
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2564870.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage, Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence
  Category:
      Multi
  Fandom:
      One_Direction_(Band)
  Relationship:
      Harry_Styles/Louis_Tomlinson, Zayn_Malik/Liam_Payne
  Character:
      Harry_Styles, Louis_Tomlinson, Liam_Payne, Zayn_Malik, Niall_Horan, Josh
      Devine, Nick_Grimshaw, Eleanor_Calder, Simon_Cowell
  Additional Tags:
      larry_stylinson_-_Freeform, spy_AU, black-ops_CIA_au, assasinations_au,
      Minor_Character_Death, Please_dont_kill_me, umm_guns, idk_-_Freeform, yay
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-11-04 Updated: 2016-04-20 Chapters: 2/? Words: 8799
****** guns 'n' roses ******
by wardrobelarry
Summary
     Maybe having him tied up in the back-seat with duct-tape over his
     mouth isn't exactly how Louis pictures the first time he meets Harry,
     but it's not like he has a choice. He couldn't possibly let Harry
     flail and wail around, especially when there're men outside with guns
     ready to shoot at any alarm.
     At least he brought roses, though Harry doesn't seem to appreciate
     it.
Notes
     hello hello hello! okay first of all if youre actually going to read
     this work i would like to say a little (huge) thank you for having
     faith in this... thing i made. i really appreciate it. <3
     down to the serious stuff, i do not own majority of this plot, it is
     inspired by the movie R.E.D., therefore it belongs to the director of
     said movie, whoever s/he may be. Although, i do have minor add-ins or
     take-outs into/from the plot, just to work in writer's favour. i do
     not own the characters stated in the description, but there are a few
     characters I have made up for the story. this is not a depiction of
     reality, at all, (obviously. other than the part where l&h are
     shagging. thats very much reality.) um. (what else am i supposed to
     put in this, idrk what im doing.)
     if there are any mistakes or glitches or offences made or all that
     jazz, please do not hesitate to leave a comment, i will surely
     respond.
     also, feedback is extreeeemely appreciated, just to know how im going
     with this fic.
     thank you guys again ! :))
     oh, yeah. there is a minor character death (well actually, there are
     many minor deaths, but this is more major than the other minors, i
     guess ??) um, im so sorry? its just how the plot works? :(( but it
     will be fine, i promise, its a good kinda death. like, yeah. i dont
     really wanna give much away so this is all im saying ! enjoy !
     also, there is a playlist to go with this, tracks are linked in it to
     be played at the time. idk it just, intensifies things, i guess? hope
     you like it :)
***** Chapter 1 *****
 
CLEVELAND          10TH OF DECEMBER 2015
                                        
                                        
Track:_Waterfalls_-_TLC
It's one in the afternoon when Louis wakes up. Well technically, it's one in
the afternoon when the sun hits Louis right in the left eye through the window
and he makes an ugly, strangled sound before turning around and going back to
sleep for five more minutes. Not that he intends to stay in bed for only five
minutes, but sometimes things don't go as planned and your neighbour's
chihuahua wouldn't for the love of god shut up.

So he sits up, curses the dog and waddles to the bathroom in his sweats.
He strips them off, stepping into the bathroom, toes curling on the cold tiles.
He turns the hot water knob by half and the cold by a quarter, and waits until
the water turns warm enough before he ducks under the stream. The steam fogs up
the little cubicle, Louis breathing the clean smell of shower water. He puts a
dollop of shampoo on his head, lathing it in his hair and lightly scratching
his scalp. He washes the foam off, dipping his head back and letting the water
pound on the crown of his head. He closes his eyes and stands still, just
listening to the water tip-tapping on surfaces.
He moves on to his body. He spurts a considerate amount of bodywash on his
hand, and starts rubbing on his torso. His hands glide over bare skin, apple
scented wash reaching his nose and clouding his mind. He lathes over his
armpits, and over his neck. He rolls his head, letting his hands roam the
smooth surface of his throat.
He steps back under the water and starts rinsing off, the foam and bubbles
sliding down his body and into the drain. He turns the faucets off once he's
clean and steps out of the shower. 
Once he's towelled off, he hangs it and puts his sweats back on, this time with
a black tank to accompany it. He feels droplets of water fall from the ends of
his hair and onto his back, wetting the tank and making it stick to his skin.
He should really consider getting a haircut since his head of fluff has indeed
grown terribly long, but he kind of likes it this way. Makes him look rugged of
some sort. Don't know.

He drags his feet towards the kitchen, and realises it's awfully quiet in the
area. It's almost eerie, even though it's bright as day, to hear absolutely
nothing, not even the glide of the dog's chain from across the street. There's
no noise, and even Louis' humming seems to be too loud. He sighs. and makes
himself a cuppa with a year old tea bag and boiled water that tastes stale
somehow. 

It's not that Louis doesn't like retired life, it really isn't. It's just that,
sometimes it gets too quiet, too serene, and he just really wants to shoot
something, you know?

And he also is really, really getting tired of his right hand.

He distractedly looks out the window to the street, sipping idly at his morning
tea. He doesn't know what he's staring at, exactly, but he continues to do so,
apparently reaching that level of low. After a while he notices his mailbox
isn't empty, and puts down his mug to retrieve the latter.

So the mail-man has finally paid a visit, and is probably the cause of Trina's
string of high-pitched barks this morning. He collects the mail, flips through
the junk and the letters, tearing up his pension cheque when he comes across it
and tosses it in the bush before entering his house. Routine, routine, routine.

He closes the door and picks up his house phone before chucking the remaining
mail aside and situating himself comfortably on one side of his sofa. 
Track:_Brighter_Than_The_Sun_-_Colbie_Caillat

He dials the number without even sparing a glance at the phone and puts it to
his ear. 
"Customer Service, please." He says when the beeping stops.

He hears a string of static noises before it all stops, and through the
speakers an exasperated sigh sounds through. Then a deep, unusually defeated
voice drawls out a "Hi, this is the General Service Administration Pension
Office and I am Harry Styles, how may I help you?

