her shirt and hair. Harrow took a deep, steadying breath in and out, hoping Gideon would mirror her.
As they approached, he spotted them and rose out of the booth.
Seeing his golden eyes, Gideon’s eyes, Harrow had to quell her deep and abiding hatred. For Gideon, she reminded herself. You are here for Gideon. To support her. To protect her.
In their first few months of being together – finally, after a lifetime of being right next to each other all the time, actually being together – Harrow fervently believed she could shield Gideon from everything. She had been the lion’s share of bad things that had ever happened to her, so why wouldn't she be able to scare the rest of them off? This wasn't true, of course. Bad things still happened to Gideon, to both of them. Shitty grades on tests, getting fired, food poisoning. But a part of Harrow persisted in this belief. If I keep her in my sights at all times, if I hold on to her tightly enough, nothing truly horrible can happen to her. Nothing can touch her.
And then they met John.
“Girls!” He greeted them heartily. Fuck, she hated him. “Brilliant to see you both, thanks for joining me. Isn’t this place swanky?”
John Gaius, totally average in every way, except that he was the brilliant doctor credited with every breakthrough so far on the quickening road to curing cancer. Annoying and self-deprecating at best, unspeakably shameless and selfish at worst. Harrow’s former mentor and Gideon’s father, appearing out of the woodwork after twenty years. Altogether, sort of an ass.
He clasped Gideon’s hand and shook, then pulled her into a back-slapping hug. She was obviously surprised, in a not altogether unpleasant way. He turned to Harrow, extending his hand to shake. She kept eye contact, ignored the hand, and moved to sit next to Gideon.
(“I think that you can skirt the bounds of rudeness without being outright rude,” Palamedes had said, days ago. “I think that you are chilly enough normally to accomplish that without drawing attention.” He always had such great advice.)
John was out in full force this evening. As he poured them a deep red wine from a bottle he’d ordered for the table, he simultaneously gestured at the gaudy decor of the place, saying, “Iit’s all a bit much, no? Feels as though one is in some kind of bordello.” Gideon laughed a little, nervously. “Would hardly be appropriate, though. Maybe that’s something for our second or third daddy-daughter outing.” He winked.
Now Gideon did laugh, a surprised bark. “Fuck, Da, maybe the strip clubs can wait a bit longer than that,” she shot back.
“No, honestly, they may wait forever. Can’t really wrap my head around the appeal, I actually get terribly embarrassed just by the thought,” He admitted, laughing at himself. “We can hit up a jazz club, that’s more my speed. Or, to be honest, a movie.”
“Yeah, sure,” Gideon said, easily, and Harrow squeezed her hand, without even thinking about it. “Or, I mean, let’s see how tonight goes. But I feel you.”
John smiled. Harrow watched his eyes crinkle like Gideon’s, but his golden eyes didn’t have the same light and sparkle hers did.
Their waiter approached, and Gideon reached for a menu; they hadn’t gotten a chance to look at them yet.
But John waved her off and started rattling off an array of things for the table. Evidently, he ate here often.
“And Kiriona’ll have the ribeye, how do you take it, kid?”
“Medium-rare, thanks. And a side of mashed potatoes, and, uh, the braised carrots,” she said, with a quick scan of a menu and a glance at John. He nodded approvingly, then looked to Harrow.
Before he could order for her, she spoke: “I’ll have the same, and a small house salad,” she said, knowing that much of it would just be Gideon’s leftovers tomorrow.
The waitress clicked her pen and walked away, and John, looking momentarily awkward, laid both hands on the table. "So," he began, "how's it been for you, kid?"
Gideon's eyes flickered down. Under the table, Harrow felt her grip on her knee tighten momentarily. Harrow wasn't sure, but she could guess that the discomfort of "kid" was warring with the validation of being claimed in Gideon's mind. "I'm all right, you know, school is stressful, and I've got the team to balance too… I might want to be captain next year, so I'm really trying to commit my time there," she said. And then, tacking it on: "I'm not really a kid, though, y'know?"
"Oh, of course not, of course –"
"It's okay, it's just that I'm, like, 20 years old –"
"Right, and you barely know me, of course. I was being horribly presumptuous, and I apologize. Won't happen again, Kiriona," he said, with a corny little wink. There it was, that shrinking anxious energy that Harrow knew masked his narcissistic manipulations.
"Anyway, school, yes! And captain of the basketball team –"
"Rugby –"
"Rugby, right, of course! How could I forget, with your build? Have you put much thought into what degree you'll get?"
