Harry's schedule became maniacal with the demands of the burgeoning workload for the new ER. Construction was scheduled to start in six months' time, and there seemed to be at least ten years' worth of work to be done between now and then. It was challenging, to say the least, but we made every effort to spend time together, even if we were involved in our own endeavors. 

Late one evening, I was sprawled out on his couch, reading a medical journal. I could hear him nearby, tapping away on his computer as he worked on an add-on proposal for a small playroom in the waiting area. My idea. 

Reading about a potential ebola vaccine was interesting enough, but I'd been reading far too long and my eyelids eventually collapsed, allowing sleep to take over. Having no clue how much time had passed, I was awakened by Harry's breath near my face, saying, "Wake up, Sleepyhead." I opened one eye and then both. Upon seeing a ludicrous grin sprawled across his face, I briefly questioned whether I was dreaming. 

"What time is it?" I mumbled.

"Three in the morning," he replied, his voice oddly giddy. Then I smelled it, the tang of alcohol meandering towards my nose. 

"Have you been drinking?" I asked, a lethargic grin managing to overtake at least half of my face. The grin turned into a giggle when he showed me with his fingers that he'd been drinking "just a little," the same as he'd done when he and my friends surprised me at the hospital. 

"How much is a little?" I questioned, giving him the sideways glance that meant he was about to be interrogated. I sat up and looked around for the evidence. I noticed a bottle of gin on his desk next to his computer, accompanied by a glass with a soggy lime at the bottom. There was barely a shot left in the bottom of the glass decanter. I looked at him suspiciously. "Please tell me that this wasn't full when you started."

"Oh, Ellie," he said, flopping his arm over my shoulders. "It's a small bottle. And I opened it yesterday," he answered, and I couldn't miss the self-righteous tone to his voice.

"Harry," I spoke, trying not to let my alarm seep into my words. "That's a lot to drink in two days."

"Pshh," he laughed, pushing my shoulder back a little. He was really wasted. 

"Well, for now, I think you need a lot of water and your bed."

"Mmm, bed," he smirked. "Will you come to bed with me?" 

I was leery about his intentions while alcohol ruled his mind, but at the same time, I knew I could wrestle him off if he got a little too carried away. It wasn't that I didn't want to have sex with him, but we hadn't quite reached that point yet, and I certainly didn't want our first time together to be when he was stinking drunk.

"Come on," I said, tugging his arm. He stood up clumsily and put his arm back around my shoulder while I led him to his room. "I'll get you some water," I stated after I'd managed to assure that he was adequately seated on the bed. I found a large tumbler and filled it to the brim with water. I also grabbed a bottle of Tylenol from the ledge by his sink. When I returned, Harry was standing by his bed, fumbling with his belt. His inked torso was already gloriously on display, having already removed his layers from his upper half. 

I tried to look away while setting the water on his nightstand, distracting myself with opening the bottle of pain reliever and retrieving two capsules. 

"Can you help me?" He asked. I turned, becoming bright red to see that he was holding on to his belt. "I can't get this." 

"Can you just sleep in your pants?" I suggested.

"I hafta pee," he giggled. Oh my gosh, he was behaving like a small child and I couldn't help but think it was adorable. 

"Very well," I said, attending the task quickly, making absolute sure my hands stayed above the belt that I swiftly removed. 

He walked to the bathroom and took care of business, and when he returned, I was mildly stunned at the sight of him in tight gray boxers. Knowing he probably wouldn't remember a thing in the morning, I granted myself a lingering peek and I was accosted by a somewhat welcome tingle throughout my body. But again, I'd never take advantage of his inebriated state.

I handed him the pills and the water. "Drink up," I instructed, and he followed obediently. Then I pulled back the blankets on his bed and motioned for him to climb in. I immediately covered him, well up to his navel at least. I had no problem admiring his smooth chest and sculpted arms. 

"You dint answerme" he said, slurring his words together. "Come ta bedwithme."

"I will sleep next to you," I said, emphasizing my position. "Just to make sure you're okay. Do you think you're going to be sick?" 

"Hmmmmaybe," he mumbled, his voice getting quieter. 

I took the trash can from the bathroom and placed it on the floor near his head. "The bin is right here if you think you're going to," I told him, and he acknowledged with a slight nod. Finally, I climbed into his bed and scooted close to him, spooning him just a little, but leaving enough space for me to scratch up and down his back.

"Ohhh," he groaned in a pleased sigh. "Feelsss good." And then he was out.

Harry's huffs woke me with the sunrise. "Shit," he muttered. "What the hell was I thinking?" When I looked over at him, his face was buried in his pillow, reluctant to face the brightness flooding the room.

"Stressed, I suppose?" I guessed at his reason for drinking so much. He made a muffled noise, which was either a confirmation grunt or a leave-me-alone grunt. "By the way, how is it that you like gin and tonics, but beer was too bitter for you?" 

I made out the muted words he said next. "Shut. Up." With a chuckle, I got out of bed and went to figure out a suitable breakfast for the hungover doctor. 

