1. WTF?

Harlow Blackmore's brow rose at the alarmed expression on his boss, Tony Varley's face. He didn't think he'd ever seen him so wide eyed and slacked jawed. Which was saying something, since he'd known the man twenty years now.

Harlow's eyes narrowed more and more the longer the other human remained in that state. He snapped, "Well?!" when it continued on for what he would consider a stupid amount of time.

Tony's mouth clicked shut, before he barked, "Give me a moment to process."

Process?! What the fuck was there to process?! "Fuck, am I really dying?!"

"Would you stop acting like a damn drama queen and just shut up for a moment?!" the man growled.

He glared, remaining silent for a few moments more before his words turned accusing. "Are you really deciding to fuck with me right now?"

That vein on Tony's forehead started to bulge. "Excuse me for being shocked all to hell that you have… Well… You realize that…" The man cut off on a groan and rubbed his face.

Tony looked tired, and, as always, awkward in his white polo, even if it did nicely contrast his deep brown skin.

Contrast? Since when had that word been in his vocabulary? Fucking Foxx and his damn fashion shows…

"So…" He eyed the still seemingly baffled man. "Are you going to actually say something helpful?"

Tony's hands dropped down. "You know what, I do not get paid enough. Go see a therapist… Wait, no! A psychologist."

Harlow jerked back in shock. "The fuck did you say?!"

"A head doctor… Whatever the fuck you want to call them. Go see one."

"You want me to talk to Johansson… Johansson!? Now I know you are fucking with me."

"I didn't say see Johansson, I said see a psychologist. Actually, I have someone in mind."

The man opened a drawer and started to dig through it, completely ignoring that Harlow was telling him fucking no.

"Again, WHY?!"

"Who the fuck else would you see when you are having head problems?"

"I'm not having head problems. I'm having physical problems. Like literal chest pains and shit."

"Pains that are all connected to that fucked up brain in your skull," Tony grumbled, still digging in his desk, not looking up at all.

"Fuck you," he snapped.

Yeah, his brain was fucked up, but like, what did that have to do with literal fucking heart palpitations?!

"Fuck you, too."

"I'd rather not. Foxx's ass is plenty."

"Don't need to know."

"Ah, ain't that too bad, because I, SUDDENLY, feel like telling you," Harlow said with a wide grin. "Foxx loves it when I stick my?—"

Tony slammed his hand on the desk, cutting him off. The man straightened up, his vein bulging visibly now as he hissed, "Take this card and get the fuck out of my office, you perverted psycho!"

Harlow's gaze flicked down.

Apparently, Tony hadn't just been trying to shut him up. He eyed the card on the desk. It was black, the embossed silver centered text read, Wes B. Ackerman. Ph.D. Underneath it in white was the word Psychologist.

"Yeah, fuck no. But fuck yes to eating Foxx's ass. Haven't gotten a chance to do that yet, but looking forward to spreading?—"

Tony literally screamed to drown out his words, before grinding out, "Wes is a friend of mine. He owes me a favor. It won't take much persuading for him to do it unofficially, considering he finds people like you?—"

"Have you eaten ass before? More importantly, have you taken the chance to look at Foxx's ass? I mean, I know he covers it up with his baggy jeans and sweaters, but you?—"

"The nicest way I can word it is that he finds you freaks entertaining."

Harlow stiffened. "Do I look like a lab rat to you?"

"Do you want me to be honest or lie?" Tony said with a twisted grin.

He crossed his arms and smiled evilly, before saying, "I'm going to live a long, LONG life!"

The grin slipped from the man's face, and he stared blankly for a moment before crying in disbelief. "How the fucking hell did I end up pairing you with someone so similar?! You two seemed NOTHING alike. What God, Goddess, or dumb fuck Demon decided to curse my ass with this nonsense?!"

Harlow's brow rose at that. "Similar? In what way? I mean, he does love violence and torture, but… I'd say our interests are similar adjacent. Not completely the same, but running along the same vein." He tilted his head as he thought on it. "Foxx may be a bit more blood thirsty than I am, and not just because of the vampire thing. Which is…" He smirked. "Hot as fuck."

"What is wrong with you?!" Tony scowled. "I would love it if you just went back to screwing random women."

"First of all, why go out to find others when I have better at home, waiting for me with the plumpest ass I've had the pleasure of grabbing, in the air and ready for the taking? You could do that though. I'm sure it would be a relief to finally get between the thighs of someone who's not a raging cu?—"

"Harlow!" Tony growled, before taking a deep breath that just ended in another growl.

Harlow found the man's expression interesting. Tony was irritated, for sure…yet…there was no real anger. He actually…couldn't recall Tony ever being truly angry about the shit he'd said about his wife. Which was odd…wasn't it?

"I'm curious. You don't actually care what I say about her, so why do you even bother trying to stop me?"

"Harlow, drop it," the other man said firmly.

"You know, if I had talked this way about any of your previous partners, before we went legal here, you'd have shot me. Almost did a few times, because you have horrible taste in women, yet…not once have you ever threatened me for anything I've said about Janice." He tilted his head the other way. "What exactly is going on, Tony?"

Harlow's hackles rose as Tony's expression closed down. The man"s piercing gaze was a clear warning. Voice low, even and emotionless, Tony said, "Stay out of it, Harlow."

What the fuck…? Janice, the gold digger… What else was she hiding?

