Timing

Who: Marian and Harry
Where: Strange Aeons
When: Evening

It was silly, continuing to think about him, but after mentioning Harry to Roy, he was stuck in Marian’s head. So maybe her walk home took a detour into the nicer part of town. Maybe it found her outside his shop, which was still open. Taking a deep breath she let herself in, taken aback at first at how much was put into such a small space, the constant tick the place seemed to have about it with the clocks running like they were. It seemed to hum with an energy that she couldn’t define, but could feel. “Harry?” she called out as the door closed behind her, looking around to see if she could see him, but not spotting the man straight away.

It wasn’t a large shop at all, at least in the front space, but that tended to make the synchronized ticking of all the varied clocks even more prominent. Some people found it daunting, the unified click of so many timers working together, but as for the shop’s owner? Well, Harry found it soothing. He’d been in the back workspace, diligently assembling the gears that would power a pocket watch for Eris, when he heard something out front break the rhythm of the clocks inside. More accurately, he heard two things. First was the door, just a slight variance in his tempo as it chimed slightly, but it was enough to make Harry pause with a fine-tipped pair of tweezers in hand.

But then, much harder to ignore, came the familiar voice. That was enough to make him stop entirely, laying his tools down on a swatch of cloth as Harry breezed past the drapes that divided his workspace from the shop itself. “We’re closing shortly,” he called as he moved out front, lifting the magnifying glasses from his nose and letting them rest at the peak of his brow. Of course, doing so meant his eyes needed to adjust, and when they did? What a welcome sight Marian was. “Ms. Grady?” he greeted, clearly surprised, albeit in a good way if his grin was any indicator. “What a welcome surprise! What brings you out?”

Marian had been looking in a different direction, eyes caught up in the face of an antique clock as she studied the design, the way the numbers were written so delicately. It was amazing how lovely it was, how much detail there was in something so rudimentary. What place didn’t have a clock? But no place she went to regularly had clocks like these. When Harry spoke about closing she answered before turning. “Oh I didn’t mean to bother you,” she started, but then saw the grin and the more specific greeting. It brought a true smile from Marian and she drifted closer to him. “I was...in the area. I thought I’d see this shop of yours.” She could feel a blush rising and instinctively bit her lip to control her smile more, the sharp pain alleviating some of the warmth in her cheeks. “I wasn’t interrupting something was I?” she asked, nodding towards the glasses he wore. Here, in the store, here he fit that watchmaker mold more than she’d seen before. Like something out of a book or story.

“Nothing that won’t keep until tomorrow,” Harry assured her, plucking the glasses from his head and folding the various lenses back down. Sure, he could’ve kept working, but he could just as easily give the timepiece a day to let the springs set and tighten, and there was no doubt that it’d still be ready by the promised date of delivery. “I’m glad you made it out, though I know the shop’s not the most impressive of places,” he went on, rounding the counter as Harry set about unrolling his sleeves and fastening the cuffs. And sure, it was impressive in some senses, but compared to the presses at the Echo? It was child’s play. “I’m afraid that a tour would be brief, to put it kindly, but would you care for one? I could put the kettle on if you’d like tea.” Coffee was only occasionally indulged by Harry, the caffeine giving him jitters that played hell with his internal sense of timing, but tea? Tea was always soothing.

Marian was relieved she wasn’t bothering him, hating to have to turn back after finding her way here. “I think it’s impressive,” she reassured him. “So many different things, and all..ticking.” It got a half laugh out of her, paired with a bashful smile. “A tour would be lovely, no matter how short and if you were interested in tea...I could keep you company.” Though she didn’t want to put him out in any way, it would be an opportunity to linger longer.

He laughed with her, wearing a slightly awkward grin as Harry’s head hung. “Synchronicity is crucial around here, keeping everything out front lets me know if there’s a misstep in the timing.” Which, given the unison of ticks, there wasn’t. But Harry nodded for her to come around the counter, idly picking up a few loose order slips that sat on the counter. “And please, right this way,” he offered, “The main shop itself isn’t hard to explore unless you’d like to take a closer look at any given piece, but back here...” He trailed off as he drew back the dividing curtain, revealing a spacious workshop that was nearly dominated by shelves, each shelf bearing boxes and trays of clock parts, blank faces, empty casings, and more. Along one wall a plethora of tools hung, ready for use above a stretched out work table that held his current piece, an unfinished pocket watch housed in burnished steel.

