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“We need to take the next exit,” Harrow says, like she’s trying to be helpful, except she’s got this snide little voice going that really just makes it sound like she wants Gideon dead. To be fair, Gideon asked her to quit being a bitch like five minutes ago, and no one’s really over it yet.
“I love that you told me this now,” Gideon replies, glancing over her shoulder to switch out of the furthest left lane. “When I was in that lane a couple minutes ago. And could have just stayed in it.”
She catches Cam’s eyebrow raise in her rearview mirror as she continues to switch lanes back to where the car had just been, then moving smoothly into the exit only lane. Listen, alright, Gideon’s a good damn driver. It’s not her fault Harrow is choosing to be a little bitch about navigating.
“Your abysmal driving is going to give me an aneurysm,” Harrow mutters, like a little bitch.
“She’s really doing fine,” Palamedes says, because he’s a good friend. Also because he loves being nosy.
“She can defend herself,” Gideon replies, cutting a glare at Harrow as she glances in her side mirror. “And I was going to ignore the peanut gallery unless she wants to do her job and navigate for me. Right or left?”
“Left,” Harrow snaps, making Gideon swerve out of the right lane with an aggressive smack to the turn signal. Pal sighs in the backseat, channeling a beleaguered mother.
“If someone didn’t have a strict itinerary, we wouldn’t all be hangry,” Gideon grumbles, waiting for cross-traffic to open up before turning. There’s a gas station in sight, but Harrow says now turn right anyway, getting a Patented Gideon Nav Eyeroll for her trouble.
“I won’t apologize for organization,” Cam says, bending down to get her wallet out of a backpack pocket.
“Maybe we should all grab an extra snack to have on hand,” Palamedes suggests, ever so helpful.
“Maybe your mom should have grabbed an extra snack,” Gideon responds under her breath as she pulls into the parking lot and rolls up to a gas pump. “Everybody go pee and get food. I’ll take care of grabbing gas.”
She turns the key. The engine stops. The stereo cuts out. Everyone’s seatbelts whir back into place. Pockets are unzipped. Doors are pushed open.
Gideon gets the gas going and starts to clean the windshield. It’s nice to have a moment alone, a breather between the chaos of driving for as long as possible between stops. Cam's the first one back; she picks up another window washing tool and does the back windshield.
“We have another day to drive before the conference,” Cam says. “I don’t want to clean anybody’s blood out of my car. Are you and Harrow going to be alright?” It's Cam's version of checking on her. She’s not really conveying concern, but Gideon knows better than to expect that.
“Yeah, we’re alright,” Gideon sighs. “Once we get there, she’ll fuck off with Pal to do nerd shit, you and I are gonna go explore, and I’ll get my space.”
"You know you didn't have to come, right?"
She shrugs. "I wanted to. I'm okay."
Cam offers a noncommittal and nonjudgmental hm as she takes the other window washing tool from her hand and returns them both. They wait for the gas to be done before Gideon puts the nozzle back into its holster. As they head into the store, Cam gives her a spray of hand sanitizer. Gideon’s grateful for her, their simple and meaningful friendship.
Gideon’s stretching out her legs, bending over, ready to run over to the car as soon as Cam honks, when a shadow falls over her feet. She inhales slowly, taking her time with it. The shadow shifts like an impatient little witch; Gideon stands up, still taking her sweet time with the motion.
“Yeah?” she says, meeting Harrow’s gaze. (She’s standing in the stunning gold of the last hour of the day. The light shines on her dark hair, emphasizes her black eyes, tosses a complimentary highlight on her brown skin and sharp features. Gideon hates how beautiful she is.)
“I’m sorry,” the impatient little witch says, arms crossed tightly across her chest.
“I- what?”
“I’m sorry,” she repeats, through gritted teeth. “I was being a bitch about navigating. You were right.”
Gideon manages to reply with some sort of sound that indicates listening and perhaps even comprehending. They stare at each other for a long moment; she notes, for not the first time, how small Harrow is. Even in her big stompy boots, which she weirdly insists on wearing everywhere.
