The weeks passed quickly. Charlie’s days were full from the moment he woke up until the moment he fell, exhausted, into bed. More often than not, he didn’t even bother changing into pajamas, just tore off his sweaty work clothes and collapsed on top of the covers. He seemed to have gotten the hang of growing crops—he’d even harvested parsnips twice!—and while his income was still pitifully small, it existed, and that was a relief in and of itself.

Charlie had fallen into a sort of routine, where he spent all morning watering and weeding, chipped away at the weed-and-rock-infested fields over the midday hours, did some work on a well he was trying to dig toward the western boundary, and then wandered into town for the afternoon. In the evening when it was cooler, he returned to work the fields some more, but he had come to really look forward to his afternoon breaks in town. The puppy refused to be left behind, trailing after him and whining, and so nowadays he generally ran along behind Charlie. He couldn’t believe how much the dog had grown in just a few short weeks; his limbs were long and gangly, his paws unmanageably big. One ear had taken to standing up, but the other still flopped over. Charlie had named him Bones, a nod to his youthful evenings spent watching Star Trek.

On one day toward the end of spring, Charlie had an extra skip in his step. A few of his acquaintances in town were beginning to grow into friendships, and he was excited to bring some gifts to the villagers. As usual, he stopped by the clinic first, taking a moment to order Bones to stay outside. The puppy bounded across the square to chase some butterflies, and Charlie pushed inside. It was always heavenly when he first walked in—he didn’t have air-conditioning anywhere on his farm, and it was a luxury he savored on these visits. Maru brightened when she saw him, standing up to lean on the counter.

“Charlie!” she called as he crossed the room. “How’s it going? Have you gotten that new coop in the works yet?”

“Gonna drop off the wood with your mom this afternoon,” Charlie said, a little pride seeping into his voice. He’d been felling trees and stacking wood for what felt like months, counting the pieces with increasing impatience, and he finally had enough. The money was another story, but what was one more loan, in the scheme of things?

“That’s great. She’ll be so excited, she’s been dying to build something for you.”

“I think she’s probably been dying to fix my woodpile of a house, but one thing at a time,” Charlie replied, smirking. As Maru laughed, the door to the exam area swung open, and Harvey stepped out, his nose in his paperwork.

“Maru,” he said absently, heading for the coffee pot, “will you please order some—” He glanced up just then, apparently noticing Charlie for the first time, and stopped mid-sentence. Charlie wondered if he was always this shy around people; it seemed like it would be tricky to maintain a good bedside manner with social anxiety. He smiled in what he hoped was an encouraging way.

“Hi, Harvey,” he said. “Haven’t seen you around much! Have things been busy here?”

“Um, yes, busy,” Harvey replied, straightening his glasses.

“Actually, it’s been really slow,” Maru said, and for some reason Harvey shot her a disgruntled glare.

“Thank you, Maru. She’s right, there aren’t many patients this time of year, but it’s a good time to get everything straightened up from the winter rush. Lots of cleaning, paperwork, you know how it is.”

“Not really, but I’ll take your word for it,” Charlie said cheerfully. He hoisted his basket onto the counter, gesturing grandly. “Almost forgot why I came in. Check it out, guys! I actually grew stuff!”

“Oh, wow!” Maru exclaimed, leaning forward to look through its contents. “This all looks great, Charlie. Looks like you figured the farming thing out!”

“I’m working on it,” he grinned. “As the first friends I made in town, I wanted you guys to have the first goodies. Here.” He reached into the basket and pulled out a large cauliflower—his best one yet, actually—and handed it over to Maru, who looked far more excited than most people would after receiving a bland white vegetable as a gift.

“Thanks, Charlie! I love these. How’d you know?”

“Your mom was feeling chatty,” he said. “And for you, Harvey...here you go. I’ve never made them before, so let me know if they aren’t good. You won’t hurt my feelings. Much, anyway.” He held out his first-ever jar of pickled parsnips, feeling inordinately proud of himself. Maru had mentioned the doctor’s love of sour things, and judging by the incredulous look on Harvey’s face, she’d either been totally right or totally wrong.

“For me?” Harvey repeated, blinking down at the jar. “You made me these?”

“Sure did. Don’t feel like you have to eat them if they’re not your thing, though—”

“No!” Harvey blurted, finally taking it from Charlie’s hands. He smiled broadly, and Charlie was struck by how it transformed his face—suddenly he looked rather handsome and young. Genuine pleasure made him a totally new man. “These are my favorite thing, honestly. It’s like you read my mind. Thank you.”

Charlie mirrored Harvey’s smile with his own, feeling warmed to his core. It felt great to give the shy, reclusive doctor something he really liked; he mentally resolved to do it more often. Few of the villagers had been able to tell Charlie much about Harvey, which struck him as sad. He’d obviously been here for some time—surely he had more friends than just Maru? If not, maybe Charlie could help solve that problem.

“You know, Charlie,” Maru was saying, jolting Charlie back to the present, “this cauliflower looks great, but there is a little bit of mechanical damage on the stem. I think you might have a slug problem. If you want, I can show you how to fix that.”