Harlow wanted to push, but he knew that expression. He had gotten shot a few times in the past after disregarding it. And since he knew it meant that nothing he said or did would force Tony to cross the line he'd drawn, Harlow would drop it for now. As really, there was no point in getting fucking shot for nothing.

Didn't mean he wasn't going to dig on his own though. Because Tony acting like this was a major red flag that some deep shit was going down.

"Don't," Tony growled in warning.

"Don't, what? I didn't say anything."

"You didn't have to. I know you well enough. Don't dig, stay out of it."

"I will," he lied with a smile.

"Fucking-A, you are a pain in the ass. Can't you just listen for once?!"

"Pretty sure I just said I will."

"But you're lying."

"Can't prove that."

Tony groaned and rubbed his face.

Harlow chuckled. "Better relax, old man. You know, before you have to up your blood pressure medicine…again."

"Laugh it up, you fucker. You're not too far behind me."

He hummed. "Mm, we certainly aren't getting any younger."

Tony snorted, staring for a moment before slowly saying, "I'm sure I'm about to regret this, but how do you keep up?"

"With?"

"Foxx."

Harlow"s eyes widened before a burst of laughter slipped free. "And I thought you didn't care about my sex life?!"

"Yep…instant regret."

"Why? Slowing down? Having…" His gaze flicked down suggestively, even though he couldn't actually see Tony's crotch through the desk. "Problems?"

"Yep…so much regret," Tony groaned.

"Do you want an honest answer?" he asked with a slow grin.

"I'll probably regret this even more, but sure, why the fuck not."

"Foxx is the one who needs to work on keeping up."

The baffled expression from before returned. "Foxx, the vampire, is the one struggling to keep up with you…the middle-aged human?"

Harlow shrugged. "You can ask him if you want."

"Yeah, no. Moving back to one of your many fucking issues, just go see Wes. He won't be able to completely fix—" The man waved his hand at him. "—all of whatever you have going on. But he'll likely be able to figure out whatever the fuck is going on right now."

Harlow grimaced. "You really think what is going on is mental?"

"Yes," Tony said without hesitation. "I wouldn't be suggesting this if I didn't."

Could it be mental? It hadn't felt like it was all in his head.

"Fuck." He sighed. "Didn't think it was possible for my head to get even more fucked up."

His boss snorted. "Yeah, I'd prefer if it didn"t too, as you are enough of a pain as it is."

Ugh… A psychologist… He reached out and picked up the card. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure, you psycho. Tell you what," Tony said with a smirk. "I'll make the choice easier for you. Go see him, or I bench you."

Motherfucker…

He groaned. "Fucking, fine. I'll see him. Once."

"Until you are ‘fixed'."

"Bastard."

"You know it." Tony's smirk widened.

Well…worse comes to worst, he could just screw with the man for fun, right?

"Now that is all settled… I have some updates for you." Tony's grin turned shit-eating.

When the man continued on…it didn't take long to understand what the fucker found so entertaining…

* * *

Door closing behind Harlow,Tony leaned back in his chair. As his gaze wandered around the room, first to the gray walls, his row of bookshelves to the left, to the couch on the right, and then finally to the closed blinds on the glass that made up one wall, he had an urge to just set it all on fire.

Tony roughly rubbed his face. "Fuck," he groaned loudly.

Pairing Harlow with Foxx Honeywell had really come back to bite him in the ass… And it was a self-inflicted wound… Because he'd taken one look at Foxx's profile and interview videos, and hadn't been able to resist pairing them together.

Or rather, he'd taken one look at a man who appeared to be hyperactive, talkative, and a complete sunshine-type person, and imagined how much he'd drive Harlow up the wall.

How the fuck had he been supposed to know they'd get along? Or that Foxx was, apparently, just as bloodthirsty as Harlow?! Though he was struggling to see that…

Ahh, fuck, but this was more than just getting along. Harlow was fucking attached. No, he was obsessed. He'd seen that when the man was torturing the priests. Well, less during the torture and more the moment he'd lost his shit on a dead body.

If this wasn't handled now…things could go horribly wrong… More than they already had.

Tony pulled out his phone, quickly navigated to his contacts and pressed ‘call'.

When it connected, there was silence at first, before the man slowly said, "Tony… It's been a long time, old friend." Wes' voice was as soothing and welcoming to the ears, as it had always been.

"I'd like to say I'm calling to catch up, but…"

"We don't have that type of relationship. No worries, I'm not offended. How can I help you?"

"I'm sending a psycho your way on the down-low. Nothing can be official. I've known this man for twenty years. He is used to feeling very little, but is now feeling a lot of new things that he has no experience with, in a very short period of time, all due to his new partner.

"His partner, Foxx, broke him. I need you to fix him up. Or, at least, stop what I believe is becoming an unhealthy obsession with his partner from developing further."

"You know I don't like that word, Tony," Wes admonished. "And ‘fix', how? Return him to his previous state?" The man chuckled. "Not possible. Once the shell is cracked, you can't seal it back up as if nothing happened. I can help him understand what he is feeling now. But there is no way to un-ring that bell once it's been struck."

Wes paused and took a deep breath before saying, "But I do owe you a favor…and my curiosity is piqued. So, I'll see him. But I promise nothing. No quick fixes, no return to what was his ‘normal', because once I see him, he is my priority. Whether he"s an official patient or not, my responsibility is to him, not anyone else, and that includes you."