story: seven minutes
part: fifteen // manic
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Louis bites his lower lip.
If any time is a good time to panic, it's probably now. He's in some strange room that is apparently a part of the airport. Gale said that they had to wait for their leader to arrive, and they've been sat here for nearly forty-five minutes. The seven hour plane ride out of the States is lagging on him, but he doesn't trust the people around him enough to take a nap.
He sighs and looks down at his watcher. It's light pink. He didn't even look at it earlier, so he can't rightly know whether or not he's gotten any closer.
He looks up in surprise as everyone stands in attention. He grips the sides of the seat, and it hits him that he forgot all of his medicine. He has no burn cream, and no pain medication for his ankle. He can feel the last dose he took wearing off, his ankle is starting to throb.
Gale nudges him with his dark arm and he stands up shakily, but quickly. "Miss Thelma," he smiles and Louis notices the light haired, stone faced woman that has entered the room with two guns on either of her hips. "This is the soldier we told you about, the one tiny enough to get in through the ducts," Gale informs her. Soldier?, Louis inwardly gasps.
The woman nods and furrows her dark eyebrows almost condescendingly, stepping forward, right up into Louis' space. He feels smaller than he really ever has under this woman's gaze. She looks him up and down and he has an obtuse idea of what he currently looks like; pale, dirty, frightened, fatigued, weak. He can't deny himself of being any of those things. "Introduce yourself," she orders and he swallows. He doesn't know if he can talk around the lump in his throat.
"Un, I - I'm Louis. Louis Tomlinson," he stutters and Thelma's dark brown eyes blow wide, she whips around to look at Gale, who looks very afraid now.
She takes a step towards the tall man, and he metaphorically tucks his tail between his legs. She knew the name was familiar, but seeing his face clicked everything together. Every member of every gang knows what Harry Styles' soulmate looks like. "You... took... Harry Styles' soulie?," she drawls out and Louis burrows himself deeper in Calum's sweater.
"He wanted to come," Gale says quickly and one of Thelma's eyebrows raises. "No! Really! He came here to help us with the Den crisis. He's on board with being a spy, he even flew all the way from New Hampshire to here," he says, even though he knows that Thelma knew where they flew from, Harry had been the one to contact her. She turns to look at Louis, and the shorter boy catches Gale's glance, swallowing thickly.
"Is that true? Are you on board to do that? It's dangerous, kid. This ain't no game, you could get hurt. Fatally," she says, putting her hands on her muscular and armored waist. Louis' bottom lip wobbles, but he stops it quickly, clenching his hands so tight that his nails nearly pierce his skin.
He nods. "That's fine. I need to help," he whispers, anxiously running a hand through his limp hair. Thelma purses her lips and nods. "What all would I be doing?," he asks, he doesn't know what they mean by him going through vent shafts.
+
Harry sits in the chair, his face in his hands and angry, frantic tears stream down his face. "You... what?," Jesy growls, her swollen and bruised face contorted in rage at the sobbing man in front of her.
This is no way to treat her leader, but she can not control herself. "He was gone when I got back," he hiccups, showing her his watcher, which is slightly darker pink with 7 more hours... illuminating. "There's no way I can get to England in time!," he cries, fisting his curls in his hands, pulling at them violently.
Jesy's eyes widen looking at his watcher and her fat lip wobbles, a rogue year slips down her face. If she had both of her legs, she would swim to Louis and save him, cross the whole ocean. "You aren't giving up," she tells him, "You're going to get one of your people in there and you're going to save him. I don't care what it takes, he's not dying today!"
Harry sniffles and looks over at Michael, who nods and leaves, typing away on his phone. "I can't lose him, I just got him," he whispers and Jesy's scowl softens. He gnaws on his bottom lip and stands up from the uncomfortable green hospital chair, it slides backwards with the force of it and it hits the wall. "I'm not going to lose him," he growls, his sadness turning to rage.