Charlie groaned, leaning in close to look. “Maru, what would I do without you?”

“Die, probably,” she said with a wink. “Now, first you need some shallow dishes, like lids, lids are perfect…”

As she spoke, Charlie heard the exam area door swing shut, and he looked up to see that Harvey had left. Beyond the little window, though, he could just make out the doctor—pausing in the hallway to look down at the jar in his hands. Charlie smiled.

Pickles, huh.

^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^

One of these times, Harvey was going to talk to him. He was. It just always seemed to catch him off guard, how good-looking Charlie was. He’d think he was becoming used to it, the hammering behind his ribs subsiding a little, and then Charlie would send his heart back into overdrive just by giving him a smile. Or a jar of pickles, Yoba help him. What kind of bizarre turn had his life taken, that the man of his dreams had just waltzed in out of nowhere and delivered him his favorite food? His favorite homemade food, he added mentally, and nearly swooned. Maru was right, he really was a lost cause.

Safely installed in his apartment for the night, Harvey settled onto the couch and opened the jar of pickles. He pulled a parsnip from the brine, inspecting it. Charlie made this. Charlie grew this. The pickle gave a satisfying crunch as he took a bite, and he chewed with his eyes closed, wanting to savor it. It...wasn’t the best pickle he’d ever had, to be honest. What had seemed like a nice zippy crunch at first bite was actually proving to be a pretty hard texture as he chewed, and Charlie had been a little too aggressive with the salt. Harvey couldn’t really taste the parsnip underneath at all. Still, it was a pickle, and not a bad first effort. Plus, Harvey kept seeing the mental image as he ate: Charlie working out in the fields, the sun beating down on him as he watered and harvested. Charlie scrubbing parsnips and submerging them in brine. Charlie nestling the pickles into a jar, thinking of Harvey, wanting to bring him a gift. His cheeks turning pink at the thought, Harvey ate another too-crunchy pickle.

He let himself replay Charlie’s afternoon visit in his mind. The way he’d smiled at him after Harvey had thanked him for the pickles—really looking at him, really seeing him. Harvey had wondered if he’d been too effusive with his thanks, but Charlie’s reaction had been nothing but pleased. He wondered what he could do to see that look on the farmer’s face again. Could he give Charlie a gift? It was polite to welcome new neighbors, right? The problem was, he didn’t really know what Charlie’s interests were, beyond farming and having dogs foisted upon him by neighbors. Maybe Maru did; they had a little chat almost every day. Harvey tried not to dwell on the reasons for this too much. Maru was funny and brilliant, excellent company for anyone. It was possible Charlie hadn’t even noticed her lovely smile and gleaming dark eyes.

Harvey shook himself, putting the lid back on the pickle jar before he could absently demolish the whole thing. He had no right to even speculate about Charlie’s relationships; it certainly wasn't as though Harvey had any claim over him, or ever would. Harvey didn’t even know if he liked men —though he privately thought they’d all find out soon enough, judging by the way some of the folks in town gossiped and schemed over him. No, he thought, putting the pickles in the refrigerator on the way to his desk, he needed to rein himself in before his little crush got out of hand. He hadn’t been interested in anyone since—well, him, he wasn't going to even think his name—and it had kept his life blessedly uncomplicated. So what if he was lonely? A new friend could be just what he needed; he didn’t have to go wishing for anything more. Even if that friend had beautiful eyes and a smile that lit the room. He’d get over that eventually. Definitely. Probably.

In the meantime, he had other people to talk to...or try. He slipped his headphones on, reaching for the knob on his radio, and settled into his familiar evening routine. “Dr. H at 52 North, 43.5 East, seeking aerial response. Anyone out there?”

^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^

The walk to Marnie’s ranch from the farm had never seemed longer, even when the entire field had been choked by weeds and boulders—but then, Charlie had never been more excited to pay her a visit. Bones was excited too, although Charlie doubted he knew why; he was just excited that someone else was excited. The dog bounced along in his wake, taking occasional detours to snap at a bug or follow an especially good sniff, while Charlie checked the cash in his pocket for the hundredth time. As he finally rounded the gap in the cliffs that led to Marnie’s ranch, he put on a burst of speed, praying no one was outside to notice how ridiculous he looked.

Marnie looked up, startled, as he burst through the door. “Well! What’s got you so worked up, neighbor?”

“Chickens!” Charlie burst out, grinning from ear to ear. “Robin finished up the coop, Marnie! I’m ready to get it loaded up.” He leaned on the counter, feeling like a kid about to bring home a new pet. He couldn’t say why, but something about the idea of having livestock made him feel like a real farmer. Any idiot could grow parsnips, you could do it in a pot in your house, but raising animals was another story. The image of a little flock of chickens pecking around their coop—it was idyllic as hell, and Charlie couldn’t wait.

Neither could Marnie, apparently. She clapped her hands together, delighted. “That’s wonderful! I’ve actually just got a brand new brood of chicks, real cuties. How many were you thinking?”