"Um, hi Harry, this is um, Louis Tomlinson." 

Louis hears a small surprised oh and a few things being knocked down, before it
sounds like Harry's got his stuff sorted and he delightedly exhales "Hi, Louis.
Um, what's going on?"

Louis scratches the back of his neck. "Nothing, really." He says and smacks
himself on the back of his head. Great ideology for calling up a customer
service agent, Louis. Smooth. "I mean, I called because they didn't send my
cheque in again."

"Oh, seriously. I can't believe they still haven't got that sorted out. I'm so
sorry. I'll make sure they send another one out this week." He actually sounds
beaten up about it, the poor lad. Louis stretches out on his sofa, his sweats
riding up his calves.

"It's not a big deal. How's your day?" Louis goes for the casual. Things are
bleak.

"Horrible. There was a caller earlier in the day and she downright screamed at
me. Because she wasn't satisfied with the annuity rate she was assigned with,
apparently she's worked long enough hard enough and good enough to deserve a
higher rate and a better life.And she takes the frustration out on me! I mean,
doesn't she live with her grandchildren? Maybe yell at them while baking
cookies to make up for it later I don't know. I mean... oh god, sorry, I'm
rambling." Harry chuckles nervously. Louis only smiles, because he thinks it's
so endearing, he thinks everything Harry says is endearing really.

"How was yours?" Harry says after the silence where Louis forgot he was
supposed to say something. 

"I've had better days." Louis scratches the slight stubble along his jawline.
"How's the movie you went for?" 

"Oh, Love, Actually? It was the best. The plot was, amazing. Best movie I've
ever watched, I think. Such an impact." Harry says with this weird tone, like
he's crossed between passionate and confused. Louis gasps.

"You cried."

"I didn't!"

"Have I ever told you even through the phone you're a terrible liar?" Louis
laughs, Harry laughs too and it's obnoxious, it's loud, and it's endearing. So
endearing. Endearing endearing endearing. Louis clears his throat.

"Well, I'm glad you enjoyed the m-" 

"Oh shit, it's my supervisor. Got to go. Bye, Louis!" And the static sounds are
back as Louis is abruptly hung up on. Huh. His life shouldn't really be getting
more pathetic than this. 

Tonight, Louis goes out and buys the DVD of Love, Actually and replays it over
and over on his ancient television until he falls asleep.
 
 
                                      ***
 
 
Louis hates retired life.

Okay, maybe he convinced himself he didn't for two months (sixty-one whole
days, thank you very much) because for once not everyone was trying to kill
him, but after all the quiet days and being stationed at one place one house
for more than two weeks he figured he'd rather be risking death 24/7 rather
than sit in a cold house all day. Because excuse him, the most action he ever
gets nowadays is punching a lifeless leather bag in his basement. And that's
just no fun. 
He needs to punch something not lifeless. That's what he needs.
He shakes his head. Another week since his last conversation with Harry. Again,
Louis tells him he still hasn't got his pension check, Harry blames it on
himself and the office, Louis blames it on his "isolated address". Not too bad,
believable at least. Louis thinks the cheque has gone missing too many times to
just overlook like Harry is doing, but Louis has a feeling he doesn't really
mind so he doesn't bother. In fact, Louis thinks Harry knows, and he's just
playing along. Anyhow, Louis tears yet another pension check and dials the
office's number.
 
                                      ***
                                        
"I'm taking a break from this dreadfully lonely house." 
"You're-what? What do you mean?"
"I'm going to visit somewhere."
"And where's that?"
"Kansas City." 

Harry pauses. Louis can hear his breathing cut short over the line. He doesn't
realise until now that he's never thought about how Harry would react to this
news. God, he should have planned this better. Maybe say it differently. He may
come up with five hundred other ways to say it later tonight but for now this
is what he comes up with. He hopes it works just fine.

"That's. That's where I am." Harry finally says, after a ten second silence.

"Mm-hmm."
"You're coming to where I am." Harry says, with a sort of dumbfounded tone.
Louis can't help but chuckle lightly.
"Yes, I am. Would you," Louis stops himself, "Can I come visit, maybe?"

"Yes!" Harry exclaims, taking Louis by (a pleasant, by the way) surprise. "I
mean, yes. Yeah. Why not. On the way. Might as well. I guess." Harry rambles
right after. "When is this?"

"In two weeks." Louis says.

"Wow. Um. Cool. Um. Oh, sh-, sorry Louis, I kind of have to go right now.
Sorry. Bye! I'll um, talk to you. Soon. I think. Bye!" Harry says and the line
is cut off before Louis can say  anything. Well. That went pretty well, he'd
say. There are many many other ways it could've gone horribly wrong, so Louis
decides he's happy with that. It's good. He looks at the clock beside his bed.
It's 6:22pm. He might as well have an early night, he thinks, tucking himself
under his sheets and hearing Harry's voice in his head. He tries to picture how
this man looks like, is he blonde? Or has he got dark, black hair? He knows he
has green eyes, he mentioned it once over the phone. Dark, black hair would
look real good with emerald eyes, Louis thinks. So he falls asleep, with black
hair and green eyes ricocheting in his mind. 
 
                                      ***
                                        
Louis' eyes pop open. It's still dark out, in fact, it looks like it's still
the middle of the night. He glances at his clock, 3:37am. He reaches for the
glass of water that sits beside it and brings it to his mouth. He frowns. It's
empty. Sighing, he gets up and walks toward the kitchen.

His steps down the stairs echo in the house. He has stayed in this house for
not too much longer than three months, but he knows exactly which stair creaks
and which stair doesn't. There are only three stairs that don't creak out of
the ten, the second, the fifth, and the seventh counting from the top. It's
dumb, but it's something a former CIA agent would notice. 

He resumes without much thought other than the glass in his hand, that is,
until he steps on the seventh step and hears a creak.