"Right now my major is communications, but I'm also really interested in literature studies… I'm not sure," Gideon said, trailing off at the end. Harrow looked at her sidelong, noting the lack of enthusiasm in her voice when just last week she'd gone on and on about rhetorical devices, then made a stupid joke about waxing rhetoric on rhetoric. Just remembering this made Harrow smile internally, and she stroked Gideon's hand lightly, searching her face for any hint of that light.
"And a versatile degree can be so useful later on, really best not to specialize at your age… if anything, you should go into advertising just for your physique; attractive people always do best in marketing fields – oh, you wouldn't believe, speak of the handsome devil!"
He was waving someone over - a man in a suit, older than John, trim and severe. He approached, allowed himself to be clapped on the back as he was introduced.
"This is a good friend of mine, Sarpedon, he's a CFO at one of the companies I work closely with – medical manufacturing, really vital stuff, and he is always telling me how they need energetic youngsters to grow their marketing potential, honestly bores me to tears, but could be an interesting path for you, Kiriona."
There. Just like that, he had created something out of thin air, a neat little inescapable loop, a foregone conclusion on Gideon's interests and future. Harrow could feel Gideon's grip tightening on her hand, and she squeezed back, digging one nail into the back of her hand, the hint of pain she knew Gideon needed to focus.
Gideon gritted out a nice to meet you and they exchanged pleasantries, with assurances from John, oh, well, that's all very far off, no way of knowing, but nice to make the connection, as Sarpedon walked away. A moment later, their food was on the table.
He and Gideon both fell upon their plates; Harrowhark nimbly began shoving all the chopped carrots in her salad down one side of the bowl, away from view.
"So, Harrow," John started, pulling her out of her meditative salad organization, "how has your research been progressing?"
She chewed at her cheek. "It's going well. Not much to say yet, but we're advancing through the preparatory phases at the expected pace," she replied, keeping it as vague and noncommittal as possible. There was no way that, after leaving his service in dramatic fashion, she was going to gossip with him about her new lab.
"Splendid to hear that," he said, level and pleasant. "We're pretty much the same on the home front; Ianthe has taken over the majority of your work, which is practically double what she set out for, but you know her, she's a workhorse and a half." Harrow did know this, and she also knew all about their research, because Ianthe never shut up about it.
"Pleased to hear that," she responded, clipping her vowels hard. Gideon looked at her sideways and Harrow reigned herself in. You are not here to chase your own agenda, Harrowhark. You are here for Gideon. She redirected; "Gideon, you should share about your comparative lit project, the one on the potential of tragic narratives in graphic works?"
Gideon looked briefly embarrassed, but John nodded in interest, so she started, "Well, it's basically looking at a few different graphic novels and examining their potential for creating tragic narratives in new ways, like, how the visuals can use foreshadowing or dramatic irony in some really exciting different ways. It's still a little malformed, I'm just starting the research, but yeah, I'm pretty excited about it," she said, sheepishly running one hand over her arm. Harrow smiled.
"Truly fantastic! That sounds so engaging. It is really wonderful, isn't it, the kinds of fanciful projects one can engage in in undergrad – enjoy that while you've got it, girls, and I'm serious about that one."
Gideon shifted awkwardly. She did not consider her lit class fanciful, Harrow knew.
"Gideon's professor actually pointed out her project as a good candidate for an honors thesis, if she was interested," Harrow said, holding John's gaze while she squeezed Gideon's hand hard.
"Really?" he responded, with a very polite tone masking layers of obfuscated… something.
"Yeah, she said I should come talk to her about it again next year," said Gideon, as she sheepishly rubbed the back of her neck.
"Well, that would be very interesting," he said, still carefully polite. "And possibly a captaincy too? You must've gotten your drive for physical activity from your mother; I was always an indoor kid."
"Ha, it was basically anything to get away from the nuns when I was a kid, and they yelled less if I was outside and out of their hair, right, Harrow?"
"Yes, your ceaseless energy was difficult for our geriatric caretakers," Harrow allowed.
"Right, and you were so endeared by my trying to start a kickball game while you were reading Wuthering Heights," Gideon teased.
Harrow let a smile play on her lips when she rolled her eyes. "Yes, you infuriated me as well," she cooed, "is that what you want to hear?"
"As long as I had your attention," Gideon said, the earnestness breaking through in her voice. Harrow felt a bit naked having such an intimate moment in front of John, but she was also proud – staking her claim on Gideon's childhood, tortured as it was, was something he could never do.
"Well, a captaincy could certainly be parlayed into other leadership opportunities later. It's a great note on a resume," John started, and then, laughing at himself: "Oh, listen to me, your old dad giving you job advice. Don't listen to me, I've barely ever gotten a job on anything other than charm, although I suppose I at least gave you that in spades."