Charlie was proud of himself; he’d thought about this. Obviously just one chick would be lonely. “Two, please.” But apparently, that had been the wrong answer; Marnie’s face went mock-stern, and she shook her head decisively.

“Two? No, no, that won’t do.”

“You sound like a Dr. Seuss book, just so you know.”

“It’s harder to introduce new chickens to the flock later, city boy. You should start with at least four if you’re going into egg production.”

“Four!” Charlie repeated, feeling overwhelmed already. “Marnie, I’ve never raised a chicken in my life. I think it’s a bit of a leap to four.”

“Not at all. Four’s not any harder than one. I’ll go get them ready.”

He followed her to the coop, all his protests—that he couldn’t afford four chickens yet, that he didn’t know how he was going to carry them home, that he’d wanted to start small—being waved away, and he knew in his heart it was a losing battle. Just like with Bones, Marnie had decided what was best for Charlie, and he was powerless to refuse. He eyed her thoughtfully as she pushed through the coop door; at about five-three, with a stocky frame and a thick braid over her shoulder, she seemed an unlikely person to be such a force of nature. And yet, here he was, obediently holding the box as she selected her four best-looking chicks for him. As she settled the last peeping, kicking fluffball into the box (Charlie’s heart squeezed a little, he’d always been a sucker for a cute animal), she paused with a calculating look.

“That’s almost the whole flock,” she said. “Only two little guys left. It’ll be pretty lonely for them, won’t it? Poor babies.” She gave a businesslike sigh. “Oh well. That’s farm life. Let’s go get your other supplies.”

And that was how Charlie found himself cradling a box filled with six chicks, bouncing along in the passenger seat of Marnie’s ancient truck and thinking she should really teach business classes. She’d offered to drive Charlie home with his new babies—they weren’t exactly heavy, but their feed and the heat lamp she’d loaned him were a different story—but he’d spotted Shane emerging from his bedroom, and quickly asked for his help.

“I don’t want to keep you from your animals too long, Marnie,” he’d explained hastily. “Shane can help me get them set up, if he doesn’t mind? You said you helped with the chickens,” he added to Shane, who’d grumbled mutinously but began pulling on his shoes.

“Don’t let him fool you. He loves chickens,” Marnie had stage-whispered, earning an eye roll from Shane.

“Let’s go, then,” Shane had said, and pushed outside with a yipping Bones at his heels.

The ride was short and spent mostly in silence, punctuated by Charlie’s coos at the babies in his lap and the truck’s loud bangs as it navigated the uneven ground. Bones was having the time of his life in the truck bed, ears flapping in the wind. “Thanks for coming,” Charlie said loudly over the din of the engine. “I was afraid if she drove me here I’d own a cow or five by the time I got home, and I don’t have a barn yet.”

Shane snorted, killing the engine as they pulled up to the coop. “That’s Marnie,” was all he said. He hopped out and began unloading feed while Bones tore away after a squirrel. Charlie carefully walked the box of chicks into the coop; they just seemed so fragile, he was almost afraid to put them down. Would they really be okay without their mother?

“They’re more resilient than they look,” Shane grunted, reading his mind. “Just keep the heat on and don’t forget to feed them, and they’ll be fine.”

“Maybe you could come check on them once in a while?” Charlie suggested. “They seem to like you.” It wasn't even flattery; the moment Charlie had let them out of the box, they’d rushed to surround Shane’s feet, peeping riotously. Shane shrugged, though there was a tug at the corner of his mouth that suggested he was pleased.

“They just know me,” he said dismissively. “I’ve been hanging out with them a little.”

“Probably important to socialize them, huh?” One of the more adventurous chicks had wandered away from Shane’s sneaker, taking tentative steps toward Charlie. He tried to stay as still as possible, not rising from his crouch.

“They’re better company than people.”

“Oh yeah? How’s that?”

“Well, they don’t talk so fucking much, for one thing,” Shane said acidly, but when Charlie looked at him there was a little humor in his eyes. Charlie smirked, turning his attention back to the chick, who was now perched on the toe of his boot.

“I can start clucking instead, if you want.”

“That’s all I hear when you talk anyway, farm boy.”

That was the second time Shane had called him that; it sounded vaguely insulting, but Charlie thought it might be kind of a term of endearment, the way some people called their friends butthole or assface. It felt like progress, maybe? Hard to tell with Shane, but he hadn’t refused to come, so that was something. Charlie found him surprisingly easy to talk to; he appreciated the sweetness and exuberance of the other townsfolk, but Shane’s sarcasm was a nice contrast sometimes.

They discussed the care of chickens for a while, mostly Charlie peppering Shane with questions while Shane gave yes or no answers, and Charlie progressed to carefully holding the one who’d perched on his boot. He held it up to eye level, squinting as he gently turned it upside down.

“Stupid question,” he began.

“As opposed to…?”

“How can you tell if it’s a boy or a girl?” He couldn’t see anything under all that fluff, and it seemed rude to start molesting the chicks in search of...what kind of parts did chickens even have, anyway? God, he was a bad farmer.

