Chapter Text
“I know. I was there. I saw the great void in your soul, and you saw mine.”
Sebastian Faulks, Birdsong
***
CHAPTER I.
Liam lays the data stick on the table. It settles on the smooth wooden surface without a sound, catching the light streaming in through the windows from the late afternoon sun slowly sinking lower and lower above the Manhattan skyline. Once empty, he shoves his hand into the pocket of his jacket, eyes heavy with the weight of all the things that are hidden within this flimsy, fragile piece of technology.
Harry is surprised it doesn’t put a dent in the table.
This moment just feels paradoxically insignificant considering what Harry believes to be contained within the small device, with crumbs from breakfast still littering the tabletop and the dishwasher gurgling in the background. He keeps his hands folded in front of him, not reaching out despite his fingers twitching to do so, and his eyes flicker to the left where Louis is sitting quietly, staring down into his coffee cup. He’s not watching, seems to be lost in thought, but Harry doesn’t doubt that Louis knows exactly what’s going on.
“You can keep this copy,” Liam says after a prolonged silence. “It’s sanctioned by SHIELD, so it’s not – I mean, they’ve taken out what they consider classified information, but there’s still enough to…” He trails off, gaze shifting to Louis briefly before clearing his throat. “I’m sure it will answer some questions. Maybe help with, you know.”
Harry doesn’t know. It’s something that’s been circling in his head since Liam had given him a brief rundown of what kind of files they’d recovered from the HYDRA base that has since been destroyed. It’s taken SHIELD a few months to decrypt and filter all of it, since they’d decided to keep Liam away until they’d gotten an overview themselves. Harry doesn’t doubt that Cowell wants to keep all of them away from the bulk of what is undoubtedly highly incriminating material, which can’t fall into the wrong hands. Taking their last few missions into account, it’s become very clear that Cowell operates under a ‘the fewer people know the better’ mantra.
Not that Harry can blame him. He guesses Cowell wouldn’t even trust his own mother.
Everything aside, he knows Liam offered them JARVIS’s help in return for whatever files are Louis’ or those that are tied to him. And according to Liam – it’s not pretty. Which was to be expected from the small fraction of documents Zayn had uncovered all those months ago, Harry knows, but now it’s all lying there in front of him in the shape of an inconspicuous USB stick.
And Harry doesn’t know what to do with it.
Suddenly, a chair screeches as it’s pushed backwards, but Louis doesn’t make another sound as he rises, eyes still downcast and posture strung tight. He’s out of the kitchen with a few quick strides and Harry can only guess that he crosses the living room just as rapidly. A few seconds later, their bedroom door slams shut.
Liam winces. Harry can only sigh.
“How are you guys doing?” Liam asks after a beat, naturally referring to them as a unit now, even though Harry hasn’t felt particularly close to Louis in the last couple of days.
He shrugs and runs a weary hand across his face, lingering at his temple and letting his fingers massage the delicate spot. He doesn’t get actual headaches anymore unless someone hits him over the head with a sledgehammer, but there’s still a persistent phantom ache that’s wearing him and his patience thin.
“I’m not really sure,“ he replies, meeting Liam’s worried gaze. “I thought it was going well. Last month was good, steady progress. He was remembering more and more and he was talking about it, but now it’s like someone’s flipped a switch and he’s shutting me out.”
“Maybe he remembered something…not so good,” Liam suggests gravely, drawing his brows together.
“Maybe,” Harry mulls. He’s thought of that, of course. Most of the returning memories aren’t good ones and Louis hadn’t been willing to share them at first, but he’d opened up minimally, not going into specifics but letting Harry in a little. He’d told him about a defected KGB agent who’d tried to make it across the Ukrainian border to smuggle stolen files into Slovakia and beyond, his family in tow, before Louis had stopped them all; that he still remembers what the daughter had been wearing and the color of the wife’s hair before he’d put a bullet in their heads.
It’s not easy for Harry to digest. He can’t even imagine what Louis must be feeling.
“What’s Caroline saying?” Liam yanks him out of his thoughts, pulling back a chair and sinking down, evidently keen on staying and talking this over like he knows how hard Harry is fighting to refrain from running after Louis.