Track:_Everybody_Wants_To_Rule_The_World_-_Lorde

It's soft, almost unnoticeable, but Louis hears it loud and clear. His brain is
working a hundred miles per second, though he makes sure not to show it in his
steps. 
He still maintains a slow, relaxed pace towards the kitchen, while he tries to
determine where the sound came from. The hallway to his right is empty, because
he can feel the slight breeze coming from the window that he leaves a crack
open every night. Out of the corner of his eye however, he doesn’t see the
glimmer that normally comes from a clock on the coffee table in the living room
that reflects the moonlight from a window opposite. |
Almost like someone was standing in front of it. 
He walks into the kitchen and slowly, like he would be doing any other night,
closes the door behind him.
He puts his glass down immediately on the counter and shrinks back beside the
closed door. He makes sure not to make a sound, so he
can hear every single other one clearly.

First, he doesn’t hear anything. He almost starts considering that he’d
imagined it all, until he hears the all too familiar sound of bulletproof vest
against cotton. It’s almost too soft, but after Louis’ eight years of
experience he registers that sound like a dog to a whistle.

Then, it gets louder than usual. However the sound is distant, and Louis knows
it’s not because it’s moving closer. It’s because there’s more than one.

He reconsiders his plan. There is an alternative door on the other side of the
kitchen that leads to the lobby that can lead back to the hallway. They would
be standing right in front of that entrance.

Louis moves to the door as quietly as he can. He takes caution of which wood
panel he steps on, making sure they are not the ones that creak. Small step
right, small step left, big step left, small step front.

Soon, Louis reaches the lobby, and scoots towards the entrance to the hallway.
Again, he stands beside the door, pressing an ear to the wall.

Bulletproof vest against cotton, cotton against concrete, boot against door.
Boot against door. Boot against door.

Louis slips out right at the moment of their confusion and knocks the first one
out with a punch to the temple.

There are three of them. Two of them left, anyway.

The second one turns around, empty-handed except for the handcuffs in his hand.
Before he could attempt at least a blow, Louis ducks
down and swings his right leg out, tripping the guy. As he falls, Louis stands
up and crushes his heel onto his throat.

The first one turns around and he has a syringe in his hand. A rather large
one, Louis would say, with enough anaesthetics to keep him out for days on end.
The guy lunges forward with the syringe aimed at Louis’ throat but Louis grabs
his wrist and twists it. He hears the crack of bones, and catches the syringe
that falls out of grip. He sticks in into the guy’s neck before he could scream
in pain. He drops to the floor.

He looks at the pile of bodies on the ground. Seriously? Three guys, minimally
armed? They expected Louis to be taken down by three guys?The only one with a
machine pistol was knocked out with one blow to the head. Louis almost feels
offended.

When he makes his way back to his bedroom however, thinking about what exactly
he should do with the bodies, he sees out the window, a van parked at an odd
angle on the other side of the road. The back door is wide open, facing Louis’
house.

He walks back into the kitchen. Okay, maybe he’s less offended now. He takes
the machine pistol from one of the bodies on the ground and goes back into the
kitchen. He takes out a pan, slides it onto the stove and puts it on high heat.
He empties the cartridge of the pistol onto the pan, and moves out.

He makes his way quietly down into the basement, and closes the door behind
him. He quietly taps his foot against the floor until he hears a slightly off,
hollow sound. Using the end of the machine pistol, he slams it into the
concrete and it caves.

The rucksack is there, dusty and worn out, but still there. Louis takes it out
and pulls the zip open.

He sees all that he needs, passports, pistols, and money. Lots, and lots of
money. He smiles for a second, but he’s interrupted by the ricocheting of
bullets against walls and ceilings of his house. The old trick always works.

A few seconds later he hears the windows shatter and the hollow walls of his
house destroyed as bullets are shot right through them, the men outside
mistaken by the false gunfire. Louis snickers a bit to himself, thinking, yeah,
he definitely still has it in him.  

This lasts for around three minutes, which right after, the house slips back
into an eerie silence.
Louis grabs a Beretta and sneaks back out of the basement into the house.

Right away, Louis sees a man hovering in his living room with a gun poised in
front of him, back facing Louis. The man is slowly stalking forward, where two
other men are leading. They’re heading into his kitchen.

He quietly walks nearer to the last man in the row, Man No.1, and when the two
front men have just stepped foot into the kitchen he fires a bullet straight
into Man No.1’s head.

He immediately hides behind the wall separating the kitchen and the living
room. Predictably, Man No. 2 darts back into the living room, where Louis hits
him in the back of his head with the Beretta, hearing the satisfying cracking
sound when his gun contacts with Man No.2’s skull. Jackpot.

Man No.3 however, extremely unpredictably chucks a grenade into the room where
Louis, in all flesh and bones, stands.

“Fucking shitting fuck,” he hears himself say, and in last minute reflex grabs
the grenade, throws it back into the kitchen, and flings himself behind the
couch. About half a second later, his kitchen and half his living room blows
up.

Once it’s over, Louis peeks his head above the couch to see if there is any
movement among the angry flames that consume the space. None. He slowly rises
from behind the couch and takes a look into the kitchen (if he can still call
itthat anymore), where a char barbecued corpse lies.

Making his way back into the basement, he grabs his rucksack and heads out the
god forsaken house. Before he leaves though, he grabs a kitchen knife, chops
all the men’s forefingers off, and puts them in a paper bag. Still high on
adrenaline, Louis hums a Christmas song as he walks away from the wreckage,
rucksack slung high on his shoulder.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Summary
     “You have such beautiful eyes.” He watches as they roll around in
     their sockets. (And if a blush colours Harry’s cheeks, Louis doesn’t
     have to know.)
     “If circumstances would be any different, I’d kiss you.” Louis says,
     and a silence settles between them two. Harry just blinks up at him
     with wide, wide eyes.
Chapter Notes
     so like, this is a fic thats probably gonna take me 10 years to
     finish, because im a dick and im in my last two years of high school
     and things are getting so busy :( im so sorry if you're frustrated
     because of the updates that take months to come up, or if it doesnt
     ever come up, but im just putting this up as something im doing for
     myself, currently im not too concerned about people reading or not
     reading this. i know it might sound selfish and ignorant and im
     sorry, though hopefully this will be actually done and finished at
     some point in time :)
     ****** THE LAST PART WAS EDITED ON 9/05/2016 IVE ADDED A SCENE THAT
     WASNT THERE BEFORE******
KANSAS CITY          22ND OF DECEMBER 2015
 