“You can’t, yet. You’ll know when they grow up. It’s luck of the draw.”

“Oh.” Somehow Charlie had never imagined a rooster as part of his Fantasy Farm Life roster, but he supposed waking up to a crow at dawn had its charms. He turned the chick back over, where it resumed pecking lightly at his hand. “Hey, do you want to name this one? Since you helped me get them settled?”

Shane threw it a glance over the heat lamp he was installing, then turned back to his work. “I’m shit at naming things.”

“Have you met my dog? His name is Bones.”

Shane laughed a little at that, wiping his hands on his jeans. “You’ve got a point.”

“So…?”

“Pizza.”

Charlie blinked. “What? Are you hungry?”

“No, a name for your chicken. Pizza.”

“Um.”

“You said I could name it,” Shane insisted, edging into defensive territory, and Charlie gave up.

“You’re right. Pizza it is.” He held the chick at arm’s length like baby Simba in The Lion King, feeling the need to somehow mark the occasion of its naming. It didn’t seem to object to being named after a junk food, particularly. At least it wasn't Buffalo Wings or something like that.

Although, now that he thought about it, Buffalo was kind of a cute name?

The momentary pause in conversation was cut short by a horrible noise from outside, a gut-wrenching yelp that plummeted Charlie’s stomach straight into his shoes. “Bones!” he shouted, barely remembering to set the chick down gently before he barreled out of the coop. He heard Shane running after him, right on his heels, as he frantically searched the field. He called Bones’ name over and over again, increasingly desperate. What had happened to him? There weren’t any dangerous animals here, what could have—

“Found him!” Shane shouted from somewhere to his right, and Charlie immediately tore off in his direction. Shane was crouching down, peering at something, and Charlie’s heart stopped for a moment. The well, the fucking well, he hadn’t thought—

“He’s moving, Charlie, he’s okay,” Shane was saying, but Charlie could barely hear him. The pit he’d been digging to eventually turn into a well was mercifully not very deep yet, but still a long distance for a puppy to fall, almost eight feet. Charlie didn’t even stop to spare a glance in before he bolted down the ladder, dropping the last few feet to land in the cool dirt beside Bones. The puppy gave a whimper and stirred pitifully, and the sound cut through Charlie like a knife.

“I know, buddy, I know, I’m sorry,” he murmured fretfully, kneeling to take a look at him. He actually seemed mostly okay—he was trying to get to his feet, straining his neck toward Charlie’s face to lick it—but something was wrong with his back leg; he wasn't moving it, and when Charlie gently touched it, his hand came away covered in blood. A gash several inches long was open just above the knee, and squinting upward, Charlie saw a sharp, bloody rock protruding from the side of the well. Bones must have slid past it on his way down.

Another sharp whine from Bones brought him back to the present situation, and he slid his hands under the puppy’s warm side, intending to pick him up. The moment he exerted any pressure, though, Bones cried out in pain. He settled him back down, making soothing little noises and thinking hard.

“Shane?” he called up, and saw that Shane already had one foot on the top rung of the ladder.

“Need help getting him out?”

Charlie shook his head. “I’m afraid to move him. I think he really hurt his leg. Is there a vet anywhere nearby?”

“Nope. Marnie mostly takes care of ours, but she gets a vet to come from a couple hours away when there’s big stuff.”

“I don’t know what to do. I think he needs stitches.” An idea had popped into Charlie’s head—a stupid one, but he wasn't sure he had a better option. “Can you take the truck and go get Harvey?”

Charlie had expected Shane to argue with him—Harvey was a human doctor, after all, not a vet—but to his relief Shane just stepped back from the edge of the pit, nodding. “Be right back. You should try and stop his bleeding, if you can.”

Charlie called back his understanding, but the truck had already roared to life, and judging by how quickly its noise faded away, Shane was pushing it hard. He turned his attention back to Bones, who had stopped trying to reach him and laid his head on Charlie’s knee, whimpering softly. When Charlie pressed his handkerchief to Bones’ thigh, the puppy yelped, struggling.

“It’s okay, baby, you’re gonna be okay, I’m so sorry,” he whispered again, pulling Bones as far into his lap as he dared and rocking him gently. Pressing a kiss to his soft, dirt-streaked head, Charlie settled in for the longest wait of his life.

^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^

Shane kept the gas pedal as close to the floor as he dared for the five-minute drive into town, hoping to cut it down to more like three minutes. Before this incident, the only variations on Charlie’s mood he’d seen ranged from “giddily happy” to “fondly exasperated,” and seeing him so shaken up had left Shane rattled. Not that he hadn’t been affected himself; Shane did love animals, and he hated seeing the poor critter in pain. But Charlie looked as though he felt it, as though every bump and scratch on Bones’ body had been transferred to his own.

Maybe Charlie’s soft heart was why he kept trying to befriend Shane. He certainly couldn’t think of any other reason; the town was full of nice people he could easily share a beer with. Or maybe he was a glutton for punishment. Whatever it was, he didn’t seem to care that Shane responded to his waves and greetings with nothing more than a grunt, or that they often ended up drinking their beers at the saloon in silence when Shane was in one of his black moods. He just kept on acting as though they were friends, never letting Shane drive him off, but never demanding much from him, either. Maybe that was friendship. Shane didn’t really know.