That’s another thing that’s been even harder than expected – staying away. All Harry wants is to be close to Louis again and although he knows that he can’t push it, it’s almost physically painful to let him out of his sight. Since Winston’s death he and Louis have been apart three agonising weeks. In the summer, SHIELD had deemed Louis fit for field missions under Zayn’s supervision in spite of Harry’s protests, so that’s something he’s been struggling to get used to.
“The usual. That I can’t force it. Which, for the record, I’m not,” Harry feels the need to say. He knows what Caroline thinks, what Liam and Niall and especially Zayn think of the entire situation, but he doubts they know what it’s like. “It’s just hard.”
It’s harder than he initially expected, is the thing, and far from a straightforward, linear journey where things gradually improve now that they’ve put the worst behind them – now that they’ve found each other again. He might be a supersoldier, but Harry is also really fucking human and seeing Louis take two steps forward and then stumble twenty steps back just moments later is tearing him apart.
Liam gives him a sympathetic smile and doesn’t say anything. Harry doesn’t know what else to say, either. It’s hard. That’s just how it is, and it’s something they all have to deal with, one way or another. But they’re a team, and Louis is part of that team now, and they’ve fared well looking after each other and accepting everyone’s baggage, regardless of what it is.
Harry clears his throat awkwardly, eyes flittering back to the USB stick momentarily before setting on Liam, who is now sitting down on the chair Louis vacated just moments ago.
“When are you due back in LA?” he asks just to keep the conversation going. It’s the coward’s way out, Harry is very much aware, but he needs a bit of time to get himself back in order before inevitably confronting Louis about whatever is going on.
“Not for a while,” Liam replies. “I can work from here just as well, and they don’t need me present to sign anything either.” He says it casually, like that’s all there is to it, but they’ve all been witness to those few weeks in the summer when Liam worked himself into a frenzy just to avoid the confrontation with reality.
“Do you think that’s a sustainable strategy?” Harry knows Liam doesn’t want to talk about it. But he also wonders if that’s even something that’s crossed his mind, given how Liam has barely paused to take a calm breath in the last few months. “Her getting LA and you New York?”
“It’s not like that,” Liam shrugs off expectedly. “It’s just…easier. For now.”
“Is a breakup supposed to be –“
“It’s not a breakup!” Liam’s eyes are wide, like he didn’t anticipate his own outburst. “I mean…it’s not,” he adds, significantly quieter. “Really. We’re taking a break. She needs a break. Which is understandable. I get it. Dating Iron Man is – well. I don’t know. I don’t think I would handle it well if my significant other were to throw themselves into life-threatening situations all the time.” He runs a hand through his hair. Remnants of dried motor oil are speckled around his knuckles, a few errant, darker drops close to his elbow. “I don’t know how you guys do it.”
Harry doesn’t have an answer for that either. His mind flickers back to those few weeks in winter, when Niall had been an absolute mess, only a shadow of himself because of his worry for Zayn and his frustration with his inability to do anything about it. And of course, Harry remembers the months after Louis had left the tower. But even more than that, he still remembers so vividly how he’d felt every single time the Howling Commandoes had walked towards what they – at that time – believed might very well be their last mission. And he can still recall every fist fight Louis got in back in Brooklyn, when the war that would change their lives forever hadn’t even been a possibility.
“It’s not easy,” Harry starts, “and it never got easier, but I guess…I guess you just have to understand, at some point, that they can fend for themselves. You just have to trust them and their abilities.”
“Do you?” Liam asks. “Trust Louis, I mean.”
Harry hesitates. He doesn’t mean to, and for a split second, he’s not even aware that he hesitates. But there is a very short but significant pause that shouldn’t be there. He shouldn’t have to hesitate when Liam asks him if he trusts Louis. But Harry does, and it sends a zing of shock down his spine that delays his answer even more. Liam’s eyebrows draw together just minimally, and Harry is desperate to assure him, because he trusts Louis, of course he does, and yet his throat is dry and not a single word leaves his lips.
He shouldn’t feel relieved when a crash echoes through the living room, followed by a string of hearty curses, and a red-faced Niall appears in the doorway, a metaphoric set of storm clouds collected over his head. But it cuts through the awkward tension in the room, at least.
“Why the fuck,” Niall begins with bite, “are there so many fucking boxes in the living room?” He doesn’t wait for a reply before he makes his way to the fridge with a clearly exaggerated limp.
