Scribbles (A Niall Horan fan fiction)

22) January 8-13: An Ugly Sheep

            I put on my heftiest coat as planned and waltzed out of my room.  I made sure my purse was in plain sight because I wanted everyone to think I had a steadfast plan like Gabby.  I jumped the last two steps into the lobby and posed for effect, though no one was there to appreciate it.  I saw Madame Lier in the lounge area of the lobby, hovering over someone seated in a chair by the fire.  I smirked slightly.  Someone in trouble already?  Yikes. 

            I kept my eyes on Madame Lier, begging her to look up from her lecture and spot me.  She didn’t but I wound up seeing the person she was lecturing.  Niall. 

            My heart fell and I ducked behind a pillar.  It was a useless gesture for all the attention she was showing me, but I wanted to hear what was going on.  What had Niall done? 

            “…can’t do it, Niall,” Madame Lier was saying.

            “I have to,” Niall sniffled.

            Oh god, was he crying?  What did he do wrong?  And why did he “have” to do it?  I had never taken Niall as the rebel without a cause type but it was something I could get used to.

            “You do not,” she said sternly.  “That is not the point of this trip.  The point of this trip is to test what you know.”

            “And for the experience,” Niall said pointedly.  “Experiencing the city but also getting experience in the language.”

            “Yes, but you have plenty of time for that.”

            Now I was definitely confused.  Was he in trouble or not?

            “But I’m here now.”

            “Niall, I can’t let you wander in a strange city in this condition.”

            Condition?  What kind of condition?  Did he hurt himself?  Had he hurt himself while doing something bad? 

            “I’ll be fine,” Niall groaned.

            “Maybe,” Madame Lier agreed.  “But let’s give it a day.  Back to your room today to rest.  If you’re feeling better in the morning, we can discuss it again.”

            Ooooooooooooooh.  He’s sick.  It’s quite obvious, actually.  The way he looked on the bus and plane, the color draining from his face every time we hit a pot hole on the road.  He was sick. 

            I was so busy praising myself for being such an astute detective that I almost didn’t hide in time as Madame Lier started to lead Niall back to the stairs.  That would have been a great time to show her my face and show her I was leaving, but I had completely forgotten about that.

            Niall was sick.  He was sick and alone and in a foreign country.  He had been looking forward to this trip since before I even knew him.  It was all he had talked about the last week before the incident. 

            A wave of indignance swept through me.

            “Not on my watch,” I said aloud.  One of the employees looked over at me.  I cleared my throat and repeated the phrase in French.  It only occurs to me now that he looked over at me because I had been speaking to myself in an otherwise empty lobby, not because I hadn’t spoken in French.  Oh well.

            I had a plan now.  A real plan.  Make this trip perfect for Niall.  Make it everything he had hoped it would be.