Enough introspection for one day, anyway. The truck screeched to a stop in front of the clinic, and Shane jumped out without bothering to stop the engine. He shoved through the front door and saw that Maru was gone, Harvey eating a sandwich at the front desk.

“Shane!” he said through a mouthful, quickly standing up and brushing crumbs from his lap. “Did you have an appointment? I didn’t think anyone was on the books today, but—”

“Emergency,” he interrupted, and Harvey’s eyebrows went up. “Need you to make a house call. Might be some stitches. Get your stuff.”

Shane had only seen Harvey in Doctor Mode once before, when he’d helped pull a nail from Robin’s hand—her nail gun had misfired as she did work on Marnie’s barn, and Marnie had gone to fetch him while Shane hovered awkwardly nearby—but it had totally transformed the man, replacing his usual timid vibe with calm confidence. It happened again now, his spine immediately straightening and his face turning businesslike.

“I’m assuming a cut. Any other injuries?” He’d grabbed a large black case from the corner and was rifling through it, checking his supplies.

“It was a fall, could be something broken. We didn’t want to move him.”

Harvey snapped the case shut and came around the counter, walking briskly. “Who’s the patient?” Ah, shit. Shane had been hoping to stall him until they actually arrived. He darted around to the other side of the truck, getting in and waiting for Harvey to do the same before he answered.

“It’s Charlie’s dog,” he said, pulling away from the clinic, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Harvey’s head whip around to stare at him.

“His dog? Shane, I’m not a veterinarian!”

“Stitches are stitches, aren’t they?” he snapped. “You’re the closest thing we’ve got, doc. Can’t wait three hours for some city vet to get their ass out here.”

Harvey looked as though he wanted to argue, but sighed in apparent resignation. “You could have told me that up front,” he muttered, finally.

“Figured it was an argument better had in the car.” Shane shifted to a higher gear and floored it down the dirt road to the farm, and Harvey grabbed at the dashboard to steady himself. Other than the noise of the truck, it was quiet for a moment. As the farmhouse came into view, Harvey spoke again.

“Is Charlie hurt?”

Something about his tone caught Shane’s attention, and Shane glanced at him across his face. Harvey was still staring fixedly through the windshield, but there was a hint of pink creeping up the back of his neck. Interesting. Shane filed it away under “things to ponder while drinking.”

“He’s fine,” Shane said shortly, and then amended this statement. “He’s just really upset. Dog fell into a ditch he was digging, I think he feels guilty.”

“Puppies get into all kinds of trouble,” Harvey said, and Shane grunted agreement. He took the truck all the way back to the pit, parking a few feet from the edge.

“In there,” he gestured, and Harvey hopped out with his bag, Doctor Mode back in place.

Charlie and Bones hadn’t moved much, except that Charlie had lain down beside Bones, curling himself around the puppy’s smaller form. Bones was panting hard but had otherwise gone still, no longer struggling. One of Charlie’s hands still held a blood-soaked handkerchief to the dog’s back leg. He looked up as the two men approached the edge of the pit, relief flooding his face.

“Harvey!” he called, sitting up. “God, I’m so glad you came. Can you help him?”

“I think so, but I need to take a look at him, and there’s no room for two people down there,” Harvey called back. “Can you come out?”

Charlie seemed reluctant to leave Bones, and the puppy obviously shared his feelings—the moment Charlie moved to stand up, he began whining again, trying to get to his feet. Charlie made shushing noises, trying to comfort him, and at last he slumped against the ground again, panting. Before he could get back up, Charlie scaled the ladder, emerging from the pit with suspiciously red eyes.

“He’s hurting really bad,” Charlie told Harvey, his voice unsteady. “I think he needs stitches, and he might’ve broken his leg.”

“I’ll do my best,” Harvey said gently, and seemed to want to say something more. After a moment, though, he just turned around and started down the ladder.

Charlie was clearly agonized, staring down into the pit and chewing his lower lip. Shane stood beside him, feeling useless but uncertain of how to help. Charlie still clutched the bloody handkerchief; Shane wasn't even sure he knew it was in his hand.

“Who still has hankies?” he asked, aiming for levity. Charlie looked at him blankly, and Shane indicated the bloody cloth. “Seriously, I’ve only seen those in movies.”

“Oh.” Charlie looked at it as though he’d never seen it before. “My grandpa left a bunch of them in the house. You know, it used to be just part of the whole farmer look, but I actually end up using them constantly.” He grimaced, examining the blood all over his hands. “You wouldn’t believe how dirty your hands get, messing around with crops all day.”

“Bet I would,” Shane said grimly, and looked back into the pit. Harvey was listening to the puppy’s lungs, his fingers gently working over the injured leg. Bones let out a sharp yelp, and Charlie flinched as though he’d been struck. Harvey pulled the stethoscope from his ears, hanging it around his neck one-handed.