"Har - ," Jesy gets out before Harry has crossed the room and thrown the door opened, she winces as it slams shut. She closes her eyes and can see Louis, the Louis from two weeks ago, the one who wasn't pale and scared, was lively and vibrant. She falls backwards on the cot as she starts to count her dead, the emotionally or physically.
Liam turns his head as Harry comes out of the room with a crash. His hair is curly like it naturally is, he has no time for pristine quiffs or clear glasses with wine. "What's up?," he asks, following Harry as he storms out of the building, nearly shoving nurses over. Liam nearly trips over his feet as they zig-zag around crazily, Harry's chest heaving more and more heavy. "Harry," he says, using his first name. He didn't stop, but he does grunt, his hands clenched by his sides.
They continue on in silence and Liam grits his teeth. "Where is Clifford?," Harry asks gruffly just as the blue haired boy comes in from outside, his nose nipped by the cold New Hampshire January. Harry picks up his pace and Liam does, too, Harry's fingers are circulating electricity in his rage. "Details," he demands with a growl. Michael shrivels a little and Harry's eyes narrow.
"Murs and Lloyd are on their way to the general vicinity... nobody knows where they are. So they're going to have a squad of people around the perimeter of the Den, waiting for them there. They're going to try to get to Louis and they're going to fly to Africa and we're going to meet them there. I've got a plane set and ready to fly," he says, talking as they walk through the parking lot.
Harry looks up at the sky. Cloudy, most likely going to rain. He looks back down at Michael and shakes his head, keeping his footfalls heavy as his oxygen intake seems to be on fire, his lungs feel ablaze. "I'm going to England. Them just being there should by him a few hours, maybe I can get there before then," he bites, jamming his hand into his jean pocket for his keys.
He pulls them out and holds them in the palm of his hand. He squeezes his hand into a fist with so much pressure, it's almost piercing the skin. The pain feels appropriate. "I'll, um, I'll inform the pilot of the change of location, then," Michael stammers as they reach Harry's rover. Liam shuffles around to the passenger seat and Michael scoots into the back, dialing the number to their private airport.
"Do that," Harry says shortly and Michael nods with a gulp, rattling off words to somebody to the other side of the phone, rapid-fire. His accent starts to get nearly indistinguishable when he gets like this, but Harry stops listening to him as he ignites the car, clenching his fingers on the wheel, putting the car in reverse. Where should I go?," Harry thinks bitterly, flexing and reflexing his palms. He does that for a few moments until he realizes that he's actually melting the rubber on the steering-wheel.
He breathes in and out deeply and puts the car into drive, peeling out of the hospital. He didn't get what he was planing from Jesy. He doesn't rightly know what he was expecting, but he dumbly assumed that she'd be able to create some scheme that they can't just because she's known him for so long.
Liam, trying to keep attention away from himself, starts fiddling with his wrist tattoo from a while ago. His fingers circle the loops of the letters and he tries to not point out that the car reeks of burned rubber, he knows that Harry already knows. "Okay, sir, we have a departure time for forty-five minutes from now," Michael says, putting his phone in his lap.
Harry nods curly and Michael purses his lips. He's never seen Harry this frantic, or desperate. "We'll get him, Liam says calmly as Harry hands clinch the steering-wheel tighter, his breath shallowing.
+
"I don't know if I'll fit in that," Louis says as they bring out a piece of duct work that is the exact same as what's inside of the Den. They've decided to test Louis before sending him off, and this is starting to make him nervous. The idea of what they might be doing to Harry is the only thing keeping him up.
Thelma crosses her arms. "See the problem? You are the only person who we are aware of that is potentially small enough to fit into there, who isn't a child. Are you going to try or not?," she says sternly and Louis sighs quietly, regretting the moment he took his first breath. "We are leaving in thirty minutes, if you want to have any practice, I'd be getting to it," she adds, watching as Louis nods and sinks to his hands and knees.