“Thank you,” Gideon eventually says, after digging at the bottom of the barrel for a reply in the territory of polite instead of infuriating. “I appreciate it.”
“I- yeah. I’m trying.” Harrow tugs at her sleeves, a thumb rubbing at the hem. God, is she nervous? Harrowhark, nervous over an apology? Hell must have iced over.
“I know,” Gideon says, soft, and maybe softer than Harrow deserves. “I don’t mind us bickering. I’d-” rather have that than nothing, she would have said, except Cam honks from their parking spot. Both of them flinch. “Let’s go,” she ends up saying, mostly just to get Harrow to stop looking at her like that.
Harrow nods, turns around and goes to the car. The boots add a little weight to the swing of her step, put her feet down with a little more force. It’s not like Gideon doesn’t understand what it’s like to need your guard up.
She inhales deeply, swings her shoulders around to shake off a little bit more energy. Another four hours in tight quarters next to the girl she's pretending she doesn't have feelings for. They talked about it. They can be friends. They can draw the lines of the space they need. Gideon’s still in love with her. It’s fine. Everything is fine.
It is, actually, pretty fine. Without the tasks of driving and navigating, Harrow and Gideon are quiet in the backseat. Cam is endlessly competent, barely needing directions for a mostly straight stretch anyway, and Palamedes has his nose buried in a book. Gideon scrolls on her phone while they have service.
“I still resent the fact that you’re not letting me drive,” Harrow grumbles.
“You’ve backed into multiple trash cans. You’ve been pulled over multiple times. It’s just practical.” Cam is unwavering. Gideon’s pressed her hand to her mouth so she won’t start shout-laughing.
“It’s an empty highway!” Harrow honest-to-God kicks her tiny socked feet against Cam’s seat in a fit of pettiness; Gideon can see her biting back a smile, so she’s not actually serious. It’s still hilarious. Especially in contrast to Cam coolly eating her black licorice.
“Not always. And you have to pull into parking lots. Also, I don’t need to adjust my entire car for Gideon or Palamedes to reach the pedals.”
Harrow pulls her knees to her chest with a scoff and an eye roll. The silence is answer enough.
Eventually, they hit gaps in coverage and she’s sleepy enough to put her phone down. It’s always been easy for her to fall asleep with other people around. She’s listening to Palamedes and Camilla talk in the front seat, about nothing important, aware of Harrow reading, curled up against the window. It's soothing to know there's someone else with her, knowing everything is taken care of for now. She can relax.
It's not a very deep sleep. She didn't expect that. It’s an in-and-out kind of nap, half-listening for their next stop. Even so, she wakes up with her extra flannel draped over her chest. It’s kinda disorentiating to wake up to; this shirt was packed in her bag, but that’s still sitting between her and Harrow, zipped up neatly. Maybe it’s a little offset to the left than before? Huh. Wild. She blinks the sleep out of her eyes, raises a hand to brush her hair back. Harrow is still curled up, now with the book stashed; Gideon can barely make out the outlines of her features in the dim light.
“What time is it?” she asks, voice raspy, reaching for her water bottle.
“Eight,” Cam answers. “Half an hour until our next stop.”
“Thanks,” Gideon says. She takes another drink before setting the bottle back down, readjusting in her seat, and going back to sleep.
Their next stop is a tiny gas station in the middle of nowhere, about to close, so Pal and Harrow hurry in. Cam gets gas. Gideon does the windshields. She goes inside, shaking her hands to dry the hand sanitizer. Harrow’s standing at the counter. Call it body language, call it familiarity, call it whatever you want, but Gideon can tell something is wrong. The cashier is an older woman who looks friendly enough - not that it matters with Harrow anyway. Gideon goes to her instead of to the restroom like she’d planned.
“Harrow, did you see my wallet in the car?” she asks, casually, standing off to the side in her line of sight. Harrow flinches at her voice anyway.