“Nothing’s broken, he’s going to be fine,” he called up to them, and Charlie let out a deep exhale of relief. “He does need stitches, and his leg’s sprained, but it’ll heal up in a few weeks, most likely.” He stood, stretching his back. “Can you toss down a towel or a sheet? I need to wrap him to move him, make sure he doesn’t shift too much.”

A few minutes and one sprint to the farmhouse later, Harvey was passing a tightly-swaddled Bones up the ladder to Charlie, who passed him to Shane at the top. When Charlie emerged, he held a hand down to help Harvey to his feet; then, he took the bundle of puppy back from Shane, heading toward the farmhouse.

“We can use my table,” he called, and Shane and Harvey fell into step behind him. Harvey’s case thumped at his side, and he looked totally unruffled, as though he were going to an operating room to help a human patient rather than performing dog surgery on a shoddy wooden table. Shane was increasingly unsure why he, himself, was sticking around. Surely they didn’t really need him for this?

“Help me hold him, once we get inside,” Harvey said in an undertone. “He’s going to squirm, and I don’t want Charlie to have to do it.”

Shane swallowed, suddenly nervous. “All right.”

The stitching went fairly smoothly, at least to Shane’s untrained eye. Harvey numbed the area with some kind of topical gel—“I’d like to give him an injection, but I don’t know if intravenous lidocaine is safe for dogs, and anyway I don’t know the dosage”—before swabbing the wound clean and bending over the dog with his needle. As he’d predicted, Bones cried out and struggled, and Shane did his best to keep him pinned without hurting him. Charlie stroked his head and made soothing noises, his face crumpled.

“What’s his name?” Harvey asked as he worked.

“Bones.”

Harvey glanced at him with a flicker of surprise. “Bones, like the—that’s not a Star Trek reference, is it?”

Charlie looked up with a surprised smile, clearly delighted. “Yeah, Doctor Leonard ‘Bones’ McCoy! You’re a Trekkie?”

“I’ve seen every episode probably five times. Sometimes I wish I could get away with being as bossy to my patients as McCoy, but I don’t outrank them, sadly.”

“Could you guys wait a little while to start giving Vulcan salutes?” Shane demanded through gritted teeth. “This dog is not exactly happy to be held down.” With a hurried apology, Harvey bent back to his work, but Charlie looked much calmer than before.

After what felt like hours, Harvey tied off the last stitch, wiping his forearm across his sweaty brow. It was a warm day, and the tiny farmhouse was even hotter than the air outside. Harvey stripped off his gloves, rummaging through his case for something, and emerged with a roll of bandages.

“Just going to wrap it up so his range of motion is limited,” he explained, and Charlie nodded. The farmer ducked down close to Bones’ head, whispering something into his ear that Shane couldn’t quite make out. Wrapping the leg took far less time than the stitches, and within a minute Harvey sat back in his chair, sighing.

“All done,” he pronounced, and Charlie’s entire face smoothed out in relief. “I’ll give him something for the pain; he can take coated aspirin. He’ll still be sore for at least a couple days, so maybe keep him in the house so he can’t run around, okay?”

“Harvey, you’re the best,” Charlie said fervently, and Harvey blushed. “I don’t know what we would have done without you. I can’t thank you enough.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” Harvey insisted, waving a hand dismissively. “Glad I could help.”

“What do I owe you?”

Harvey gave a nervous laugh, and Shane noted with amusement that Doctor Mode Harvey had already disappeared—Regular Shy Harvey was back. “I don’t have a fee structure for animals, actually, so let’s just say this one’s on me.”

“No way!” Shane tuned out the rest of their bickering about payment; he didn’t give a shit whether Harvey charged the farmer or not. Instead, he ran a hand over Bones’ ears, examining the tidy wrapping around his back leg. The puppy was much calmer now, looking ready to doze off on the table. Marnie’s instincts about Charlie had been right, he supposed: the dog was lucky to have ended up here.

The argument seemed to be wrapping up. “If you really won’t let me pay you—”

“I really won’t let you pay me.”

“—then at least take some more of these.” Charlie rummaged in a basket under the table and pulled out a jar of pickles. Pickles? Seriously? Shane thought. What a weird way to thank someone, but evidently Harvey didn’t think so—his entire face brightened, and he reached to take them, giving Charlie a wry smile.

“Not fair,” he said. “You’ve already figured out my weakness.” Shane raised an eyebrow.

“Well, you saw mine,” Charlie pointed out with a laugh, gesturing to the dog on the table. Shane’s other eyebrow joined the first. Was this flirting he was seeing? Were these weirdos actually hitting on each other over pickles and dog surgery? Yoba, Shane had thought he was hopeless. He decided it was time to save them from themselves.

“I’ve gotta get home,” he said, and both Charlie and Harvey seemed to just notice he was still there. “Doc, you want a lift back to town?”

“Oh! That would be nice,” Harvey said, tucking the pickles into his case before snapping it shut. He turned to ruffle Bones’ ears, and the dog thumped his tail sleepily against the table. “Charlie, just let me know if he doesn’t perk back up in a few days. And bring him by the clinic in about ten days to get those stitches out, okay?”