“I had a few things shipped over from Cali,” Liam tells him. “Sorry, I thought you were a super agent with super reflexes.”
Niall rummages through the fridge before pulling out a bottle of Vitamin Water. Harry doesn’t understand how he can drink that stuff.
“Fuck you,” he gripes, sending Liam an unimpressed look, clearly in a foul mood. This day is turning out to be quite something. “Cali. Eurgh. Next thing you’ll be talking about how totes awesome feng shui is.”
“I do have a koi pond…” Liam ponders as Niall pulls out an empty chair and lets himself drop onto it heavily, with a drawn-out groan. “Does that count as feng shui?”
Before they can go off on a tangent like they’re prone to do, Harry takes in Niall’s appearance – pale, dark circles under his eyes, running gear – that, coupled with his bad mood, clearly shows that something is going on. Something other than a couple of boxes in the communal living room.
“Are you okay?” he asks, but instead of replying, Niall unscrews the cap of his drink and chugs it back with so much vigor that a droplet escapes and runs down from the corner of his mouth to his chin before dropping down onto the grey thermal shirt that already shows plenty of wet patches. He must’ve really tired himself out if he’s sweating through his gear like that.
It’s not before more than half the sweetened water is gone that Niall lowers the bottle and sets it down on the table. The USB stick wobbles slightly, turning Harry’s stomach before he shakes himself out of it to focus on Niall.
Light falls onto their super archer’s face in a way that accentuates the lines of worry on his forehead and around his mouth. His hair is darker than Harry has ever seen it, more roots than bleach, and it seems less like a deliberate decision and more a side effect of whatever it is that’s concerning him.
Niall sighs wearily. “I can’t reach Zayn,” he tells them, which…surprises Harry. Because that’s practically always the case. He’s not exactly aware of Zayn’s schedule or missions, and he’s come to learn that his absence or presence can never be anticipated. Naturally, he knows that Niall’s relationship to him is very different and significantly closer, but Harry always assumed that – if not on mission with him – Niall was not in contact with him, if only for the logical reason that it might jeopardise the operation.
“Right,” Liam speaks up first, looking as taken aback as Harry. “Is that not…to be expected?”
Niall lowers his eyes. “Usually, yes – but…” He hesitates, chews on his lip. Reaches for the bottle and twists the cap to the right, and then to the left, again and again. He seems genuinely troubled.
“But what?” Harry leans forward, elbows coming to rest on the even table surface. “What makes you think there’s something wrong? Did he say when he would be back?”
“Not exactly,” Niall concedes. “But I just – I just think something’s not right.” A lengthy pause follows, neither Harry nor Liam knowing how to respond, as Niall seems to mull things over in his head. Outside, the sun has sunk low enough to be mostly hidden behind the ocean of skyscrapers stretching up towards a darkening sky. “I mean,” he eventually continues, “he didn’t give off the vibe that he was seeing Cowell for anything but a debrief of a previous mission.”
“Maybe it was urgent,” Liam suggests.
Niall shakes his head. “Yeah, but – still. It just doesn’t sit right with me. All of it. I can’t say why exactly, but I just have this gut feeling that something is going on.”
Harry gets it; gets the gravity of that feeling and the implications. “And you can usually trust your gut.”
“Yeah,” Niall breathes, hands freezing around the bottle and fingers tensing up, knuckles starting to protrude. It’s only now that Harry sees that half of them are bruised, a few split open, most likely from Niall going at the punching bags down in their gym like a maniac.
Harry can’t judge the situation or offer any helpful input. Niall has been with SHIELD for longer than all of them, and if he deems something fishy, then it’s probably best to trust his judgment. But at the same time, there isn’t anything they can do at this point, which is exactly why Niall’s knuckles look the way they do. Unsurprisingly, none of them have healthy coping mechanisms.
And Niall also knows Zayn better than all of them put together. And if he can’t reach Zayn, then there are only two options. Either Zayn doesn’t want to be reached or found, or…Harry isn’t sure he wants to consider the second option. Zayn had been fine tracking a semi-amnesiac Louis through Russia and Syria, so it’s better for all of them if that is not the case.
Liam lets out a breath, sounding like he’s held it in for a while. “Is there anything we can do? To find out?”