The back wall of the workspace was where Harry headed first, grabbing a teapot and filling it from a small handsink, then setting it on a squat, well-used hotplate that he clicked on. “This is where the actual work is done,” he explained, moving past the door that led upstairs to his apartment, then pulled a chair away from his work table. “I’d wager even money that I spend more time here than the front room.” And if it was true, it could be confining for most people to spend all day in a windowless space like this, but Harry seemed relaxed here. Or, as relaxed as he could be during a surprise visit from the endearing young woman. Which is to say, not very. She wasn’t strange herself, but her company definitely left him in a strange frame of mind, almost feeling a sort of yearning. Was it due to their dinner the other night, perhaps? Harry didn’t know, and thinking on it now would make him a poor host indeed.

“I can see how that would be crucial,” Marian agreed with a smile, not able to shake that hum that all the constant pass of time seemed to have on her. It was like the current ran across her arms as both her breathing and heartbeat aligned to it. It was an interesting feeling but not all uncomfortable. Just different more than anything else. Following after him she’d had words, questions to ask but then he was showing her the workroom and she forgot what those words might be. If the front of the shop was impressive, this was something else. It was obvious how he was able to immerse himself in such a job, with it surrounding inch of space. “I...this is something else,” she said looking back at him. “I can...well you weren’t kidding about this were you?” Not that she’d thought he was, but he spoke about it so wholly she’d wondered how that could be manifested and yet here she was, in the middle of it.

Harry laughed again, heartened by her apparent awe even if he felt embarrassed in the same moment. No one took interest in a watchmaker’s work aside from other watchmakers, but at the same time he felt like maybe he could understand. After all, he’d been there once himself, marvelling over the way this work could be so simple, yet so complex. “Measuring time is a very consuming job,” he explained, resting both hands on the back of the chair. “If you aren’t prepared for it, you waste it as you try to keep up.” Precision, that was his key. He knew where every tool was, which shelf and box held each size of gears, and could even do most of the blueprinting for basic pieces sheerly in his head.

“And it’s a poor craftsman who squanders his own craft, as my father used to say,” Harry finished, moving from the chair to get his mugs down from a hook by the sink. Still, whether he understood it or not (which he didn’t), Harry could feel himself get more caught up in that feeling that had snared Marian. The key difference was that while her wonder was directed at the shop and tools, his was directed at her. He didn’t see that sort of expression very often, something in her eyes when she looked around, matching the faint hesitation in her voice. “Would you care to sit? I’m afraid that this is the tour’s end, the only other surprise is my own living space upstairs, and it’s as dull as it gets. But if you like, I could give you a better look at what happens inside every time the second-hand moves.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed, but it seems like it is,” Marian agreed about it being consuming. It seemed very consuming. She was still looking around but when he mentioned sitting she nodded. “I’d like that actually.” She gave him a smile then moved towards the chair, sitting on the edge of it, careful not to touch anything on the table, but trying to make sense of the bits and pieces.

Moving around her seat, Harry plucked a thin metal probe from his wall of tools, handing it and a pair of magnifying lenses to Marian. He waited until she’d tucked the glasses on before leaning around her, pointing down at the in-progress watch on his table. “The fascinating thing to me is that it’s all powered by a spring,” he explained, pointing out the flattened spiral of metal resting among the gears, then lining up the probe with it.

“Hold this,” Harry insisted quietly, mindful of the closeness as he worked over Marian’s shoulder, “And when I wind it, you should be able to feel every twinge of it letting off tension when it’s been wound up. That’s what keeps a watch working, it powers all the gears, and the more precise the coiling of the spring is, the more accurate the watch will be.” And even if this one wasn’t finished yet, it was close to completion, enough so to demonstrate this. Thankfully, it was also a perfect focal point for him, something to let him not get snared by the smell of Marian’s hair or the curves and slopes of her neck and shoulders, none of which could truly be ignored in this close.