 
After a bit of research on the plane, Louis finds out where Harry lives (29,
Linwood Boulevard, Kansas City; such a cute little place) and catches a taxi
there. He steps out in front of a boutique little terrace with more than 5
potted plants lining the pathway up to the door.
He tries knocking, but he does that for 10 minutes and eventually gives up,
deciding that Harry, wherever he is, is not home, and finds a twig to pick the
lock with.
It’s a bearably easy lock to pick, Louis making his way into the terrace in a
short five minutes. He takes in his surroundings, more potted plants, cute
family pictures on the wall with who Louis presumes is with Harry’s sister and
parents. It’s. So very adorable, Louis thinks.
Louis walks to the second floor and finds Harry’s bedroom. It’s terribly neat,
is the thing. His bed is made so that it seems like no one has ever slept in it
ever, and his bedside table has its contents arranged in little compartments in
its drawers.
Louis rummages around his closet until he finds a big enough bag, and stuffs
clothes in. T-shirts, shorts, jeans—wait, are those jeggings? Louis doesn’t
even know—more shirts, many of which are very floral and very sheer (who even
is Harry), and some underwear. He pretends he doesn’t see the black and red
lace panties as he chucks a bunch into the bag.
He goes out into the living room again, and sets the bag down. He checks the
time—8:00pm—and wonders where Harry is. Shit, is he out of the city? He didn’t
mention anything like that but, it’s a possibility, he could’ve gone to visit
his mother, or his sister, or—
Track:_Someday_-_The_Strokes
Just then, Louis hears a car pull up in front of the terrace. He rushes to the
window, and peeks out, where a man comes out of the passenger side of the car.
He sees another man exit from the other side, and immediately stiffens. Does
Harry—is Harry taken? Wait, which one of them even is Harry? Judging by his
beeline toward the house, he assumes that the man coming from the passenger
side is him. He watches as the other man raises his arms in frustration, and
snickers to himself. Dickhead.
Suddenly registering that Harry is unlocking the door to the terrace right this
moment, Louis immediately scoots away back into the living room, where he
brushes his jeans down and grabs the bouquet of roses he bought when he spotted
a florist on the way.
He hears the door open, and his heart starts racing at a probably very
dangerous rate. He takes a deep breath, and is about to say something, when
Harry walks straight pass the living room entrance and into, Louis thinks, the
kitchen.
His presumption is confirmed by the opening of a fridge door.
“Wow.” Harry exclaims, suddenly, startling Louis a bit. He furrows his
eyebrows. Who is Harry talking to?
“Wooow.” He hears Harry say again, and gets all the more confused.
“Of course you live with your mother. Wicked.” He says again, and Louis is
amazed by the pure silkiness and deepness of Harry’s voice, uninterrupted by
the constant static sound of the phone. His English accent becomes more
enunciated too. Jesus.
“And you have no job! Excellent.” Harry says again, shocking Louis out of his
stance.
He hears (presumably) a can opening, and steps coming towards the living room.
Louis is just taking his second deep-breath when Harry appears at the entrance,
steps halting rather animatedly as he spots Louis.
Now that he stands in coherent lighting and right in front of Louis, Louis can
see everything. The first thing he notices though, is Harry’s hair. Oh my god,
Louis has never imagined it like this, in any of his many imaginations, but he
does not want it any different now. Harry has curly, dark brown hair that rests
just over his shoulders. The curls look bouncy and luscious, and Jesus Christ
they’re gorgeous. Then Louis sees Harry’s face, and wow. He. Harry’s eyes are
this amazing kind of green that you see in the middle of rainforests (Louis
would know, he’s had to assassinate a terrorist group camping in Puerto Rico).
Harry is tall, tall, tall and tall, so that Louis has to crane his neck a
little upwards to look at him. Wow.
“Um. Hi.” He says, which Harry doesn’t respond to. Right, state of shock. Okay.
And also, he doesn’t exactly know who Louis is.
“I’m Louis. Um. Pension cheques? Love, Actually?” Louis tries. Harry blinks.
Louis is about to continue when Harry opens his mouth to speak words.
“You’re in my house.” He says. Louis stares. How the fuck does he respond to
that? Uh, no, I’m actually not. Um, yes, it’s very inappropriate isn’t it.He
doesn’t say anything.
He doesn’t have to, either, because Harry throws his can of drink at him.
“Woah, what—”
“Why are you in my house?” Harry exclaims suddenly, shocking Louis and
realising, yes, right, this is a kind of normal response, considering he,
indeed, without invitation or warning, is in Harry’s house.
“You need to calm down.” Louis says first, which he should’ve known would not
be a very effective line.
“Why are you in my house? I told you to call first,” Harry keeps yelling, and
reaches for a potted plant.
“Don’t—” Louis tries, but a potted plant comes flying at him anyway. He ducks
down just in time as it hits the wall behind him.
“Harry, stop throwing things—”
“Help! Help! Intruder!” Harry yells as he throws a bouncy ball—a bouncy ball?
—at Louis. This needs to stop right now, Louis thinks.
“Harry, you need to stop and listen—” another bouncy ball, “will you just
listen to me please?” A bottle of lotion.
Just then, Harry spots the bag beside the living room table.
“Is that, is that my bag?” He asks.
“Um. Yes. Harry, listen—”
“You packed it.”
“Yes.Harry, look, we need to go. Right now.”
A magazine flies toward him. Louis lets it hit his chest, you know, for
dramatic effect.
“Harry. Listen to me. We need to leave. Right now.”
“Somebody help! Help! Intruder!” Harry starts screaming again, which, not good.
Not good at all.
“Harry, stop it.” Louis rolls his eyes. “Someone is trying to kill me.” That
doesn’t stop Harry. He just keeps screaming.
“They’re trying to kill you too.” That silences Harry. His head whips around to
stare at Louis.
“Why would anyone want to kill me?” He asks, sounding disbelieving.
“Because. They’ve been listening to our phone calls. We’ve been under
surveillance.”
“Why?” Harry presses. Louis sighs. He really, really didn’t want to go there,
but. It doesn’t seem like he has much choice, now.
“Because of the way I talk to you.” Louis is met with a confused glare. He
sighs again, a little bit louder.
“They know I like you.” He blurts out, which Harry doesn’t necessarily respond
to, other than the glare he still keeps.
Saved from having to hear a response at all, Louis hears tyres screeching from
outside the terrace. He takes a glimpse out the window, and sees a two black
cars pulling up on the opposite side of the road.
“Fuck. Okay Harry,” at this point, Harry’s looking pretty shaken and aware that
there is a possible threat outside his house. “Do you have a car?”
“Yes. I mean, no, not exactly. It’s my sister’s.”
“We need to get it. Where is it?” Louis rushes out. Shit shit shit, they need
out of here, Right the fuck now.
“Behind the house.” Louis grabs his bag and without second thought, grabs
Harry’s hand and pulls them towards the backdoor. Harry protests, but Louis
ignores it and shoves him into the backseat. Harry is still screaming, which is
not ideal.
Louis really, really didn’t want to have to come to this, but he doesn’t have
many options. He can’t spend another 10 minutes trying to shut Harry up, so he
unzips his rucksack and takes out a roll of duct-tape.
“Ohhh no no no no, don’t you fucking dare—” Harry manages to say before the
duct-tape is over his mouth.
“I’m so sorry,” Louis says and shoots Harry an apologetic look, receiving an
angry glare in return. He places the bouquet of roses on Harry’s lap.
“For you.” Harry continues glaring. Louis tries to ignore it and closes the
backseat door, climbing into the driver’s and speeding off.
 