Eggs seemed to be the classic base for a hearty breakfast, but I sensed that maybe he would need something a little more mild. I spied a small tub of rolled oats and quickly whipped up a batch of maple and brown sugar oatmeal. As if on cue, Harry stumbled out of his room, jogging shorts on, hair sticking out in every direction, and eyes hazy and pink. 

"Oatmeal?" I asked, to which he answered a simple, "Perfect."

He took his seat and I brought him another dose of Tylenol before we dug in. We were almost finished when I braved a question. "Do you often drink that much when you're stressed out?" 

"Nah," he said, brushing off my concern. "That was unusual, I think. It's just...damn this project! I think I'll end up hating the addition and my job before it's finished."

"Well, you love your job because you like to work with people. This project is about numbers and deadlines and pleasing everyone. I can understand why it would be stressful, even if it's a great thing in the long run." He nodded appreciatively. "Don't worry, babe. You'll make it."

He looked up from the last bits of oatmeal, raising his eyebrow. "Babe?"

I shrugged, feeling mildly embarrassed about dropping a pet name for him. "You called me Hon, so I'll call you Babe. Unless you hate it," I added.

"No," he shook his head. "Suits me fine. I've never had a pet name before."

"Logan?" I asked simply.

"She thought it was too juvenile."

I hoped that I never had to meet Logan, since I'd gathered, from what little Harry had said about her, that she and I would probably not get along.

Harry's drinking stunt had frightened me a little; not so much because of the drunkenness itself, but because I hated to see him under so much pressure. He recovered just fine, and the proposal was perfect, but I could see this project already wearing on him. I had no idea how he would come out of it all in six months' time. I was confident that he knew better than to resort to alcohol or other useless drugs to keep him afloat, but still I worried about his mental state. He was a highly-motivated, driven, perfectionist, after all.

I started thinking of ways to really help him to relax. I took over most of our date planning, as well as our casual times together. I researched the most effective ways to help him relax, some hopefully without him even realizing it.

I bought a few lightly scented lavender candles and placed them in clandestine locations around his apartment. I didn't like anything too strongly scented, and I assumed that Harry might be sensitive to smells, considering his allergies. But the fresh lavender was supposed to have a calming effect on one's nerves, so I gave it a shot. The next time we "studied" together - that's what it seemed like when he was busy working on renovation plans and I was trying to keep current on happenings in the medical world - I quietly lit the small candles.

I went to Harry's side while he stared at the screen; he'd been locked on to this page for about twenty minutes and I could tell he was getting agitated. On a whim, I shifted my position to standing right behind him, and I laid my hands on his shoulders. I had barely started squeezing and kneading when I felt his muscles loosen and a cool sigh left his lips.

"Mmm, that's perfect," he almost-whispered. He shrugged away momentarily to remove his dress shirt, tossing it across the room. I was left with his white t-shirt under my hands and a slightly arousing combination of his cologne and his own unique scent. I began again, softly, but then gradually kneading more firmly, paying special attention to each area - the base of his neck, across his broad shoulders, and down both front and back to his collarbones and his shoulder blades.

"You're an expert," he mumbled through a sigh. "Where did you learn to do this?"

"No official training," I replied in delight, happy to have my efforts pay off. "Just using my intuition, I guess."

"Ohhh," he groaned. "Well your intuition is spot on."

I gave his shoulders a final soothing rub, and then I leaned over and kissed his cheek. He caught hold of my hand and tugged it so I couldn't retreat, and he turned to press his mouth fully against mine. I gladly reciprocated, leaning in willingly. However, my discomfort with the particular angle led me to spin his chair to face me. He acted quickly, grasping the back of my thigh and pulling me to sit on his lap, facing him.

I let out ragged sigh of contentment at this more intimate position. Harry pressed his hands to my face, regarding me with what felt like ardent devotion, before he timidly leaned in to grace my lips with his once again. Thus we were happy to stay in each other's very personal space for a long time.

"Do you smell something?" Harry asked, cocking his head and trying to distinguish the new odor.

"Lavender," I murmured.

"Your perfume?"

"No, I lit some candles. I hope you don't mind. The scent of lavender is supposed to soothe one's senses."

"Here's a secret," he whispered, leaning closer to my ear. "You soothe my senses." His confession traveled throughout my body, tingling the whole way.

I whispered back to him, "This is a good thing. But I won't always be here to soothe you." I sat back so I could look him in the eye. "Especially next weekend when I'm gone to Milwaukee. I'll worry about you."

"Seriously?" He asked, feigning insult. "I'm a grown man, Ellie. I think I can make it through a weekend without you."

"That's not what I meant," I laughed. "I just want to be here for you."

"I want you here, too," he replied, kissing me softly. "But really, I'll be fine. Nothing to worry about." 

_____

Stay tuned, another chapter is following immediately. 

And here's why it took me so long to update: 

I've been OB-SESSED! with Bea_Nice's Hey Jude stories. Legit obsessed, as in neglecting housework, children, basic hygiene, etc . Y'all want a little more explicitness? Well, look no further, but I hesitate to classify it as smut because she writes it so beautifully. Harry & Jude's relationship is nothing short of amazing! Do yourself a favor and check them out.