Harrow was surprised at how this, of all things, brought up the bile of violence in her throat. She curled her fingers under her thighs to keep from reaching for his throat, but Gideon was already cocking her head in that sarcastic way.
"Damn, I always thought my charm came from the trauma. But I guess you can claim that one too, dad."
He laughed, a bigger laugh than was maybe appropriate, nodding his approval at the joke.
"One way or another, kid – Kiriona. One way or another."
He finished his glass of wine, rolling his shoulders. He glanced around for the server, and when he caught her eye, he looked back at Gideon and Harrow as she walked over.
"How do you girls feel about dessert?"
Gideon looked at Harrow; she knew Harrow barely ate sweets and when she did it was pretty exclusively disgustingly sour candy. In her expression, Harrow could read a conflict over asking to stay and wanting to go home. Harrow knew this was where being the bad guy came in handy.
"Gideon has practice in the morning, so we should get home to bed. Besides, I've heard sugar gives you cancer," she said drily.
"Oh, everything gives you cancer," said John. "And good thing, otherwise I'd be out of business. But alright, let's have the check, then," he addressed this last to the server. She nodded, leaving it in front of him.
He barely even glanced at the receipt before tucking his card inside.
Outside, John offered them a ride home in the taxi he'd called.
After a glance to check with Gideon, Harrow declined for them. "We're not that far; we can walk.
"Are you sure? It's late, girls."
"Yeah, I'm not worried," Gideon said, doing a little joke flex. "Besides, it's such a nice night."
"Sure. Well, you know where to find me, Kiriona. And I'll be in touch, sooner than later hopefully," he said, reaching out to give her a hesitating clap on the shoulder. "It really was nice to see you and hear about your life. And nice to see you as well, Harrow."
"Of course," she said, while picturing her thumbs digging deep into his eye sockets.
"Yeah, this was nice, John. Dad."
They backed away as he got in his car, then turned and started up the street.
"You sure you're okay to walk?" Gideon asked, bumping the to-go bag against Harrow's knee.
"Yes. I'll let you know if I get tired," she responded, tucking her hand into Gideon's pocket. They walked in silence as they both decompressed.
Two blocks away, after they’d turned a corner, Gideon slowed. She took a step away from Harrow. Her breathing had gotten shallow and thick, and she suddenly looked so small under the looming buildings, spotlit by the flickering streetlights.
Harrow cautiously mirrored her, giving her space, waiting as Gideon put her hands on her head – turned helplessly – bent double – it was so hard to watch. But Harrow knew that with Gideon, physical touch could be an additional trigger when she was already upset. It was better to wait.
After a tense moment, Gideon heaved out a broken sigh, said, “Harrow…” and she rushed in, crouching in front of her, cupping her face, pressing kisses to her brow, whispering in her ear.
“He is nothing, he knows nothing, nothing , about you, he is just so good at finding those tender spots and pressing – it has no bearing, he doesn’t get to decide, you get to decide, you are in charge of your own life. You, Gideon, you, I love you, powerful, funny, sweet, dedicated, so smart, so valuable, so treasured…”
Gideon was nodding, the tears sliding over her cheekbones, into her hair as she tilted her head back. She made a tiny little noise, so collapsed and far from the familiar strength and timbre of her beautiful voice. Harrow decided, in that moment, that there would be a consequence. But not right now. Right now, she had to prioritize getting them both home.
She soothed a hand over Gideon’s back – remembered the binder, put that on the list she was writing in her head. First things first, she asked, “Can we stand? Together?”
She felt Gideon nod against her chest, and they did, rising until Harrow could pull out her phone, Gideon still wrapped around her, face pressed into her neck. Harrow tapped out a quick text to Pal – asking for a restorative movie night, Gideon’s choice, tomorrow or Sunday afternoon. Then she found a drugstore, open late, a block away, and led Gideon there.
They bought Hot Cheetos and candy, a bottle of Gatorade. They stood in the single stall bathroom so Harrow could unbutton Gideon’s shirt and take off the binder, feel her breath deeply, five in, five out, like Camilla always said.
None of this had come naturally to Harrow, at first. Gideon was the caretaker, not her. But Harrow was a quick study, and Gideon was a physical creature with often deceptively simple needs, and in the rare times she needed care, Harrow was going to provide.
On their way out, Gideon morosely ate a gummy worm as Harrow glared down the clerk who’d made a face when they came out of the bathroom together.
“He fucking wishes we’d graced his bathroom with a sexual act,” she muttered, just to hear Gideon giggle.