"There you go," says Gale, and Louis shudders, he's feeling sort of molested right about now.
Louis ignores the discomfort and puts the palm of his hand into the box, it's cold and doesn't feel very sturdy. He closes his eyes and puts his knee in, then his other hand, then his knee. His hurt ankle chaffs as he crawls and he winces, letting out a faint huff or pain. He curses at himself for his weakness and pushes forward.
Where these people found a twenty-feet stretch of connected air-duct is beyond Louis, he's too focused on how bad his back is starting to ache as he crawls thorough the tight space, trying to keep his breathing even as his slight claustrophobia sets in. In, out, in, out, one hand, another hand, keep moving, he repeats in a frantic inward mantra. He looks to the side as a vent appears beside him. He looks at it and looks it up and down to tell whether it's suppose to be seen from the top or bottom. Top, he finds out, he can see very clearly.
He breathes out as he gets near the end, his body aching from being cramped and the explosion not two days ago. "Okay, that's easy enough," he says, dusting his dirty knees off as he climbs out, standing up right. Thelma is actually smiling now, but it's not exactly friendly, it's a devious grin, like she's got the ultimate weapon.
She claps her hands together nearly soundlessly and everyone turns to look at her. She takes a step on the tile and her heels click. Louis remembers how much Harry loathed hearing Leigh-Anne's heels on the tile, and he understands that now. "Okay. I think it's time for us to go, the longer we're here, the less information we will have to our advantage," she says and everyone nods in obedient agreement. She suddenly grabs his upper arm with her spidery fingers and he flinches, something he thought he got over. "Let's go," she instructs, and Gale takes over, grabbing his other arm and pulling him out of the room.
"Where are we going?," Louis asks, trying to keep himself from dragging his heels on the ground and rooting himself there, or maybe letting the Earth suck him in, just to get him away from these shady people. He looks around as about ten other men join them.
Gale looks down at him and tightens his grip on his sore arm, making him wince. "To the Den, obviously. She's right, this is time wasting," he says, and Louis gingerly tries to free his arm, to no avail. So he just goes pliant and lets himself be dragged through the airport, keeping his head down to not meet eye-contact with concerned passers-by.
He numbly goes down the stairs, counting them to keep himself calm. Ten... eleven... twelve... thirteen... fourteen... fifteen... sixteen... seventeen... eighteen... nineteen... twenty... twenty-one..., he counts, blinking his eyes every time he gets down one. He finally lifts his head as he feels the wind entrapping him, his inner windier feels the breeze with joy, a small portion of comfort entrances him as they walk through the parking-lot, all but shoving him into the car.
As the man driving starts the car and puts it in reverse, Louis starts to think about the future, anything but the present.
He starts thinking about their future children, maybe they're wedding. He thinks about how nearly painful his soulie bond is about right now, it feels like a string is literally pulling at something in his chest. And the last part he ponders over makes his chest hurt worse, so he goes back to the start, ignoring the scenery outside as building turn into trees.
With a number as high as eight, Louis can only guess to how many children they will have together. He could easily have five at one time, so if he gets pregnant twice with the ease his body allows, then they would have more than 10 children. He doesn't worry about having enough money to feed and clothe them, he's more concerned about their educations, their social life once they grow to that age where they can communicate with other babies. How will they go to a proper school of their dad is wanted for dead?
He knows he shouldn't actually be focusing on such far away things, which may never even come to life, but that's just another thing for him to be stressed about and he is very stress prone. He's only ever had two names picked out, though he figures he should have more, considering he's known how fertile he is when his mum told him when he was eleven.
Fiona and Lytle. He smiles just thinking about those names. He frowns just seconds later though when the road starts to get rocky, and he yelps is agony as his ankle goes forward and slams into the seat, the car stopping so fast he almost hits his face on the back of the seat in front of him
"What's happened?," Gale asks, leaning over the console to look out the window. Through the desert dust that the car has picked up, they can see the human barricade. There's people on the roofs of cars and kneeled down, both with guns in their hands, ready to shoot.
