Take My Breath (KShaw)

Chapter 13

On Sunday Harry doesn't wake up to his alarm. On Sunday Harry wakes to someone gently shaking his shoulders, while his face is pressed against the inside of a book, bending one of the pages. It takes him a long, disoriented moment to realize who he is, where he is, who's touching him. "Harry," JJ says softly. "Your alarm went off half an hour ago. I don't think you meant to fall asleep." Harry blearily looks up at him, and then he sneezes. It's the sneeze that wakes him up. He only just has time to cover his face before it happens, and it seems to rattle his entire brain, which feels like it weighs ten times the amount it had yesterday.

Yesterday, when he'd fallen asleep in the middle of his work. He remembers shutting his eyes at four for just a second and "No," Harry moans. "No, no-" His eyes cut to the alarm clock, reading the blinking 9:13. "I'm late. I'm fucking late. I need to-" He jumps up, pushing JJ out of the way as he gathers his things. "Fuck, how did I fall asleep?" "You look exhausted," JJ says gently. He puts a hand on Harry's shoulder, stilling him. "I think you should go back to bed." "Go back to bed," Harry repeats. "Yeah, sure, that's exactly what I'm going to do." He rolls his eyes and flits across the room, grabbing his bag. He stuffs everything inside it. "I don't have a choice. I know that you don't give a fuck about this shit, but some of us can't just coast by because we're good at throwing a ball or something. Some of us actually have to work, JJ, okay? I know it must be fucking awesome in your world where you can just sleep in all day and not do anything, but I can't-" JJ gets back into his bed, pulls the blankets over himself, and turns his back to Harry without a word. Harry hurries to pull a hat on over his horrible-looking hair, and then he's running out the door, not sparring a single look back at JJ.

When he gets to the library he's breathless and sweating, even if it's freezing outside. He only has time to lift his hand in a short wave for Nancy before he's hurrying through the room, heading for the tables at the back. The whole group is there already, bent over books and papers and the works.  Harry skids to a halt, bag slipping off his shoulder, and they all look up at him before the first one cracks, letting out a smothered laugh. And then they're all laughing, looking at him like he's crazy.

"Christ," one of them says. "Did you really try to do all that work last night?" "We were joking, Harry!" another one says. "No one actually expected you to do all that." "We thought you'd realize," Rachel adds, the only one who looks a little guilty. "Didn't think you'd actually attempt it." Harry blinks at them. "W-what?" "We have until next week," Rachel explains. "You realize that, right? Yesterday we were all just exchanging numbers, really. Talking about the outline of what we were going to do. No one's started anything yet. Today's meeting was going to focus on distributing the research work, and then Tuesday we're all going to meet up and pile it together." "What? But I- I was up until four!" Shit, he really did. He actually tried to do it. Slowly, Harry collapses in a seat. The other three continue laughing at his expensive, but Rachel pats his shoulder and gives him a wide-eyed, apologetic look. "It was just a joke," she says. "Sorry if we took it too far." But they don't seem all that sorry, really. Harry's just too fucking exhausted to get upset over it. So instead he sinks lower in his chair and tries to pay attention to everything they say.

As soon as he can, he leaves, not saying a goodbye to any of them. It isn't until he's back in his room, shutting his door behind himself that he cracks. He makes it to the bed, dropping his bag in the middle of the room as he goes, and then collapses onto it. He buries his head in his hands and tries to school the burning in his eyes, the lump in his throat. Fuck he feels like an idiot. Or maybe he's just so overtired that he's getting emotional. That happens, sometimes, but it doesn't really matter why it's happening. What matters is that it is happening. He's crying.

"Harry." "Not right now, JJ," Harry pleads. "Just- make fun of me later, okay?" Harry's bed dips, and the next thing he knows, gentle hands are rubbing circles against his back. "What happened?" He has no idea why he does it, but he finds himself uncovering his face and answering the question. "They just- they made me feel like an idiot." JJ's expression smoothes out into an indifferent one. "Not fun when that happens, huh?" Now Harry's eyes are wet and red, his voice is thick with repressed tears, and guilt churns his stomach. "JJ, I'm-" "Don't apologize when you don't mean it," JJ says roughly. He gets off the bed, and Harry shivers, wishing those hands were still rubbing his back. "I have to- I need to go." "Go where?" "Anywhere but here," JJ says, barely audible, before he leaves the room. Harry stares at the closed door, trying to sort out how he feels. But he can't, and he's too tired, so he pulls his blankets in around him and prays for sleep to come before he can dwell on everything that's happened today.