To say the five days after the meeting sucked, would be putting it mildly. Harry hardly ate, hardly slept, and what little sleep he did get was interrupted by the face of a devastating looking Moira as she’d rushed out the door of Dr Patel’s office.

Every single day, hour, minute, second, he’d been tempted to knock at her door and beg for her forgiveness. But knowing that she needed time and space to figure out the next step, he resisted the temptation and simply waited for the right moment to arrive.

Lizzy had been sending him more text messages than he was accustomed to, and when it became clear he wouldn’t be answering any of them. She retorted ringing him at least four times a day. Also without result. She meant well, but he wasn’t ready to talk, and especially not to his nosy sister.

The boys –too– had been calling him nonstop. Their calls, he did pick up. He’d been ignoring them long enough. They said that if he didn’t show up for meetings and sessions soon, he’d be kicked out of the band. His subconsciousness knew there was no chance of that happening. And despite their threats, his bandmates knew it too. Bones would be Bones without their frontman, lead singer.

Harry loved being a part of Bones with heart and soul. Getting paid a hefty sum to play and create music with his four best friends, what more could a musician want?

In spite of this, he cared more about the two people living in the apartment below his, than the band, the money, the fans and the rush of performing altogether. He assured Finn, Heath, Cade and Isaac there was no need to worry. That he needed time to figure out his private life before he could fully focus on the band life again. They grumbled, mumbled and protested. But there was nothing in the world that could make him change his mind.

Harry was aware he would probably be awarded with the ‘worst band member in the history of band members, ever’ award. Although he couldn’t bring himself to care.

As a distraction, he spent most of the five days in his music room. Putting the words stuck in his head down on paper, to relief himself from the weight on his shoulders and to give his producers something to look forward to. But mainly to help him decide on how to approach the situation. Or better, Moira.

Any fool could tell the man was in pain. If not by the evident torture in his eyes or the tensed vibe surrounding him, then by the fact he hadn’t dared to leave his penthouse for 120 hours straight.

The takeaway company he’d been ordering food from must be making a more profit than usual, since all he’d been eating for the past five days had been takeout, takeout, and takeout. Luckily, he’d only had the same delivery boy twice. Which saved him from the embarrassment of seeing him every day. If things had been normal and he hadn’t fúcked up. Moira would be scolding him for the amount of ‘bad food’ he had consumed.

On the evening of the fifth day, the crack of thunder that echoed over his penthouse made him look up from the book he’d previously been reading. With a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose, he glanced out the window, hoping to god his terrace wouldn’t flood.

Beside the excessive amount of water, he loved this kind of weather. Harry was particularly fond of the sound of raindrops ticking against windowpanes, it made him feel at ease. Knowing that he was inside, warm and safe, while a storm raved outside.

All of that shifted to the background when another boom of thunder shook his penthouse, a lightning bolt flashes across the sky, and the power went out without as much as a warning.

Sighing, Harry took his glasses off, put the book down on the surface of the couch and avoided bumping into furniture like a blind man as he made his way to where he kept his emergency supplies: candles, blankets, canned food, matches, bottles of water, battery powered radio, flashlight, first aid kit, local maps, cell phone with solar charger, etcetera.

Because the lights and heat would probably come back on within a few hours, he saw no need in wasting candles. He only took a big sized one –putting it in a candle holder to carry it around– and a blanket. He was about to sit back on the couch and continue reading his book, when something –or rather two people– came to his mind.

Moira and Ollie.

Without thinking the potential consequences of his actions through, he blew out the candles in a haste, grabbed his keys from the trey near the front door, exited his penthouse and ascended the stairs that lead to Moira’s floor –which turned out to be a lot harder in the dark. He didn’t care anymore about what occurred, he just wanted to know if they were alright. All that clouded his mind was the strong need to check up on them, his family.

10 minutes later, he was inside her apartment.

---------------------------

“Would you like anything to drink?” Moira asked sheepishly, fiddling with her fingers as her gaze was set tightly on the floor.

Harry knew he should say something to the woman who now stood opposite him, answering her question would be the polite thing to do. But he was unnerved; something about her was off. She looked awfully ill at ease, standing there, pulling at the sleeves of her baggy sweater.

It dawned on him that the ever cool-minded Moira, felt uncomfortable in his presence.

“Let’s just sit and talk.”

For once, she didn’t mind someone else taking the wheel. In fact, she felt thankful for it as she sat down in the recliner while Harry took a seat on the couch –to put some distance between them.

“I reckon you would like some answers, yeah?” He awkwardly scratched the back of his neck.

Not trusting her voice, she merely nodded in reply.

“Do you remember how I came back from Sweden earlier than planned?”

She nodded again. How could she forget?

“Lizzy called me one day, saying Ollie looked a scary lot like me when I was his age. Not wanting to take any chances, I went home immediately.”

Moira felt another stab to her heart. Instead of voicing her suspicions to her, her friend had run off to tell her brother. Which in one way or another, was quite understandable. He was her brother after all. She would have probably done the same, had she been in Lizzy’s shoes. Moira reasoned with herself, instantly feeling heaps better.

“The morning after I’d gotten home, you were sleeping off your hangover and- oh wait.”

Her eyebrows furrowed together. “What?”

“If I’m spilling the beans, I might as well tell you everything.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “After I’d awoken you from your nightmare, we got drunk right here.” He pointed at the couch. “One thing lead to another and before I knew what was happing, we were engaging in an intense game of... tonsil hockey, you went upstairs to- uhh.. wait for me in bed but..”

“But, what?” Moira urged, the suspense making her sit on the edge of her seat.

“But once I got to your bedroom, you were fast asleep."

His eyes studied her closely, wide and nervous, watching every single breathe she took, as if expecting her to break out into a run or something. Her face remained stoic, not giving anything away.