“What? No,” she says, a dubious quirk to her mouth. She pulls her card out of the chip reader. “Why would I have seen your wallet?”
The receipt printer hums as it prints out the receipt. “Do you need this, miss?” the cashier asks, pulling it off the machine. Gideon watches Harrow’s jaw clench and her hand flex into a fist.
“No.” Gideon’s familiar with Harrow’s varying levels of Chilly Tones and how much they actually mean. This one sounds like black ice on a dark night.
“C’mon, I think I dropped it into some black hole in the car,” Gideon answers, gesturing outside. “Can you help me look? I need your tiny hands.” Harrow rolls her eyes, collects her snacks, follows her without another word.
“Have a good day, ladies,” the cashier calls; Gideon suppresses an eye roll. Harrow pulls her hood over her head after she stashes things in her pockets.
“Okay, I was lying,” Gideon says, as soon as the door closes behind them. “It’s in my pocket.”
“Why - what?” Harrow nearly stops walking, but Gideon motions her on, going with her to the car.
“You seemed freaked out.” Harrow shoots her a confused and irritated glance. It borders on suspicion, which stings. Gideon shrugs. “I wanted to help.”
Harrow’s expression softens. “Oh.”
“I’m- gonna do my things now,” Gideon says, awkwardly stopping mid-step. “I’ll be back in a few.” She walks away, trying to feel like she’s not running.
It’s just. They agreed to be friends. They’re being friends. A friend will help their friend out of an uncomfortable situation. That’s okay. But a friend is not going to kiss their friend’s face or keep her close and safe or ask if she wants a hand to hold. Even if their friend deserves all the affection she could ever want. If she wants it. Y’know, these theoretical friends. Not Gideon and Harrow. It’s fine! She’s fine.
She inhales, tries briefly to relax as she goes inside. Going to the restroom and getting her snacks is easy. The cashier is friendly, not saying anything even remotely irritating; Gideon idly wonders what bothered Harrow so much.
In the car, Palamedes behind the wheel, everyone gets settled again. He and Cam are talking about how long it should take to get to their next stop; Gideon tunes out their back-and-forth. Harrow has her head back, earbuds in, nestled into herself and her hoodie.
It’d be nice to nap again, but she’s just not tired, so scrolling through social media on her phone it is. The car is quiet once they get going. She watches the streetlights fade in the distance before looking forward, idly watching the road through the windshield.
Palamedes stretches a cupped hand into Cam's space; she grabs his bag of peanut M&Ms and pours some into his hand, barely shifting her attention from her book. He murmurs something in thanks. She nods. After his mouthful of candy is gone, Cam hands his drink over. The silent intimacy and simple familiarity in something as small as shotgun duties strikes Gideon. It’s a sharp blow.
Yeah, things are fine with Harrow, but at the same time. She wants to turn and kiss her head. She wants to step in and fix something without being questioned for it. She wants to- she just wants her. And it’s fine. Being friends is fine. Gideon’s good at not getting what she wants. She leans down to grab her Switch out of her bag. This train of thought can go away! It sucks! A distraction always helps.
Gideon is busy trying to catch them all in Pokemon when she notices Harrow craning her neck to see the screen. She bites her tongue on laughter and a jab; instead, she moves so that the angle is better. The shift closer is subtle. She doesn't think Harrow notices.
About ten minutes later, navigating through a new region, Harrow murmurs "you missed something, back to your left.” It's not a criticism, it's helpful. Wow. Imagine that. Gideon nods and follows her direction. Harrow moves a little closer. Gideon doesn't comment.
Harrow cheers softly when she catches a tricky Lampent. Gideon hides her smile in the collar of her hoodie. "Wanna try?" she asks, offering her Switch.
"No, thanks," Harrow answers. "I like watching you play better." When their eyes meet, she offers a tiny smile.
"Alright," is all Gideon can manage. She unbuckles and moves to the middle seat, rebuckling when Pal shoots her A Look in the mirror. "I got it, Mom," she mumbles to him, mostly to see the way the Look changes into fond exasperation.