After they’d walked in silence for several minutes and Gideon had inhaled half her Gatorade, she asked, “Do you want to talk about it?’
"Aughhhhh,” Gideon groaned, and then, “I mean, it's sort of nice he cares about me being successful, but I don't really know how I feel about getting involved with his business… I guess it would be easy, but it feels so… slimy, and everything you said about your internship…"
"I do not trust anything he wants to hand you."
"Yeah. Yeah, I guess. Mostly I just hate how good it feels for him to want me, though," Gideon admitted, exhaling. "I hated how he made me feel, the whole time."
Harrow looked up at her. She could not make this go away for Gideon. She could not remove the feeling, as badly as she wanted to. She nestled herself into Gideon's side, feeling the other girl wrap an arm around her.
They walked, and it was far, but Harrow persisted; at least if she was tired she would sleep the night. And she could tell it was calming Gideon down. She also had an excuse to, when they turned onto their street, deflate dramatically against Gideon's side so that Gideon would scoop her up. Harrow pretended to fuss a little bit, but she was very happy to let Gideon be a hero, and to nuzzle into her. She unlocked the door to the building while Gideon held her ("Can you get me a little closer," "I live to serve, my gothic sovereign,") and looped her arms around her neck as they climbed the stairs. In front of their apartment door, Gideon made to put her down, but Harrow clung to her neck; she huffed a little laugh and positioned her to unlock this door too. It was hardly their first time with this routine.
Inside, they kissed on the couch, watched an episode of Sailor Moon . Gideon ate some of the leftovers, and some more gummy worms. They brushed their teeth side by side, elbowing for room. They curled in bed together, closer than comfort allowed. Looking at Gideon, eyes closed but not asleep, Harrow knew she would do anything for her. Everything for her. For their life together.
"You know, when you stare at me like that, I worry you're going to skin me and eat me," Gideon said without opening her eyes.
Harrow exhaled a light laugh. She pressed kiss to Gideon's hand and said, "Never kill you. I might kill for you."
"Oh, so comforting," Gideon scoffed, sleep already filling her voice.
"Mm," Harrow hummed, closing her own eyes.
Late one evening about two weeks later, Harrow slipped out of the apartment. Gideon went to sleep early, as she did most nights. She insisted on eight hours nightly and was an early riser; Harrow often stayed out in the living room until much later. Occasionally Gideon could cajole her into the bedroom for cuddling, as she had tried to tonight, but Harrow had rolled her eyes and said she didn’t want to keep her up with the reading light.
An hour later, once she was sure Gideon slept soundly, she was out the door.
It hadn’t been hard to find out where John lived. She hadn’t even broken any rules, save the unspoken ones that you shouldn’t use your student job to explore the back end directory of professors' addresses. But nothing traceable.
She waited in silence outside his brownstone, blending easily into the shadows. Harrow was good at patience. When he pulled up in the black town car, he was stumbling a bit; drunk, as she had expected. As the car pulled away, she moved in behind him and slid right through the door.
It was important that he die here, in his own house, where it could be easily construed as an accident. She didn’t mind if it was eventually blamed on someone, but she doubted it would be. She thought of the three glasses of wine he’d had at their dinner weeks ago, the rumors she'd heard of his public intoxication at work functions. He was not a healthy man, or one with many friends.
She had considered something more violent, but ultimately, that would’ve been more painful for Gideon. She had always been galvanized by vengeance and Harrow did not want this contorting her relationship to John into some new, uglier shape.
As she slid the needle home, she made sure to give him a slight push forward. She did not want him falling onto her. He made a slight thump against the floor. Too bad; she had been hoping he’d smash his face.
Harrow allowed herself to feel briefly triumphant as she pressed her gloved hand to his pulse point, feeling it slow. She knew bodies, and she had put great effort into knowing his in order to do this as cleanly as possible. She wished fervently that Gideon could appreciate her skill in this moment. This is what you are for, Harrowhark. She steeled herself with this thought. You were made to cut, to carve, to wound. To kill. Gideon never understood violence in the same way -- she was quite comfortable being violent, and she was good at it, marvelous at it. But she was not intimately acquainted with its uses. Harrowhark knew. She had spent most of their lives using the needle point of terror as the pen with which she ordered their lives.
Standing over him, she remembered Gideon crumpled under that streetlight. Remembered her broken sob.
Gideon could not protect herself from this, from him. Harrow could.
She rose, and let herself out of the still open door. She didn’t even bother to close it; maybe someone would find him sooner. Maybe rats would get in and eat his face. It hardly mattered to her.
When Harrow arrived at home and folded herself into bed, Gideon’s arms found her in the dark.