“Will do, Harvey. Thanks again.” Charlie turned to Shane as Harvey walked past them to the door. “Shane, thank you too, for everything. You’re a good friend.”

Shane froze halfway out the door, unsure how to process this statement. At last, he managed a careless-sounding “Whatever, farm boy,” tossed over his shoulder as he left. He thought he’d been successfully flippant, but judging by the laugh that followed him out the door, he was wrong.

Oh, well. There were worse things than having a friend. As long as he found someone else to help the next time he broke his dog.

^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^

Harvey leaned against the bar that night, pushing his heels back to the floor to feel the nice stretch in the backs of his legs. At thirty-eight, he was already getting too old for this clinic business; every day felt like it brought a new litany of aches and pains. If he’d identified them in someone else, he would have massaged them out, but there was nobody in his life to do it for him. No one to doctor the doctor, he thought, with just a hint of bitterness.

“Harvey, buddy,” Gus greeted him, making his way down the bar. “What can I get you?”

“I’ll have a glass of blackberry wine, thanks, Gus.”

“You opening a tab, or—?”

“This one’s on me, Gus,” came a voice to his right, and he turned to see Charlie sidling up to the bar. “Got to thank Dr. Harvey here for stitching up my poor pup earlier,” he added, beaming at Harvey.

“Oh, there’s no need, really—” Harvey stammered, but Gus had already waved in acceptance and moved away, leaving a bottle of wine and two glasses. Harvey pushed his glasses up his nose and wondered if he’d ever stop feeling off-balance around this farmer.

“You don’t have to drink with me if you don’t want to, I didn’t intend to hijack your evening,” Charlie assured him, taking the bottle and pouring them each a glass. “I just wanted a chance to give you my thanks again. Bones means a lot to me.”

“Is he doing all right with the stitches?”

“Doing just fine, thanks. He’s been sleeping all afternoon, think his little adventure wore him out. And I covered the pit after you left.” Charlie took a sip of the wine, exhaled in obvious gusto, then asked, “So are you waiting for someone, or…?”

“No, I usually just come here alone to unwind,” Harvey said, and was it his imagination or did Charlie look a little disappointed?

“Got it,” he said, voice as chipper as ever. “Well, I can leave you to it, then. Like I said, I didn’t mean to—”

“No!” Harvey blurted, hoping he wasn’t blushing. “I mean, no, you don’t have to go, if you don’t want to. I would...enjoy your company.” Nope, he was definitely blushing, and judging by the grin on Charlie’s face, it was visible even in the dim light of the bar.

“Well, then.” He inclined his glass slightly at Harvey in a little toast, then settled his elbows against the bar. “How does a brilliant doctor like yourself come to live in a place like Pelican Town? Don’t get me wrong, it’s lovely, but I can tell you’re not from around these parts.”

Harvey decided not to argue with the “brilliant” assessment, though his cheeks burned again. “It’s a bit of a long story,” he admitted.

“I’ve got nowhere to be. If you feel like sharing, that is.”

“Well…” Harvey took a fortifying sip of wine, glancing across his face at Charlie; was he just trying to be polite? He looked genuinely interested and at ease, though, so Harvey decided to go on. He’d never really talked about it with anyone but Maru; once the shine of being the newest person in town had worn off, people had stopped asking him about himself. “I’m from Zuzu City originally, went away for medical school in the Capitol, then back to the city for work. My own physician since childhood was retiring, and I’d intended to take over his practice, you see. It was a lovely clinic, state-of-the-art, in the heart of the city. I worked there for, oh, six years? It was good for a while. But eventually I needed a change of scenery, so I sent letters to clinics in every town in a 300-mile radius. Pelican Town wasn’t the only one that wrote back, but they seemed to really need me, so I came here.”

“That doesn’t seem like such a long story,” Charlie said, raising an eyebrow.

“No, I suppose it doesn’t.”

“So what was her name?”

Harvey choked on his sip of wine, quickly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry?”

Charlie quirked a rueful smile. “The reason you left your fancy city practice. I’m guessing it wasn’t just a sudden urgent need for country air. Quick relocation usually means losing a job or losing a girl, and it seems like it wasn’t the job.” He grimaced. “I’m sorry, I’m being incredibly nosy. Don’t feel like you have to answer that, it was rude.”

“Philip.”

“What?”

Harvey sighed, refilling his wine glass; this was going to take some extra liquid courage. “His name was Philip. He was my predecessor’s son, and he ran the business side of the clinic. We bonded over paperwork and jazz music, and then...other things.”

“Oh!” Charlie said, his eyes wide, and Harvey looked across his face at him. “No, no, I’m just surprised, is all. The town gossips all think you’ve got eyes for Maru. Sorry. Lot of assumptions going around.”

Harvey huffed a quick laugh, eyes on the wine swirling in his glass. “Maru’s a very close friend,” he said. “And a lovely girl, but not my type, unfortunately.”