                                      ***
 
“Don’t get me wrong, I know this is crazy.” Louis says, glancing into Harry’s
sling bag that he snatched before leaving the terrace.
He grabs a phone, most likely Harry’s and throws it out onto the highway. He
hears a muffled shout from behind him.
“And don’t think, that, I,” He grabs a can of pepper spray—why does Harry have
pepper spray? –and chucks it out. “don’t think this is crazy.”
He grabs a random thing from the bag, possibly a nail filer, he doesn’t even
know, and flings it out the window too.
“And I know we both hoped that the circumstances under which we’d meet, would
be completely different than this, but.” Louis says, glancing at Harry through
the rear view mirror. He still has that glare on his face, and Louis can see
the anger plastered across it even with duct-tape covering half of it.
“You know, I’m sure that one day, we’d be looking back at this, as the amazing,
thrilling adventure that it is. What do you say?” Which. Louis should not have
said that.
Harry does say, though, Through the duct-tape, at least. He starts mumbling
hurriedly and frustrated, then mumbling turns into shouting, shouting turns
into yelling and soon Harry is just, Louis would put it this way, letting out
his anger, pretty expressively considering he has duct-tape over his mouth.
About a minute later, Harry just lets out this lasting groan, banging his head
down onto the seat in front of him. Louis assumes that that would be the ending
of his little reverie, there.
“I’m hungry too,” he says. “Let’s get pizza and tea, sounds like a plan? Then
we’ll properly hit the road.”
 
                                      ***
                                        
                                        
NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA          24TH OF DECEMBER 2015
 
 
Louis sits Harry on the bed of the motel. He ties his wrists to the bed poles,
all the while avoiding Harry’s eyes. When he’s done, he sits back, and reaches
out to Harry’s face.
“Sorry.” He says softly before tearing the duct-tape off in one swift motion.
Harry hisses at the slight sting it leaves, and turning to Louis right after.
“Do you want some water?”
“If you let me go now, I won’t press charges.”
Louis sighs. He looks at Harry. He has a pleading look on his face, looking
tired and slightly terrified.
“Look, I’m so sorry, but it doesn’t work that way. You have to stay with me.”
Harry stares at him blankly. “I won’t hurt you, I promise.”
“You just kidnapped me!” Harry exclaims.
“I did not kidnap you, you were in danger. Technically, I saved you.” Harry
continues to stare at him. Louis sighs again. He finds himself doing that very
often.
"The only thing you saved me from was my own home which is very safe thank you
very much--" Harry puts up a finger at Louis when he moves to protest, "and two
cars parked out front. You know, maybe they would've brought me to safety.
Maybe they were the ones who were going to save me from you. I am tied to a bed
right now, anyway. I won't say things are peachy." 
Louis stares at Harry. 
"The men in the two cars parked out front will barge into your home, take you
away without explanation. They will chuck you in the backseat, and tell you
you're in danger and they'll be taking you to 'somewhere safe'. Turns out, that
somewhere safe is an interrogation room in a bureau where the walls are steel
and there are people watching you from behind the mirror you see your
reflection in. There, is where you will be grilled for information about me,
and even though you tell them you know fuck all about me, which you do, they
won't believe you. They never do. You'll possibly be free to go after, but
you'll always be under surveillance, they will always be watching you, 24/7.
They will be watching your every move right until they manage to kill me, then
they'll kill you too. And they wouldn't even bring you roses." 
Louis finishes. Harry only stares at him wide-eyed, his mouth forming a small
gape.
"Is that true?"
"Most likely, yes."
"Oh."
Louis lets out a breath. "I'm sorry for kidnapping you."
"No, it's-it's okay." Harry says and makes a face, like he can't believe he
just told someone it was okay for them to kidnap him. 
"Thank you for the roses, they're-they're lovely." Harry adds. The edges of
Louis' mouth lift to form a small smile. 
"You're welcome." Louis locks his gaze with Harry. A beat, two beats, three
beats passing of both of them just looking at each other, comprehending
everything that is happening. 
"For the record, this has been much more interesting than my job." Harry says
suddenly. Louis barks out a laugh, head throwing back in surprise. When he
looks back at Harry, he's grinning right back at him, tittering laughs filling
the air around them.
"Well, and for the record, you are very good-looking. Who knew customer service
could be so attractive." That forces a unexpected cluck from Harry, followed by
light giggles. Louis is endeared. Tenfold. 
Louis clears his throat, looking away from Harry's eyes. 
“Okay. I have to go see someone, I’ll be back in a bit.” Harry looks alarmed at
this, eyes widening.
“What, so you’re just going to make me sit here? Like this?”
“It’s safe here. No one knows where you are.” Louis says, reaching for the roll
of duct-tape again, and tearing off a fresh piece. He stretches it slightly to
smooth it.
“Are you seriously—no, please, okay I won’t yell for help or anything, I swear,
please, I don’t want it, Louis—” Louis stills at his name, rolling off Harry’s
tongue. He realises he hasn’t heard Harry say his name in real life until now,
and, okay. It just. It sounds so hot.
Louis snaps out of his stance, of which Harry seemed to notice he was in,
quirking his head to the side a little. Louis reaches forward to put the duct-
tape over Harry’s mouth.
“No, please, I don’t—mmmfmf,”
“I will be back in a bit.” Louis says, with his hands still on Harry’s face, so
close to his own. Louis looks into his eyes, and is again struck by its sheer
beauty. He sighs.
“You have such beautiful eyes.” He watches as they roll around in their
sockets. (And if a blush colours Harry’s cheeks, Louis doesn’t have to know.)
“If circumstances would be any different, I’d kiss you.” Louis says, and a
silence settles between them two. Harry just blinks up at him with wide, wide
eyes.
“But well,” Louis says suddenly as he backs off from Harry, startling himself.
“We’re here, this is happening, and, yeah. I’ll be back in a bit.” He can’t
seem to stop saying that.
Louis heads out of the motel, not looking back at Harry’s curious eyes.
 