Niall shakes his head, resigned. “No,” he breathes, “not right now. Cowell tells most people jack shit anyway, but when it comes to what he gets Zayn to do…there’s no way to find out. He’s not going to say anything, so we can’t find out if Zayn is even gone because of SHIELD!”
“I could –”
“What, Payno?” Niall cuts him off immediately. “Let JARVIS hack into the servers?” He scoffs, and Liam looks mildly offended for a second. “I’m sure you get through all their security barriers in a blink, but trust me, there are plenty of things not in their database. For good reason.”
It silences Liam, and it silences Harry as well. They both know what Niall is implying, and not without reason. Harry has always had trouble trusting Cowell, trouble trusting his motives, trouble trusting that his morals were still in the right spot, even after decades in the intelligence business. He knows Liam feels the same, and Niall has been in the business longer than both of them put together. And even though Niall’s life until becoming an Avenger, becoming a SHIELD agent even, is still a mystery to Harry, he’s pretty sure that he’s got even more reason to consider Cowell a…nuanced character.
Their silence seems to amuse Niall. “Don’t look so shocked, you two. You don’t stay on top of an organization like SHIELD by doing everything by the book.”
“I’m not shocked,” Harry tells him, because he’s not. He’d like to be, very much, but if there’s one thing he’s learned after coming back to life, it’s that the world is a far messier, more complicated place than it was when he plummeted into the Arctic Ocean. “But it makes things more difficult than they need to be.”
“You’re telling me,” Niall huffs. “If Zayn’s missions were anything but whispers in dark hallways, at least I’d have somewhere to start looking.”
“You mean if Cowell wasn’t such a shady piece of –”
“Liam,” Harry cuts him off, “name-calling isn’t going to help. His decisions have kept the world safe until now. Whether we like it or not – and I sure as hell don’t – I don’t think we can judge his methods, or the decisions he’s made.”
Liam’s eyebrows pull together, but he gets to his feet with a sigh. “You’re too damn good, Cap. But I don’t think I need to remind you, if we’d always respected Cowell’s decisions, your boyfriend would be locked up right now. Or worse.”
With that, he leaves the kitchen, leaving Harry and Niall behind in a sea of red light as the sun remains barely a glimmer above the horizon. Harry’s throat feels tight. That stupid USB stick is still lying there, taunting him, drawing a long shadow across the table, pointing at him. Cowell has bent the rules in their favor when it comes to Louis. Sure, there’s plenty of reason to acquit him as a prisoner of war, but Harry knows a lot of people would look at Louis not as a former prisoner, but as a –
He cuts off his own thoughts. There’s no point thinking about this now, not when there’s plenty of other, more important stuff. Louis still isn’t talking to him. Zayn may or may not be missing. And the chances of this year ending in less turmoil than the last are slowly but steadily evaporating with the sinking sun.
“So,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to do, “want to order Thai for dinner?”
Niall shrugs. “Sure.” He gets to his feet, leaving the mostly empty bottle of Vitamin Water on the table, and stretches. “But I’m hitting the gym first. Order me something spicy, will ya?”
Harry barely has time to nod before Niall disappears, heading back down to bust up his knuckles even more in his frustration. He can’t blame him. He has half a mind to join him down there and push his body so far that his mind would shut up for a while; that this treacherous little shred of doubt that has burrowed deep into his head would quiet down for just a little longer.
Louis is somewhere in this tower, and everything that’s happened to him since he fell is right there, hidden in a tiny and seemingly insignificant data stick, all there for the taking. It’s irrational to believe that whatever is on there could soothe his doubts, but it would inevitably make everything else pale in comparison.
Harry sits alone in the kitchen, staring at that USB stick with a dry throat and a heavy heart, until it’s dark. Then he gets up and tells JARVIS to order Niall some spicy prawns.
It’s late when they finish dinner. Nobody really talks, and there is only the sound of used cutlery being sorted into the dishwasher to fill the silence once they’re done. Harry has hardly touched his food, and what he’d ordered for Louis is sitting on the counter, untouched as well. Liam and Niall’s eyes are burning into his back, but Harry continues going through the motions stoically as he boxes up the food and puts it in the fridge for later.
Liam awkwardly clears his throat once Harry has closed the fridge door. “I’m, um…heading back to the lab. Working on a new prototype and…stuff.”