Harrow turns to set her shoulder next to Gideon's. They sit in the comfortable quiet together, talking softly about her team of Pokemon, where she’s going, all the easy joys of it, until Gideon makes a comment and Harrow doesn't answer. She moves to look at her, but the movement dislodges Harrow and suddenly, she's asleep on Gideon's shoulder. Ah. Right. Gideon moves to give her the best pillow she can, though the angle is awkward.
Her heart aches. She tries to ignore it. It maybe kind of almost works.
Gideon continues her game for awhile, then turns her Switch off and settles in for another nap. Harrow has moved closer, seeking warmth. She’s pressed to Gideon’s side, still with her head on her shoulder. Gideon wishes she could open her arm, nudge Harrow over, but it would wake her up. They’ll be okay. She puts her head back and lets herself relax.
She wakes up because whatever is so warm and soft- no, ow, not soft, actually so pointy- is trying to move slowly. Harrow’s knee presses into her thigh, her hand somewhere closer to her hip, pushing away; Gideon makes a half-awake sound before she realizes what’s going on. They turned towards each other as they slept, getting closer and closer until Harrow woke up.
Gideon shifts back to allow Harrow some dignity in the awkwardness of getting as far away from each other as possible!! in the backseat!! while buckled up!! Yikes.
“Where are we?” Harrow manages, pointedly facing forward, hands falling to her lap and twisting into each other.
“Almost to the gas station,” Pal answers, turning onto a smaller side highway. “Are you both awake?”
“Yup,” Gideon answers. She makes herself comfortable, grabs her phone, ignores Harrow right back.
Palamedes pulls up to the gasp pump a few minutes later. There's the usual chorus of clicking seatbelts, slamming doors, and hitting the ground. Gideon pauses when part of it is missing. Behind her is Harrow, still curled up.
“Hey, c’mon,” Gideon says, halfway out the door. The night air is chilly. A breeze rolls over her calves as she leans over the backseat. “Let’s go.”
“I don’t want to come inside,” Harrow says, her shoulders rolled in, knees tucked to her chest. She’s so small. Gideon wants to close the door so the colder air won’t bother her.
“…Are you sure? Cam isn’t gonna be happy if we have to take an extra break.” She’s not trying to be an asshole about whatever Harrow is thinking, but she’s gotta point out the obvious.
“If someone calls me miss, or- tries to call me a lady, I’m going to scream,” Harrow tells her, trying to disappear into her hoodie. It’s surprisingly honest and vulnerable.
There’s a beat of silence. The lights hum. The gas moves through the hoses. Someone’s car alarm blares in the distance. Stars twinkle overhead, if only they could see them.
“Do you want me to go with you, or buy your snacks for you?” Gideon doesn’t offer anything else to the quiet as Harrow thinks.
“Buy them for me?” She asks, voice low. “So I don’t need to talk to anyone?”
“Yeah, of course,” Gideon answers. “Do you want anything different or the usual?”
“The usual.” Harrow looks up at her, holding eye contact for a moment. There’s something tender in her gaze and Gideon has to look away before it gets weird.
“Okay. I can do that.”
“Thank you,” Harrow murmurs, and her fingertips brush Gideon’s palm as she passes her wallet over.
Gideon pretends it didn’t happen. “Of course.” She slides out, closes her door, waits for Harrow so they can walk in together. It’s so easy to feel protective of her. She carefully gathers Harrow’s favorite snacks (unsweetened ice tea, pretzel sticks, Good N’ Plenty,) and her own (blue Powerade, chili lime Doritos, the weirdest or sourest candy she can find) before going to the checkout.
The last few hours are uneventful. It’s super late by the time they get to their motel. Gideon loses the “who’s going inside” squabble, so she heads inside and gets them checked in. Everything goes smoothly until-
“Alright, so, we’ve got your two rooms you reserved, but, hmm, someone got a little confused and swapped one around - is one with a queen okay? It’s our only room left.” The receptionist grimaces in sympathy, looking up through her reading glasses.