 
                                      ***
                                        
                                        
He pulls up in front of a boutique home. There are stone steps leading up to
the front door, which, what the hell. He’s guessing this house was owned by a
60-year-old grandmother prior to its current occupant.
He steps on each stone step carefully anyway, so not to step on what looks like
groomed grass. He doesn’t even know if people groom grass, but if they did,
this would definitely be what it’d look like.
He knocks on the front door about five times before it swings open, revealing a
very domestic-looking Josh, staring at him.
“Louis Tomlinson.” He drags out, a smile slow creeping onto his face. Louis
follows suit. “Unbelievable.”
“Nice to see you too, Josh.” Louis says, stepping into the house (barefoot, of
course, he’s learnt over many years how Josh despises shoe tracks on his
floor).
“What brings you here?” Josh asks, with a raised eyebrow. I mean, is it that
difficult to believe Louis came here for the sole purpose of visiting an old
friend? For just, you know, the sake of seeing the guy after such a long time
coming. He’s sure he’s not that insensitive.
“A wetwork squad came to visit me at my house about 48 hours ago.” 
At this, Josh seems to be taken back. His eyes widen a fair bit and he just
stands in front of his closed front door, staring at Louis.
He clears his throat and gestures for Louis to follow him further into the
house. They walk towards a sliding door, which Josh opens for Louis before
stepping out and closing it behind them. He reaches out for a box of ciggies on
a table on the balcony. He hands Louis one after taking one for himself, and
brings out a lighter to light both of their joints. Louis is almost instantly
grateful.
Josh knocks on the glass sliding door.
“Soundproof. I got it installed, I don’t trust that there would be no
surveillance in the house.” He explains. Louis nods curtly, before taking a
long drag, feeling the chemicals burn in his lungs, and puffing out a decent
amount of smoke without choking. He’s been sober for about a month now, but,
fuck it.
“So. The wetwork squad.” Josh says, and looks at Louis intently, waiting for
him to speak.
“About six men. There was one with this huge ass syringe of anaesthetics.
Whatever they wanted to do, their original plan was to bring me in alive.”
Louis says, looking out at Josh’s vast backyard. There’re flower beds lining
the space, and a rather large fountain in the middle, spouting water that
creates calming splashing sounds as they crash onto the little pond below.
“Original?” Josh asks, raising an eyebrow. Louis smirks.
“Well, that was until I took the guy with the syringe out easy-fucking-peasy.
Then the rest of the team outside just shot down my entire house, to put
simply.” Louis takes another drag from his cig. Josh just looks contemplatively
into the distance.
“Did you I.D. any of them?” When he finally speaks, Louis is already bending
down to sift through his rucksack.
“Yeah, um. I was wondering if you could help me out with that, call one of your
guys or something.” He hands Josh the paper bag. Josh eyes it wearily before
slowly reaching out to take it. Louis smiles apologetically as Josh peers
inside the bag.
“Aw, fuck—ew. What the actual fuck.” Josh sputters, turning to toss the paper
bag on the table, shaking his hand violently right after as if he could shake
the disgust out through his fingers.
“They are, actually, really good leads, especially if you want to I.D. someone,
you know.” Louis reasons, carefully avoiding Josh’s glare.
“Trust Louis Tomlinson to cut off the forefingers of the men he kills.” Josh
mutters under his breath, visibly taking a long hard drag of his cig, before
tossing it to the ground and stomping on it.
“Now you’re just making me sound like a creepy serial killer.” Louis retorts,
stomping on his own cig, as it burnt out. Josh snickers.
“Aren’t we all.”
Louis stares at him.
“Yes, I will help you I.D. those. Hopefully I’ll be able to get back to you in
a few hours.” Josh eyes the bag. “Other than the wetwork squad, anything else
been happening in the utmost excitement of retired life?”
Louis clears his throat. Might as well mention it now.
“I met someone.”
Josh’s eyes widen, and directly on cue a mischievous smile stretches across his
face.
“Ah, I see Tomlinson has finally found himself a nice gentleman to settle down
with, some normalcy at least.” 
“It’s…” Louis hesitates. “Actually, it’s far more complicated than that.”
“I’m sure it is.”
“No, seriously, he’s tied up to a bed in a motel 20 minutes from here. Right
now.”
Louis tries not to meet Josh’s eyes. In his peripheral vision, he can see the
rise of his eyebrows. Like, they’re almost disappearing into his hairline.
“Oh.”
“Yeah. So. It’s complicated.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Okay.” Louis says, brushing his hands over his shirt mindlessly. “You will I.D
the fingers for me, and call me, thank you, in a few hours. And I will. Um. See
you, that is.” Louis tries to open the sliding door. It doesn’t budge.
Josh sighs, and nudges Louis to stand aside. He places his hand on the door
handle, and slides it open with ease. Louis squints.
“Fingerprint-identification security system.” Josh mutters.
“Right.”
Before Louis steps out the front door, Josh grips him on the shoulder.
“It was nice to see you, Louis.”
Louis offers a genuine smile. “Right back at you, Devine.”
 