“Give me a shout if you want to test it out,” Harry tells him with a tired smile, watching as Liam disappears, leaving only Harry and Niall in the quiet kitchen. “What are you up to?” he asks, only to delay the inevitable for another handful of moments.
Niall leans his shoulder against the wall and folds his arms in front of his chest, looking as tired and stretched thin as Harry feels. “Nothing, really. I think Payno told JARVIS to lock the gym door if I get too close to it. So I might just stay here and watch some crap on TV. You up for it, Cap?”
Harry would love to watch some senseless stuff for a bit, but he shakes his head. “Not tonight. There’s something I need to do.”
With his lips slightly pursed, Niall shoves off the wall and pushes his hands into the pockets of his SHIELD-issued track pants. “Good luck.”
They both know he’ll need it.
The ride up to his – to their – floor is tense, the lift seeming to take longer than it usually does, and when Harry steps out, he is greeted by silence and complete and utter darkness. He’s not sure what he expected. Louis doesn’t leave the tower at all, unless Cowell calls him in, which is still a rare occasion, but his constant presence is not felt, and Harry hasn’t begun to figure out where he disappears to with only limited options. He clearly isn’t in the living room, and there’s no light coming from the bedroom either, but Harry heads there anyway, trying to ignore the weight that settles in his belly and gets heavier with every step he takes.
The door is ajar, and when he slowly pushes it open and sees Louis’ silhouette on the bed, against the dim, constant light of Manhattan pouring into the room, his breath hitches – an inevitable reaction, the persisting wonder that Louis is here. And Harry is willing to do absolutely anything to make sure it stays that way.
Louis is lying on his side, his back to the door, which is a bit of a relief because it shows that regardless of everything else, at least he doesn’t feel constantly threatened anymore. He feels safe here, like he can let down his guard in the safety of the tower – of their bedroom. But Louis is also curled in on himself, making himself appear smaller than he is, especially since he’s practically drowning in one of Harry’s threadbare sweatshirts. It’s still warm enough to comfortably wear nothing more than a t-shirt, but even throughout the entire summer, Louis had not once shed one of the many layers he uses to hide away his body; hide away his arm.
Distractedly, Harry wonders if Louis will ever accept it as part of him, if he’ll ever be comfortable exposing his prosthetic. But that’s the last thing Harry wants to pressure Louis about. He still has flashbacks to that moment he walked into the bathroom that has since been scrubbed clean a hundred times, and found Louis in a sea of his own blood, so desperate to tear this wretched limb off.
Harry knows Louis noticed him the second he stepped out of the lift, but he still hesitates for a beat before walking up to the bed and gently lowering himself down on it, maneuvering around until he’s sitting back against the headboard, pillows bunched up at his lower back.
Louis doesn’t move. Harry has gotten used to this slightly unnerving stillness he sinks into every so often – unnerving mostly because the Louis he used to know could not be still for even a second. Even while asleep, he’d toss and turn and steal the blankets.
With a sigh, Harry draws his knees closer to his chest, fingers automatically finding a loose thread at the hem of his jeans. He fiddles with it, unsure how to start, where to start, letting his eyes wander around the room and out the window before inevitably coming to rest on Louis’ form on top of the duvet. His feet are bare, his ankles pale and bony, and Harry itches to reach out, feel his warm skin against his fingers.
Just weeks ago, it had been easier, and Harry wouldn’t have hesitated to touch him, might have even laid down beside him, pulling him into his arms, back against his chest, one palm spread out over Louis’ heart, feeling it beat, and every thud assuring Harry that his whole world was back for good. He thinks of his last meeting with Caroline and the veterans’ group where he told everyone how well it was going and that they were getting closer by the day.
He feels a bit stupid now.
It’s not Louis’ fault. And Harry knows that everyone would tell him that it’s not his fault either, but deep down, he knows that he made Louis leave once before, and there is nothing he is more terrified of than that happening again.
Harry squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath for courage. “Please talk to me,” he says, voice hardly above a whisper, not willing to disrupt this moment of stillness with any noise, any movement. “I don’t want to pressure you, believe me, but we’ve got to be honest with each other. If there’s anything I’ve done, anything that’s troubling you, you can tell me. Or…we can call in Caroline,” he tacks on, because Harry knows he’s not good at this. He tries to keep himself in check, tries to give Louis space while being there at the same time, but it’s a balancing act he hasn’t quite mastered. Caroline helped him so much in the last year, and he knows she’s capable of doing the same for Louis. If only he’d let her.