Charlie’s momentary surprise seemed to have dissipated, and he watched Harvey with sympathetic eyes. “So what happened with Philip? Please don’t answer if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s fine,” Harvey sighed. “Probably time I exorcised that particular ghost.” He paused for a long moment, gathering his thoughts; Charlie did nothing but wait patiently, occasionally sipping his wine. “We were together for almost five years. We moved in together after one...We were happy at first, or I thought we were. The Ferngill Republic legalized gay marriage just before our fifth anniversary, and I was so excited, I closed the office early and bought a ring, went home to surprise him.” He trailed off here, his eyebrows drawing together in pain at the memory. Charlie paused in the act of lifting his glass to his mouth, grimacing.

“Don’t tell me.”

“He wasn’t alone, of course,” Harvey murmured, staring at the floor. “I doubt he’d spent much time alone our entire relationship. I’d always kind of suspected...I don’t know why I didn’t confront him about it earlier.”

“Because you loved him,” Charlie cut in gently, and Harvey met his eye; his face was full of compassion. “And you’re a kind person, and you expected him to be kind, too.”

“Yes, well.” Harvey cleared his throat, straightening a little. “I found myself single for the first time in half a decade, the very summer that every couple we knew got married. I went to a dozen weddings. It was hellish.”

“God,” Charlie groaned, refilling his own glass. “I can’t imagine.”

Harvey smiled, a little bitterly, and ducked his head in a nod of acknowledgement. “What about you?” he asked. “How did you end up here? I know your grandfather owned the farm years ago, but it sat abandoned for some time.”

“It did,” Charlie agreed. “I lived in Zuzu City, too, for a long time.”

“You did!”

“Sure did. Wish we’d run into each other then. I could’ve used a friend in those days,” Charlie confirmed, smiling sadly. “I worked for Joja, actually. Desk job, very white collar, the kind of thing you’re taught to shoot for in business school. I went every day, I convinced myself I was living the dream, but one day I looked around and just…” He trailed off, leaving Harvey hanging on the end of his sentence.

“You just what?”

Charlie sighed. “I realized I’d never done one single thing that mattered, ever. You know? All the work I did for Joja, it was just to put more money into some corporate goon’s pockets. I had a bland little apartment in a bland little neighborhood and a bland little desk in a cubicle. I realized if I kept on the path I was on, I could go my entire life without building anything of substance. And I couldn’t stand it. So...I took my grandpa up on an offer he’d made years before, and I came here.”

Harvey was amazed; the courage it must have taken to walk away from a whole life, to take up a profession he knew nothing about, to devote his days to backbreaking labor instead of paperwork. “You’re very brave,” he finally said. Charlie looked surprised at this.

“No more than you,” he said. “We both uprooted our lives to come here, didn’t we?”

Harvey’s instinct was to argue, but he held it in. “I suppose we did,” he agreed. “I just wish I’d done it when I was younger. Sometimes I think I made the change too late.”

“Too late for what?” Charlie asked, and Harvey wished he could swallow the words back down, but there was nothing for it. He sighed.

“I don’t know...the whole family thing, marriage, children. Everyone here is either paired off already or too young for me.” He laughed. “Nobody wants an old sawbones with a studio apartment, you know.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Charlie said, so quietly Harvey almost missed it under the din of the saloon. When he turned to look, Charlie seemed to have moved closer; he was leaning on the bar with his elbow nearly touching Harvey’s, looking down at the floor, his eyelashes casting shadows over his cheekbones. When he glanced up at Harvey through those lashes, a small smile at the corners of his mouth, Harvey felt something warm and heavy unfurling deliciously in his belly. It could almost have been the wine—he could blame it on the wine—but he knew the feeling, recognized it even though it had been years and years since he’d last felt it.

Harvey opened his mouth to say something—what, he wasn’t sure; probably something regrettable and humiliating—but the spell was broken by a clatter at the other end of the bar, Pam having stumbled into a table and sent a handful of glasses shattering to the floor. Both men straightened, suddenly self-conscious of their proximity. Charlie set his wine glass down on the bar, smoothing his shirt down with both hands.

“I’d better be getting to bed,” he said, and Harvey tried not to look as disappointed as he felt. “Gotta keep an eye on Bones tonight. Harvey…” He turned that brown-eyed gaze on him again, and Harvey felt pinned to the spot. “Thank you for sharing all that with me. I feel as though I know you so much better now.”

“I just hope I didn’t bore you,” Harvey said, retreating into the comfortable waters of self-deprecation. Charlie didn’t take the bait, just smiled with a warmth that melted Harvey’s insides and shook his head.

“Not possible,” he said, and clapped Harvey on the shoulder. “You’re far too interesting. Good night, doc.”

“Good night, Charlie,” he called after him, watching probably too closely as the farmer sauntered out the door. As soon as the door closed, he leaned against the bar again, feeling his shoulder tingling lightly where Charlie had touched it. The warm weight behind his navel hadn’t gone away, leading to only one conclusion:

The crush was no longer just a crush. Harvey liked him. He was falling for the farmer.