                                      ***
                                        
It is 2pm in the afternoon, and Harry is hungry.
Louis left about 2 hours ago, which judging by his statement of ‘going to be
back in a few hours’, Harry reckons he should be almost back. 2 hours is
counted as a few hours, he’s pretty sure.
Other than that, he’s still desperately trying to wriggle out of the handcuffs
that constrict him to this bed that, really, is nowhere near comfortable.
He’s almost about to give up, thinking maybe he should give the whole ‘being
free from his abductor’ thing up, and that he could still get to eat when Louis
comes back. It doesn’t seem like Louis would be the torturous abductor type,
considering he did sort of save Harry’s life and also did claim, very clearly,
that he’d kiss Harry.
Which.
Harry is not blind.
He can see—well, anyonecan see that Louis is ridiculously attractive. Like,
attractive to the point where it’s ridiculous. Like, like, fucking ridiculously
fucking attractive. Attractive. Ridiculous. Harry is being ridiculous.
But, you see, Louis has these really fucking blue eyes. They remind him of the
middle of the Atlantic Sea, where blue meets just a slight tinge of green and
it’s a little murky, but so so beautiful. Not like Harry has been to the middle
of the Atlantic Ocean, but. He imagines it would look like that.
Furthermore (yes, Harry is writing an essay in his head), his hair looks like a
cloud of chestnut brown and pure happiness. It’s so cute. Whenever Louis turns
his head it fluffs around a little, and then Harry soars. It was fortunate that
Harry had the duct-tape around his mouth; at least his pathetic whimper was
muffled.
Louis is fit too; he has to assume. He’s starting to believe the whole ‘spy’
thing, considering that there were mysterious black cars pulling up in front of
his place exactly when Louis said they would. Taking that into account, he’s
pretty sure secret spies train and exercise and have muscles. Therefore, Louis
should be fit, if the shape of his arms through his shirt hasn’t already half
revealed that.
Harry was so engrossed in his little reverie, that he didn’t hear anyone come
in, until-
“Unit 1, subject found, room 27, level 3. Bring backup. Tomlinson could be
anywhere.”
The man starts to walk towards Harry, but Harry is frozen in place, staring at
the man with big, wide eyes.
“Harry Styles, sir, I’m so sorry this happened to you. Let me just get you out
of these..” the Man, an officer; Harry notices his uniform, says. He pulls out
a tool that looks like a distorted but stronger pair of scissors, and cuts
Harry out of his cuffs. He then pulls the duct-tape off his mouth.
“Just follow me here, Mr. Styles. And I will surely get you to safety.” He
pulls Harry up from the bed, Harry seemingly having lost coordination and
understanding of this situation.
He leads him down the stairs, and Harry follows blindly, before-
“My bag.”
“What?”
“My bag. It’s still in the room. Can I go get it?”
“Mr. Styles, I have orders to get you to safety right this moment.”
“I need my bag. Please, I need to get it. It-it has stuff in there. I want to
get back my stuff.”
The man sighs audibly, and before Harry can register it, the man stabs
something in his neck. Harry’s speech is cut off, he can’t utter a sound, and
his face is frozen in a gape and with wide eyes.
Then, before he was on the verge of passing out, he feels the stabbing pain
disappear, and hears loud shuffling and thuds from behind him. Harry falls to
the ground, no longer being held against a car door by the man. He can’t move
his limbs, and his brain is foggy. He manages to register a loud crack before
everything goes quiet.
There are footsteps coming towards him, but Harry still cannot move. He’s
expecting another stab to the neck followed by possible unconsciousness, but
instead, he feels strong but somehow gentle arms lift him off the floor.
“Come on, we need to get out of here. Agents would be flooding this place in
minutes.”
Louis. You saved my life.Harry thinks. Again. Thank you. I was so scared,
Louis, I was so scared.
“My…my bag.” Is what he manages to say.
“I’ll get it. Wait one second.” He hears Louis say, before rushing back into
the motel. He sags against the car door, feeling exhausted and a little dizzy.
He waits for Louis.
 