Admittedly she felt a little silly with the glasses on, guessing they made her look even mousier than before, but Harry didn’t seem like the type to make fun of her for them. Nodding she took the instrument from him, holding it where he said. While he had something else to focus on Marian had to work to pay attention to what he was saying, how he explained things. It was impossible not to feel that difference in temperature, the warmth from having another body so close to her, a feeling Marian rarely experienced. Her breathing caught a little in her throat as she nodded, watching the spring then turning to look at him, things distorted from the glasses and just how close he was to her. There was another hesitation in her words, like she couldn’t remember them, but eventually they came. “Do you make the springs yourself? Is that why it’s so precise?”

“I do,” Harry confirmed with a slight nod, keeping his eyes on the nearly imperceptible tremor of the tool in Marian’s hand as it moved with each click of the gears within. “It’s the most delicate part, really. The gears keep everything running smooth, but the spring keeps them running. I wouldn’t trust anyone else’s work.” He’d honed his crafts to a point where the rest of the world got drowned out, and if he didn’t use them after that? What was the point? “They usually take a day to really set the coil, this one’s using a testing spring just to check the rest of the design.” Talking shop kept him zeroed in on the moment, even when Marian angled her head back to look Harry’s way.

Marian was still listening feeling the little clicks like tiny shockwaves up her arm. It was amplified, though the reasoning behind that wasn’t something she had a grasp on, which had her trying to ignore it. “Is this one you’re making from scratch, not just patching up?” she asked, intending to glance down at the watch again, but something else caught her attention. Tugging the glasses away with her free hand she studied the scar on Harry’s neck, nothing huge, but there nonetheless, impossible to miss this close to him. She half reached out to touch it, fingers stopping only inches away before she pulled her hand back, blush on her cheeks. “Were you hurt bad?” it was an abrupt subject change, but the curiousness in her had rippled to the surface.

Watching the clock kept on helping, pleasing Harry as he saw the gears within turn minutely with every bit of released tension coming off of the coil. Its’ timing was off slightly, sure, but when the proper piece was in there it’d work smoothly. “It’s a new piece, yes,” he said in a quieter voice, eyes intent and slightly narrowed as he worked against what his other senses were telling him about Marian’s proximity. Of course, when she turned her head and he could feel a slight ghost of breath pass his way? The new question was more than welcome to help keep him from zeroing in on Marian instead.

“Fairly badly, yes, but I was lucky,” he answered, now determined to keep from slipping back to the memory of his injuries even as he answered the question. “We were shot down over enemy territory a few years back, I caught some shrapnel while parachuting clear,” Harry explained, glancing at his scarred forearm fleetingly, then away as he felt the memories rush up on him. Wind in his face, blood in his mouth, heat at his back as the ‘Rosalie Ann’ exploded in a maelstrom of death... Harry took a deep breath, pushing hard to stay in the moment. “I was deemed unfit for service after my injuries, but luckily they’re not so severe that I’m unable to work.”

Marian’s eyes went wider, hating that. It was hard to explain why, but the idea of Harry hurt, in pain, ached inside her like there was something she could have done to change the outcome of the situation. When he was looked down at his arm, she was watching his face, and her eyes followed where his eyes led. While she’d managed to keep from touching him before this time her fingers were brushing against the rough skin before she could pull back. “I’m sorry,” she breath softly, lip pulled between her teeth. She wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for, him being hurt, touching him or maybe bringing up a painful subject. All she could explain was that she felt at fault in that moment.

“It’s just the war,” Harry stressed, quick and quiet as he stared at the scars and the space where Marian’s hand had been. It was strange for him, memory; the smallest moments of ‘now’ could trigger what had been before, and Harry knew he got lost easily in the span of his life. But this was the first time that a moment that already had passed just... kept happening. Was her hand on his arm? Harry didn’t know, but the sensation was still there, a soothing sort of offering with the apology.

“There’s...” he trailed as his brow lined in consideration, “There’s a lot of us.” It was a struggle to even finish the thought, but when Harry pulled himself out of the slipstream he felt his face burn with embarrassment. She’d have to think he’d taken more than physical damage. “Good men and women, I mean. The chance to serve is worth the risk for us I suppose. Or was.”