“Yeah, sure,” Gideon says, silently moving through the five stages of grief. “A bed is a bed.”
The receptionist nods, taps loudly at her keyboard again. “You’re all checked in. Let me grab your keys.”
Gideon takes the keycards, says goodnight, and books it back out. She sends Harrow and Pal in the direction of their rooms, then busies herself grabbing their bags from the back and prepares to beg for mercy.
“Cam. Help.”
“Perish,” Cam says, not looking up from her bags.
“There's only one bed,” Gideon says, rushing the words. “Two rooms. One has what we asked for. The other is just a queen bed.”
Cam raises an eyebrow. Gideon can fucking tell she’s biting back a smile. “What do you want me to do about it?”
“Take the queen, please,” and oh God, she’s not gonna do it, Gideon is going to die, “okay, what if we rock-paper-scissors? That’s fair!”
“Sure.” Cam turns with her fist out, already counting. On go, Gideon hits her with the scissors, and Cam doesn’t move her hand. She taps Gideon’s fingers with her fist. “You never pick anything else,” she says, in a more gentle tone than she’s ever used; Gideon feels the need to throw herself on the ground and lament her awful sense of humor. She presses herself against the side of Cam’s car instead. “You’ll be fine. Harrow’s tiny. You could sleep on the floor if you really wanted.”
“Cam, nooooooo,” Gideon starts, then dodges Cam trying to close the trunk on her. “Rude!”
“Stop whining so we can go to bed,” she sighs, pushing the door back up. Gideon grabs her other bag, goes inside to the sound of Cam’s car locking. She heads down to their rooms, where Harrow and Pal are still standing in the hallway, hushed voices abruptly quieting as she comes up. She ignores this.
“Harrow,” she starts. “We ended up with a queen. Is that okay?” she asks, taking the key from her hand and opening the door, effectively ending the hallway conversation.
Palamedes offers a pointed goodnight, Gideon, goodnight, Harrow; they both call goodnight back to him. The door swings shut. Gideon finds the light, turns around; Harrow is staring at her with that pitch black gaze.
“I’d sleep on the floor if you wanted,” Gideon says, mostly to fill the silence, setting her bags down. She watches Harrow out of the corner of her eye, in the safer periphery.
“No, that’s ridiculous,” Harrow snaps, opening her mouth to continue before she deflates. “No,” she repeats, smoothing out the sharp tone. “It’s fine.”
“If you say so,” Gideon murmurs.
They don’t talk as they move around each other, getting ready for bed. Gideon ignores the sharp pain in her chest at the sound of the bathroom door closing. She changes into a soft shirt and shorts, digs out her toothbrush and facewash, runs a brush through her hair. They switch places without a word.
Harrow is in the bed by the time she’s done, light clicked off, lying on her side and facing away. The covers drape over the edge of her shoulder; Gideon shoves down the urge to tuck her in. She repacks her toiletries and zips her bag. Harrow’s clothes are thrown on top of her own bag, which is more than a little maddening, but they’ve got space, and it really doesn’t matter at all, Gideon’s just stalling.
She turns the light off first, just to give her some warning, then gets under the blankets. Harrow’s practically at the other edge of the bed, so it’s easy to settle in without touching her, on accident or on purpose. Gideon shifts a little, repositions the pillow.
They’re not touching. Not talking. Not acknowledging anything. The tension is still absolutely brutal. Gideon’s listening to Harrow’s breathing more closely than she’s ever listened to anything.
It doesn’t take long until the brittle snap, almost as palpable as an icicle dropping. Harrow sits up suddenly, whispers Gideon’s name with an urgency.
“Mm.” Gideon’s nowhere near asleep, but she’s reluctant to admit it.
“I'm sorry.”
Out of all the things to say, she chose that? Gideon exhales. “What?”
“I'm so sorry,” she says, voice breaking like she's- holy shit, she's crying, and Gideon is sitting up, pulling her close, trying to comfort her without even a thought. Harrow hides her face, forehead pressed to Gideon's shoulder, hands falling to press against her hips. She shakes with either the force of her tears or the sheer effort of holding them back.