                                      ***
                                        
Louis rushes into the motel room and starts picking things up as fast as he
can. His bag was already slung on his shoulder, all he needed to do was grab
Harry’s sling bag, the handcuffs and the duct tape tossed to the ground. He
rids the place of any possible objects that they could trace back to him or to
Harry.
He comes out of the motel and sees Harry leaning against the car door, eyes
half closed and hands slightly fidgeting. He feels a pang of guilt coursing
through his veins. He looks so vulnerable on the ground, so fragile and
completely undeserving of all this sophistication caused by Louis’ dumb
attraction to someone with a deep voice and corny jokes.
He approaches Harry and reaches to lift him off the ground.
“Come on, we should—”
Louis was halfway helping Harry up when two gun shots went off, the bullets
hitting the hood of the car, dangerously close to Louis and Harry.
Track:_Sail_-_Awolnation 
-If you're using earphones I suggest using both plugs for the full experience,
or loudspeaker, but i reckon earphones would be more satisfying though. Enjoy :
)-
“Fucking shit. What the fuck?” Louis curses, immediately dropping Harry to the
ground and ducking down himself too. He hears a dissatisfied grunt coming from
Harry after he let go of him to fall fairly disgracefully to the concrete. He
reaches for the gun in his belt and holds it close to his chest.
He turns from behind the car to locate the shooter. He sees half a suited
silhouette shielding himself behind the guardhouse. He turns back behind the
car.
“Bloody hell. It’s not the cops. It’s CIA.” He says to himself, momentarily
forgetting that Harry was there.
“How do you know that?” Harry says groggily, turning his head to look at Louis.
He had a dopey smile on his face, looking incredibly non-phased by gunshots
being fired at the general direction of them.
“He’s wearing a fucking suit. The police don’t wear suits. They wear ugly
cotton uniform.” Louis muses. He releases the safety catch of his gun.
Turning back towards the man from behind the car, he points his gun and shoots
at the corner of the guardhouse, not managing to hit the agent.
“Oh my god, it’s soooooo looouuud.” Harry moans from beside him.
“We’ve got to go. Get up, Harry. Get up, get up, get up.” Louis chants while
holding Harry up just enough so that his head doesn’t peek from the top of the
car, just in case, you know, he’s gifted with a bullet through his brain.
He doesn’t have much of a choice than the police car in front of him belonging
to the (just now) deceased officer. He knows if he tries running, there would
be a very high risk of getting shot, which is not very preferable, at this
point.
He tries the door and prays that it was left unlocked. The door clicks open
with a flick of the handle.
“Get in, go to the passenger side.” Louis says. Harry moves to walk to the
other side of the car.
Louis immediately reaches to grab his arm and pulls him back down as three more
shots are fired at them.
“No, you idiot! Through here. Climb over the console. Do you have some kind of
death wish?” Louis scolds, heart racing at the danger of Harry’s (reasonably
influenced) actions.
Harry clumsily gets into the passenger side before Louis climbs in himself and
shuts the door. The key is left in the socket, so he simply turns it to start
the engine.
He doesn't waste a second once he hears the roar of the engine, pulling out so
fast the tyres screech against the road, and driving out of the carpark.
He speeds along the road away from the motel, and as expected, a black sedan
appears behind them. Louis takes frequent glances at the rear view mirror while
driving out of nervousness, and spots a hand holding a gun reaching out the
window and pointing at him.
“Shit.” Louis curses as bullets clang against the back of the car.
He spots a small intersection up front leading into a rather small alley, and
swerves into it the last minute he could manage. He races down the alley at top
speed, and picks up the police radio beside the steering wheel.
He presses the push-to-talk button and reports in a well-trained American
accent: “Shots fired on Bolivar Street south of Tulane Avenue. Subject is on
the move. He’s male, tall, wearing a suit, black quiff. Send backup immediately
to arrest subject.
He puts the radio down and swerves into another alley. He hears Harry’s head
bump against the window.
“Ow.” He slurs.
He starts swerving into random allies, hoping to lose the agent. He swerves
into about a dozen lanes before spotting a narrow aisle to the right. He stops
abruptly in the middle of the road and opens his door.
Expectantly, Harry stays in the car and stares at Louis. Louis strides to the
opposite side of the car and yanks the door open.
“Get out, Harry, hurry up. Jesus Christ, you really do have a death wish.”
Louis mumbles while dragging Harry out and into the aisle. There is a huge
black garbage bin on one side, behind which Louis pulls Harry to hide behind.
-music fades out-
Louis peers at the road from behind the bin as he hears the screeching of
tyres. A car door opens and slams shut, and footsteps shuffle against the tar.
Louis hears a frustrated grunt, and assumes that’s because he saw that the
police car was empty.
He can make out footsteps getting softer and softer, almost disappearing when—
“It’s soooo stinky. Stinky, stink, stink.”
Louis promptly shuts Harry’s mouth with his hand, pressing down rather harshly
in a panic. What the actual fuck,Harry.
He hears the footsteps stop at once, and curses in his mind. The footsteps then
start to sound more urgent, getting louder and louder until the agent appears
right in front of the aisle.
Harry chooses that moment to bite down on his hand, which.
Louis takes a sharp breath in, apparently loud enough to capture the agent’s
attention. He was just about to start down the aisle when suddenly loud police
sirens filled the silence.
He hears at least four cars come to a halt, and multiple car doors opening. He
sneaks a look at the situation.
The agent looks startled, frozen in place where he was about to step into the
aisle, gun in hand and pointed in front of him.
“Drop your weapon and put your hands above your head!” A voice shouts above the
noise.
“You can’t arrest me, I’m—”
“Drop your weapon, and put your damn hands above your head, son.” The voice
calls out once more.
“This is ridiculous; I am in the middle of—”
“Sir, drop the gun and then we’ll talk.”
The agent looks around, distressed, and Louis assumes that officers are
surrounding him, trapping him in the middle.
Seemingly losing his resolve, the agent lowers his gun to the ground and raises
his arms. Louis hears more shuffling of feet, presumably officers closing in on
the agent.
“And that’s our cue to go.” Louis says, releasing his hand from Harry’s mouth
and grabbing his arm to pull him up.
He enters the street on the other side of the aisle and tries the doors of
every car. The fourth one opens, and Louis sits Harry in the passenger side
before entering the driver’s seat himself. He removes the plastic cover of the
steering column, yanking it open.
He meddles around, putting his training to use and manages to start the
ignition. The engine revs and Louis grins. He pulls out with ease and drives
away from the scene.
Five minutes later, when the adrenaline had reasonably dwindled, he realises
Harry hadn’t uttered a word since they got in the car.
He glances at Harry and sees that the boy is already staring at him, with a
miserable pout on.
“What?”
Harry continues staring.
“Oh, come on, are you really…?”
He doesn’t respond.
“I had to! He heard you. You do realise he could’ve shot you, right? I couldn’t
let that happen.” Louis says.
An indescribable emotion flits across Harry’s face for a second, before it
disappears just as fast as it appeared and Harry abruptly turns his head away,
pout back in place.
Louis sighs.
“Right. Um, so, we’ll be heading to New York. I’ve got a passport for you, so
we don’t have to be worried about anyone tracking us. Do you want anything to
eat before we head off?”
Harry doesn’t answer.
Louis gets muffins anyway.
 
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