“That doesn’t make it fair,” Marian countered, tone matching his quiet one. There was no need to be loud with him right here anyway. Her eyes stayed trained on him, watching him struggle with a quiet curiosity, one that didn’t get voiced. The urge was there to touch his cheek, force him to meet her eyes, but while it felt like he might not mind, it was too forward wasn’t it? Propriety had her settling for touching his arm again, eyes searching for his. “It makes you braver than most. Braver than me for sure.” It didn’t seem to be worth the risk to her, but then, most of the soldiers she knew had come back injured, damaged versions of their former selves.

Somehow, on some subconscious level that was every bit as neat as the universal tempo in the front store? Harry had been counting it down from the moment they’d come back, waiting. How he knew that the kettle would shriek on the hotplate, he couldn’t say, but as the first whistling burst of steam came up he moved. “It’s... it’s kind of you to say,” he called back, almost apologetic in tone as Harry slipped Marian’s hand from his arm and stepped to the kettle. “And with enough time, it’ll all mean something,” Harry hoped, pouring them each a cup.

While he might have been expecting it, the tone made Marian startle, head lost from him for a moment, just long enough for him to move away from her. It left her barely hearing what he was saying, staring at her now empty hand and wondering just what she’d done wrong. Sure, there’d been a reason for him to move, but Harry had practically moved before it had even whistled that it was done. Swallowing a sigh she set the glasses and tool down neatly, folding her hands in her lap and wishing more of her hair could cover her face and the warm tinge on her cheeks. She’d done too much hadn’t she? Crossed some unforeseen boundary and ruined all of it. “It’s not just a platitude,” she said, tilting her head to watch him, trying to keep her own embarrassment out of her eyes, but feeling the temperature around her seem to drop without him nearby. “And that’s what they say, that something will come of it, something good, but that day seems to far out. I imagine someone has a plan, but I think I’m not the one to see it.”

Harry was quick with a reassuring smile and a shake of his head as he moved back over, offering Marian the mug. It was easier to focus with the slight space, without it he’d have no chance whatsoever of keeping himself here mentally, but he knew that wasn’t something he could just explain, either. “I wouldn’t think it was, I promise,” he insisted with a slight warmth in his grin as Harry leaned back into one of the shelves, blowing steam from the edge of his mug. “And in my experience, you shouldn’t dwell on the plans you can’t guess as. Make your own and see it through,” Harry said, definitely more confident as he focused in. Hot tea, a warm mug in his hand, and a bit of space? He could work with that.

“When I was in the hospital, after the crash, I was laid up for a while,” he admitted, “And I knew before they told me that I was done, so I... I had to figure out what came next on my own. And I did, I think?” He laughed slightly, nodding at the workshop around them before sipping his tea. “And when I stopped worrying as much about what I couldn’t do any more, that was when something good came out of it all.” Which was a ramble on his part, but Marian was more (apparently) interested in what he had to say than... anyone? Ever? And it was throwing Harry for a loop.

Marian took her mug, relieved for something for her hands to do that wasn’t reaching out for him again. She wasn’t like this, craving anyone’s touch but her brother’s, though now, here, it seemed like something that could soothe aches she chose to ignore. She managed to return the smile, though it wasn’t the natural one he got more than most. It was the waitress smile, real enough, but covering up the swirl of thoughts inside her head. “I understand that,” she said, hating that his story brought her back to her own history, of a family fallen apart and lost to the winds of fate, something she also chose to ignore. “I had to do the same thing myself though,” she said, casting a glance around the room just as he had. “I don’t think I did as good a job as you have. Even the outlook you have is braver than the one I have.” Shaking her head at herself she took a sip from her mug, trying to let the warm liquid calm her.

All he could really do was offer another slight smile and shake his head at Marian’s doubts, knowing that there was so much about her he was still missing that it might’ve been true. True or not, Harry didn’t want her to linger in those doubts. “Different circumstances, remember,” he pointed out. “I had a long span of years in the service where I could save money, and I put it all towards opening the shop.” Whereas women were relegated to nursing or secretarial work, or at best, factory jobs, and none of those paid like a proper enlistment did. “You’ve worked your way up from a waitress, though, hiring on at the Echo and even breaking into proper reporting. There’s nothing in there to be ashamed by or feel like you haven’t done enough with.”

Marian glanced up at him, seeing that smile and letting herself enjoy it. It was better than feeling like she’d failed at something. “I know. It’s just...I’m at a point where I think I need to ask for more and...I’m not sure how to do it. Or even if I deserve it. I think I do, but at the same time, it’s not like I’m doing anything that spectacular.” She bit her lip, looking down at the mug for a moment then back up at Harry, trying to push away her concerns. “It’s not important really. You were talking about opening the shop.”