"What are you sorry for, Harrow?" Gideon asks, tenderly rubbing a hand over her back.
She draws in a deep, shaky breath. "I ask so much of you," she starts, misery dropping the pitch of her voice and settling into the slump of her shoulders. "You don't even care. You just let me take whatever I want." She pauses, inhaling sharply.
Gideon takes the chance to interrupt, tapping Harrow's spine. "You don't take anything from me, first of all. Everything I do is offered."
Harrow sighs like she's holding up the world. “You should hate me,” she says.
“I don’t, for the record, and you don’t get to decide how I should feel,” Gideon replies. She’s gentle with the reminder.
“Gideon,” Harrow says, voice softening around her name. “Why'd you really get me away from that cashier? Why'd you get my snacks for me?”
Gideon blinks. “I care about you, you awful little witch,” she answers. “I want you to feel safe. I want you to be comfortable. If I can do something to help, I want to do it. It's not rocket science, Harrowhark. It's just how I feel.”
“Even though you- told me- and I turned you down?”
“You not being ready for romance, or not wanting it, or anything, doesn’t mean I’m going to stop being your friend.”
"It's not that I don't want it," Harrow murmurs. Gideon hesitates, hand dropping to Harrow's waist. Do they really want to talk about this now, twelve hours from home? Is this really- yeah, fuck, okay, they're doing this.
"You don't need to explain yourself to me, I can take a no," she says. It’s the repetition that hurts, the echo of the same sentiment as when Harrow turned her away the first time.
"But- I just-" Harrow's hands flex on Gideon's chest, curl into fists. She lifts her head to look at her. "I don’t know how to do any of this and it scares me to the bone," she confesses in the dark. "I want to be close to you so badly, I just-"
"I’m right here," Gideon breathes, frustration in her tone adding a sharp touch she doesn’t quite mean. Her palms fit the curve of Harrow's waist so well. She wants to bring her closer, wants to wrap her arms around her and not let go, wants to hold her until the sheer depth of her affection is expressed.
But Harrow's hand darts up to hold Gideon's jaw and she kisses her. It's sharp and hungry and Gideon finally understands why she's been so guarded for so long. Once they start, her other hand rising to settle on her neck, Gideon pulling her close, sharp knees falling around her waist, how could they stop? Why would they bother? Harrow softens as they kiss, seeming to relax knowing that Gideon is accepting and returning the affection.
She sets her forehead against Gideon’s when they manage to part. “I don’t want to hurt you,” Harrow says, sounding on the verge of tears again.
Gideon presses her lips to Harrow’s cheek, jaw, nose; she hates the idea of Harrow crying over her. “We’re gonna be okay,” she murmurs. The certainty she feels when it comes to the two of them is difficult to express. It exists, something real and luminous. Maybe it doesn’t even need to be put into words. Gideon kisses her forehead. “I just need you to trust that.”
“I trust you,” Harrow answers, in the same low tone. Gideon has to kiss her again for that one.
But exhaustion hits her hard, as much as she loves this. “Can we please go to sleep now?” Gideon asks, thumb tracing the hem of Harrow’s shirt.
“Only if you keep me warm,” Harrow says, a pleased note in her voice. It’s so fucking endearing Gideon can’t stand it. She moves out of her lap, lies down on her side, peeks over her shoulder at her. “Please?”
Gideon has to bite back a laugh. As if she could do anything but what Harrow asks of her. She settles down, pressed against Harrow, draping her arm over her waist and sneaking in one last kiss before dropping her head onto a pillow. Their breathing falls into sync. Harrow holds her hand. Sleep is easy to reach.
“Do you think they figured it out?” Palamedes asks, once they’ve both put their phones down and settled in.
“I’d bet you twenty dollars they’re either crying or kissing,” Cam answers, looking over to him in the dim light.
“Mmm. Thirty, but why would I take a losing bet?”
Cam only laughs in reply.