What if she thought he had taken advantage of her in her intoxicated state? Forgetting the small detail they had both been drunk.

“Okay.” She mumbled finally. “Can you continue explaining, please?”

He was a little taken aback by the answer, especially since she hadn’t demanded for him to elaborate on the almost-sex subject. Not wanting to question her behaviour, in case it got her worked up, he obeyed wordlessly. “Uhh yeah. So um.. that morning, when you were sleeping off your hangover. I compared a baby picture of me to Ollie and the resemblance rendered me speechless, at that point I was pretty sure. It took me a month to finally talk to Dr Patel, but when I did. She confirmed the suspicion of me being your uhh.. donor.”

Her silence caused his heart to pound painfully in his chest and his hands to grow sweaty. If it weren’t for the piercing blue eyes glued to him, he wouldn’t have been able to tell she was listening. “I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to tell you, you have to believe me that I did. But I didn’t know how without freaking you out. So I asked Lizzy for help and we came up with a plan that included Dr Patel, we thought it would be easier for you to deal with, to help you accept me as Ollie’s dad but it… well.. you know the rest.”

Moira blinked, eyeing him with a look that could only be described as anxious. “Did you-“ she rubbed at her jaw, as if contemplating her next words carefully. “Did you ask me to be your girlfriend because of Ollie?”

He felt like the oxygen was sucked out of his lungs.

For the past five days, Harry assumed that him lying, had been the reason behind her agony. It hadn’t even occurred to him that maybe, she thought he was only with her for their son.

“No!” He shook his head rather violently. “God, no.”

Sighing, she avoided his questioning gaze and focused on her hands sitting in her lap as if they’d suddenly become the most fascinating things in the world. "So you.. you do love me?"

Abruptly, Harry rose from the couch and kneeled before her. He gently, hesitantly grasped her knee to steady himself, and she could feel his warm breath fan across her face. Still, she refused to look up from her hands.

Only when he cupped her cheeks with both of his hands, did she have no choice but to look straight into the greens she’d fallen in love with. With his thumbs, he rubbed gentle patterns into her skin and he could’ve sworn her eyes closed briefly, clearly enjoying his touch.

They slowly closed the distance, as if an invisible force was pulling them together. So much that her chin touched his, and her bottom lip ever so slightly dared enough to brush against his lower one. Before she could even realize what was happening, Harry sat down on the recliner and pulled her onto his lap, holding her sideways with her head nearly resting on his shoulder.

He easily snuck one arm around her waist and used the other to cup her cheek again. “Moira,” he breathed her name huskily, sending a strange, tingling sensation of shivers running down her spine. His eyes trailed all over her face, eventually connecting with her own. “I wrote songs about you.”

Her lips parted in confusion. “I don't understand.”

“You asked me if I loved you,” he said. “and I told you I wrote songs about you. Because regular words cannot properly describe how deeply you’ve wedged your way into my heart.”

Moira tried to look away from him, her cheeks blushing profoundly and a shy smile tugging at her lips. She didn’t know how to respond to what he was saying, or how to deal with the sincerity in his voice. Once he noticed her crimson cheeks, he broke out in a big grin. In attempt to hide her blush, she buried her face in chest, taking comfort in his musky scent.

“Once upon a time, he wondered what the universe would feel like if it could fit his hand. Light-years later, she filled the spaces between his fingers with her own, and he knew.”

“Is that a poem?” she asked, her voice muffled.

Harry pulled her away, his large hands grasping onto her shoulders, and he had to bend his head to peer straight into her eyes. His brown eyebrows were furrowed in amusement, and he stared at her like she’d just told him a funny joke.

“Lyrics actually.” He corrected her. “About you and me.”

She suddenly looked embarrassed, and she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Quietly, she mumbled, “Oh.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, each of them basking in each other’s presence and body warmth.

When Harry had gone down to her apartment, roughly an hour ago, he’d never expected an outcome like this. He’d explained everything to her and she’d accepted it all like a queen. He took pride in how well their conversation had gone, considering the odds.

He cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Are we okay? I mean, do you forgive me?”

Moira sighed. Her featured contorted, twisting into a troubled look. “Of course I do, I probably always will. That’s the problem. I want you to be there for Ollie. But I don’t trust myself enough to make the right decisions anymore."

Unconsciously, she found her hand gripping his sweater for dear life. He glanced down at the hand and slowly pried her fingers off the fabric to take it in his own and entwine their fingers. "Then don't." he insisted lightly, and she noticed a small, faint stress vein that’d already appeared close to his temple.

"What do you mean?"

"You have me now, you no longer have to make the choices on your own. We can do it together."

He tucked her head in the crook of his neck, kissed her forehead and let his chin rest on top of her hair. Realizing that he couldn’t remember ever feeling so content nor the time he’d literally held his happiness in his arms. Placing another kiss on her forehead, he let his lips brush over her skin and whispered, “I love you.”

Moira did not reply, instead she said his name. “Harry?”

“Yes, princess?”

For a moment, she paused. And then, she told him all about the men of her past and presence. About her father, Cooper, Derek and Harry, himself. While she was venting and expressing the emotions that had been locked up inside the cage of her mind, he was all ears. Listening attentively, nodding at the appropriate times and providing her with physical support whenever needed.

Two hours later, they were in bed and on the verge of succumbing to their exhaustion –feeling closer and more connected than ever before in each other’s arms. Ollie, however, obviously had other plans for his parents. His cries resounded through the baby monitor. And instead of ignoring the sound, Harry shot up in bed and sent her a questioning look.

Moira’s eyes blazed with blissful happiness as she watched him. She laced their hands together, slid from underneath the covers and pulled him along. “Let’s go tend to our son.”