“No, I was using my own process as an example,” Harry corrected, and a touch more sternly. He knew some part of Marian’s plight; growing up in the Sprawl wasn’t easy, and doing more than surviving in it was impossible to most of the families there. But to be a woman in the work place? He knew there were barriers, but had never had them. Still... Harry thought with a thin purse to his lips. “Take your last seven pieces, your last week’s work, and ask your boss if they have anyone who could do the same for the week ahead. If they don’t answer immediately, you tell them that it’s time for a talk,” he explained, low and even as he blew at his mug again before sipping. “Now, I know it sounds terrifying?” Harry went on, grinning again, “But it’s not about confidence, it’s about timing. I know I’m not a particularly scary guy, but that worked for me when I got my first loan from the banks here. Clear terms and timing.”

It was more than terrifying sounding. Marian had a feeling that they might have an answer and come up with someone else right away that could replace her. Looking down at her mug instead of blushing at his grin, she shrugged slightly. “You think that would work? I...I need to ask.” She took a deep breath and looked up Harry, giving him a soft smile. “I’m not painting myself in the best light am I?”

He returned the expression easily, head shaking as Harry nursed his tea, silently counting towards the top of the hour as it drew near. “You’re painting yourself as someone scared of being told ‘no’,” he answered fairly, “Which is understandable, but you can’t let it hold you back forever, Marian. If you never try then you never fail, sure, but why take a guarantee like that? There’s got to be a point where you want it more than you want to avoid the risk.”

Marian looked down at her mug again, smile starting to fade slightly. “You make it sound easy.” She traced around the rim of the mug with one finger, then looked up at Harry again. “Could I tell you a secret? You’d...keep it.”

“It’s not easy, but nothing worthwhile is,” he stressed quietly, lips pursing thin in consideration at Marian’s question. There was definitely more going on than just nerves over asking for a raise, she’d confirmed that. “And of course you can, I’m good with secrets. Are you in some kind of trouble?”

He had a point, nothing worthwhile was easy, though that wasn’t entirely reassuring. “Trouble? Oh no. Not really.” Marian thought about that for a moment and settled on that, no she wasn’t in trouble. “You were asking about Ella Cinder, and saying that she was doing good work. I fibbed when I talked about her, when I said that I didn’t know her. I do, rather well. She’s me.”

That was a surprise, and one that Harry needed to take in for a moment before his eyes widened in realization. “The writer behind the exposes’ is you?” he repeated quietly, thinking back on the recent stories he’d seen under her byline in the paper. Maybe she wasn’t in trouble yet, but that sort of work could certainly lead to it... “I... wouldn’t this mean you couldn’t be denied your proposed raise? If you’re doing work that sells so many papers?” Harry asked with a light frown. “I mean, I understand the need for the false name, but unless you’ve got some big book at the Echo with these stories, then doesn’t that make you the biggest draw the Echo has right now?

“Mmhmm,” Marian agreed with a a nod, looking up at Harry. “I have a source, and I’ve been writing based on that information. So far...nothing’s been wrong.” And she’d been following up on things. It was harder to check them out ahead of time without blowing her cover, but she did the best she could. “No, I don’t doubt they can deny it, only no one but my editor knows it’s me. I hope he doesn’t see that as some sort of out, not giving me a raise so that he doesn’t expose who I am or whatever.”

“I don’t see how he could,” Harry argued gently, head shaking again. “I suppose he could try and offer that reason? But if you’re doing more work and drawing more readers, then you’re owed a raise for it. And your editor, if he actually deserves his job, shouldn’t find it hard to come up with a reason to tell others about the raise.” A white lie wasn’t harmful in this type of situation, not to Harry, and he knew it wouldn’t be to Marian’s editor, either. There was already one in place to protect her identity, what harm could one more do? “But at the end of the day, you’ve earned this with your source and your columns. Not asking for it would not only keep you locked into your current role, it would also tell your editor that he can act the same way with other staff.”