Louis' heart beats fast in nervousness. Have we already gotten found?, Louis aches, he can already envision what's to come. Hours of torture, the firing squad if they're lucky. He closes his eyes tight and a hot tear falls down.
+
Nobody speaks as the airplane continues to propel them towards England, towards his soulie.
He can feel the soulie bond pulling at him harshly, and he knows that, if he's still alive, Louis can feel it, too. He doesn't dare look at his watcher, he put a piece of industrial duct-tape over it before he went mad, catching the dark pink out of his peripheral vision.
He continues to tap his feet on the floor of the plane, gnawing at his lip where it opened and started bleeding so long ago. "Three minutes to land time," says Gabriel, and Harry silently nods at him, putting his head in his hand, breathing terribly slow.
Michael and Liam both exchange glances. The age old ache to physically comfort the young man is forever growing, but they both know better than to touch him. "I can feel it," Harry whispers and both men look over at him in surprise. "I can feel him, I can feel it yanking at my insides, the bond, it hurts," he whispers, clutching at his chest. Liam's eyebrows frown and he takes a chance, going to wrap an around his leader, who automatically tenses. "Please don't," he says, and he sounds so spent, his shoulders taut.
Liam nods and recoils, keeping his arms to himself, frowning.
The three of them look outside as they descend, the clouds getting smaller and smaller. "We're here," says Gabriel, which is code word for 'brace yourself'. Everyone holds onto their seats and buckle up as the pilot brings them down to a rock stop on one of Harry's father's old, remote landing spots that planes don't generally take off from, neither too or fro. "The Den is about a twenty minute walk from here, about four by car," Gabriel informs them and Harry quickly unbuckles, his skin crawling with the need to get to Louis. "Do you have a car here?," he asks and Michael points out of the window to the white car that is parked beside their driver, a man Harry made sure was somebody he knew and could recognize. "Good luck lads... I'll circle around the area and I'll lift you back when you get him. You'll get him," Gabriel says quickly and Harry nods at him, much to in-focus with finding his soul mate than listening.
A soul bond makes you nearly animalistic, and Harry and Louis' was strong from the get-go, since they first slammed into each other. Harry, shoving Michael to the side, opens the door to the plane and jumps out with no problem. He doesn't look behind him to see if the others are following, but they are, he just starts running, and the driver gets in as soon as Harry hops in the passenger seat.
Michael and Liam are in for a narrow moment before the car is peeling away, dust kicking up around them. "Hurry," Harry demands, if they hurry they can be there within a minute and a half, hopefully no longer. He doesn't even bother buckling up, he keeps his eyes on the road, and in no time at all, they get a glimpse of the cars and people that are lined up. Harry reaches under the seat and grabs the gun that is mandatory for all gang members, and checks for if it's loaded.
Behind him, Liam and Michael do the same, the driver pulls out a knife from the glove compartment.
Harry's eyes squint in trepidation, this could be William's and/or Poe's people, and they, and Louis could be in so much trouble, dead or as good as dead. "Who is that?," Liam asks, his voice gravely.
Harry shrugs his shoulders as they drive through the unsettled dust and looks out the window. The driver puts the car in park as the very middle of the barricade, and nobody moves, the only thing actually moving is the dust. Harry looks around and tries to swallow, but it catches in his throat once e sees a familiar head of blue hair, with a very familiar feathery haired boy under her arms.
He opens the door and everyone shouts, outside of the car and in, but he ignores them. He tears tail until he gets to Louis, who has tears rolling down his face, reaching out for him. "Harry!," he cries, running from Cher's embrace.
Harry grabs him by the arm and their teeth violently clank together as their mouths collide.
Nobody says anything, even the dust seems frozen in the air, they stay like that for a few long moments until the loud shot explodes into the still air, the bullet piercing his skin before he can blink.