Page 114 of Untouchable

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When he wakes before dawn,it takes Harp a moment to realize that there is someone in bed with him, and another moment to remember who, and still another to remember why.

What in the everloving fuck?

Harp cycles through the events of the day before, realizing that yesterday feels more like a lifetime than a single day.

He and Parker have... fallen into something. And Harp didn't stop them.

Harp remembers the morning of chores, their late lunch and... everything that had happened after that.

It's not just that it was an unlikely day. It seems so impossible that it's absurd. It feels like it was a dream.

Parker is facing him, sleeping soundly, and the sight of him makes Harp feel terrified. He wants to pull Parker into his arms, rouse him with kisses so that he'll be awake to see a sunrise that Harp can already tell is going to be gorgeous, a sunrise that he wants to watch with this new person who has come into his life and demanded a corner of it.

But Harp also knows that when Parker wakes up, he's going to regret the night before.

They'd come together because of proximity, because Parker could tell just how lonely Harp is sometimes, because he was stranded and had nothing better to do, because Harp had plied him with food and booze and drugs and then teased him within half an inch of his life.

Yes, Parker had been the one to make the first move. But he also admitted to liking Harp before he had a good reason to...

It's just physical,Harp thinks. It's just because he feels sorry for me. He'll wake up and see me in sharp relief and hate himself for coming onto me.

Harp slips out of bed and pads downstairs, silently letting the dogs out and starting a pot of coffee. Sunlight has begun to paint the clouds above the valley, but the colors are still pale. It only takes Harp a few minutes to find a homemade pie crust in the freezer and put together a quiche for breakfast.

When it's in the oven, Harp pours himself a cup of black coffee, shrugs into a coat, and steps out onto the porch off the kitchen.

A bored Petunia investigates the cat house while Gunny and Bo chase each other in the snow that Harp is sure will melt down today.

It's time for Parker to go home, but that thought makes a feeling like a sucking wound in Harp's chest, like his body is trying to implode. Parker goes home… and then what? Dates up on the mountain? Or worse, dates in town?

Parker won't want to be seen with him. He'll come to his senses the minute he's off the mountain.

Maybe we can still have something, Harp thinks. Stay friends, at least. Maybe Parker's reaction won't be so negative that he never wants to see Harp again.

He has so much to do before Parker leaves. And he doesn't want his new friend to feel trapped when he wakes up. He needs to fix the winch and get it welded back in place on his ancient but powerful pickup truck.

No time like the present, he thinks, trudging off towards the barn with his welder without another thought, turning everything off in his mind and simply moving forward.

* * *

Parker’s alarmis beeping insistently at him, and it pulls him up from such a deep sleep that it takes him a moment to realize he’s not in his own bed. And then he realizes it’s not his phone’s gentle tinkling—the sound that’s woken him is the high, insistent trill of a fire alarm.

Parker leaps out of bed, suddenly wide awake, and practically flies down the stairs. The downstairs is smoky, and it doesn’t take long for Parker to realize the source is something that’s been baked to hell and back in the oven. He grabs a dish rag and opens the oven, which belches out a cloud of smoke, to see what appears to be a tough black disk smoking thoroughly. He turns the oven off and yells at the fire alarm to shut up—it doesn’t listen of course—and throws open the windows.

There’s an immediate effect as the crisp November breeze rolls through the house, and Parker drags a chair to the center of the room to shut the alarm up.

Once order has at least been kind of restored, and Parker’s heart rate has returned to normal, he investigates what caused his unpleasant wake up call. It looks like a pie of some sort, but it’s burned beyond recognition.

Parker smiles fondly to himself as he goes about pouring himself a mug of coffee. It’s just like Harp to forget something in the oven like this. He thinks that Harp must be outside, doing some chore, and he’d just completely forgotten about... whatever it was he was making. He could imagine how such a trait in a partner could be frustrating—a trail of half-forgotten projects scattered in Harp’s wake—but Parker just finds it endearing.

Parker’s still in just the sweatpants, slung low around his hips—his shirt is flung in some corner of Harp’s room. He grabs a blanket from the couch to wrap himself with and snuggles into the little window seat in the kitchen to watch the last yellow-pink wisps of the sunrise disappear into blue. It’s the same place he sat when he watched Harp serve up the brisket all those weeks ago.

And god, so much has happened since then.

Parker is grinning to himself as he sips his coffee. He can’t help it—he’s on cloud nine. He doesn’t even bother lecturing himself about falling too hard or too fast. He’ll get lectured enough by Mindy later on.

He actually laughs out loud. He can’t wait to tell her—a slightly sanitized version of the details, of course. He knows she’ll be a little skeptical at first, but once he tells her about how gently Harp had held him that first night, the way Harp had guessed exactly how Parker took his coffee, Harp’s amazement that Parker wanted him, he knows she’ll be happy for him.

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