Marian bit her lip and nodded. “That’s what Roy said as well. Or close to what he said. Same idea in the end.” She sighed a little and looked up at Harry again. “Though it doesn’t seem to get me out of everything. There’s already talk that they are planning on sending a few of us to that gala this week to report on it.” She made a little face then looked down at her feet. The social event would be fun for someone who had another person to accompany them. Marian was already guessing she’d be in a dress that didn’t fit the event and drifting to the edges while she watched more than participated. Not exactly the best way to spend such a night.

“Well, there’s a difference between recognition and special treatment,” Harry pointed out with a wry smile as he finished his tea, setting the mug back by the hotplate. “You deserve recognition, of course, but that’s no excuse to avoid the routine that makes up the rest of your work.” Otherwise, the big stories might grow dull and become the routine itself. “And knowing you’re already planning to go makes it much easier to ask if you’d care to accompany me to the gala,” he went on, not daring to hesitate once he’d started asking the question. Timing was everything. “Or maybe much more devastating, if you say no. Either way, I was invited by some clients who enjoy flaunting the association, so I’ll be there. It’d be great to see a familiar, non-business face.”

“Just once though, so I wouldn’t have to stand...” Marian had a complaint about the gala, being alone, something, but it was forgotten when he asked her if she’d go with him. It was enough to get her to set down her mug, getting up from the chair and taking a step towards him. “You want me to go with you?” she asked, biting her lip again, eyes wide in surprise. “Really?”

Whether he meant to or not, whether he was even aware of it or not? Harry could have a charming moment now and then. “It’d save me the time of finding you out there when I arrived,” he offered warmly, nodding at the questions. “I can’t say I’m much of a dancer, but I went to a few USO shows. I promise not to break your toes,” Harry added, moving to gather up her mug and his own as Marian approached.

Space, he reminded himself, not trusting what his senses would do to him in close. Which would make dancing like he’d just proposed... tricky. He’d have to figure it out. What he needed to stop figuring out, however, was how to lay these little diversions in his own mind; or that was what Harry realized as the sum of his clocks in the main hall marked the top of a new hour with what was nearly a song between their different parts. There was some discordant note to it, something Harry’d never bothered to fix; he found it soothing on an unexplored personal level.

“I don’t think I’m much better, we’ll muster together.” Together. It shouldn’t thrill her like it did, so much that she was almost embarrassed by it. He couldn’t think about it the same way, but then here he was asking her to go with him to the gala and suggesting more than just standing in the same corner together, but dancing. As if she really was there with him. She’d considered drifting closer to him again, but the clamor of the clocks in the front room had her jumping slightly. He might have been used to it, but it still caught Marian off guard. “Oh. It’s getting late isn’t it?” she asked, looking towards the sound of the hour.

“It is,” Harry confirmed, listening to the collage of sounds and picking apart the timing of each source. “Could I call you a taxi? At this hour, the bus routes are few and far between. I won’t hear of you waiting alone, either.” Which may have been pushy on his part, but even Elysium Row had risks by dark. The blackouts had proven that much. “I’d offer the ride myself, but I do have some pieces of work to see to before tomorrow.” The pocket watch for Eris Stockard, among others.

There was something there, pulling in her stomach, something that had Marian not wanting to go anywhere. She would have normally walked, not one to even splurge on bus fare, let alone a cab. Though she sensed that insistence in him, that he wanted to make sure she was taken care of. It gave her a small thrill and for once she caved. Cab fare couldn’t be too terrible. And she was asking for a raise after all. “That’d be nice, thank you.” The smile she gave him was genuine, even if there was a slight bit of sadness in it, not wanting to leave showing through.

Marian didn’t know it yet, but ‘call a cab’ and ‘pay for a cab’ were the same things to Harry; he’d just make sure to tuck the money to the driver in advance. “My phone is out front,” he offered with a hand extending to the front shop, “But while we wait, I could show you a few differences in how it all works?” She’d seemed interested before, right? And if he needed something to talk about, there was never a safer bet than that. It’d keep this as a positive thing in Harry’s mind instead of a fumble to recover from, and he’d need that if he was actually going to see the plan for the gala through.

Feeling brave for a moment, Marian touched his arm lightly as she passed him, headed back towards the front of the store. “I’d like that,” she said with a smile. Even if she’d never thought she was interested in watches before, it was interesting when Harry was telling her about it.