“Niall is there as well, and Liam, if he manages to leave his lab for long enough. And Zayn when…when he comes back. You don’t have to isolate yourself.” He sighs, lifts his right hand to rub at his tired eyes, thinking back to that being his very own coping mechanism and how relieved he’d felt once he’d finally opened up. “I understand that it seems easier, because I – I did the same when they brought me back. And it wasn’t good.”
Throwing up on an airstrip in Washington, D.C., was definitely not one of his proudest moments, but isolating himself then and thinking about it constantly now seems equally pointless. It’s something Caroline told him to keep working on; to take every day as it comes, and not let his mind wander too far back into the past or forward to the future. Harry doubts that him reminiscing about how shitty he’d felt and how much he’d done wrong is going to help Louis now, and he can’t do much more than remind him that he’s not alone, that he’s got their full support.
They all need to focus on the present now, and that elephant in the room or rather, still the kitchen, has remained untouched all evening, since Liam dropped it on the table. Harry knows it would take only a minute to open it up and pore over it, or have JARVIS filter out what’s important, or relevant. It might help to know more about what happened to Louis, and it might explain what’s happening to him now.
But it’s Louis’ story, and it’s his to tell, and if he isn’t ready to tell Harry, he’s not going to go behind his back. Harry needs to make sure that Louis knows that as well.
“That data stick Liam dropped off…I’m not touching it, not unless you want me to. Just say the word and I’m happy to go downstairs and reduce it to dust. And whatever is on there…I don’t want to see it. I’d rather – I’d rather you tell me about it, whenever you’re ready.”
Louis doesn’t move suddenly. Not at all. But the fact that he decides to move at all is so startling that Harry flinches anyway when Louis rolls onto his back, eyes glued to the ceiling. His hair – longer than it’s ever been and in more disarray than Louis would have previously allowed it – falls away from his face, revealing his sharp profile, his eyes that are piercing even in the dark. There’s stubble on his face, enough to tell Harry that Louis hasn’t shaved in a number of days, which…is worrying, in a way. It’s become one of the rituals Louis follows every day, standing in front of the bathroom mirror at the same time in the morning, delicately dragging a razor over his face like he’s not stripping off hair, but instead putting on skin.
Something has disrupted that routine, and Harry wonders if it has anything to do with why Louis has suddenly become so withdrawn.
The left sleeve of his sweatshirt has ridden up a little, vibranium shimmering, and Harry is struck, every time, by its perverse beauty – by its finesse and brutality. By what it represents for Louis. And it spurs him on to say, “it doesn’t matter what’s on that USB stick. Okay? I don’t give a shit. Because we will hunt them down, all of them, down to the very last man. And we will make them pay for this.”
It’s easier to let that anger take over and allow it to silence his worries and doubts. And taking over it does. It’s something he knows he can never let go of, and as long as there is a single HYDRA agent still walking free, Harry refuses to even consider it. He doesn’t advertise it, certainly not in front of Caroline, or Cowell, or even the other Avengers. This simmering but burning hatred that he’s aware will spur him on to do terrible things to make sure not a single one of those bastards ever gets their hands on Louis again.
Harry doesn’t realize his hands are trembling until warm fingers close around them, and he doesn’t realize his vision is blurring until Louis is right there in front of him, his shape mildly fuzzy as his knees dig into the mattress on either side of Harry’s legs. Harry’s breath hitches again, jumps up into his throat and stays there and for a moment, he can’t do anything but dumbly stare at Louis, his proximity so intoxicating that it seems to entirely flatline Harry’s brain.
“Louis…I –”
Louis lets go of Harry’s hand, and a beat later is cradling his face with both hands – one warm and one so cold that Harry’s skin twitches from the contact. He can barely see Louis’ face in the dark, but he can feel his lips a fraction of a second later, chapped and dry but warm and so familiar that the breath stuck in Harry’s throat instantly starts to burn. The hold Louis has on his face is firm, and his mouth is equally unforgiving, but Harry couldn’t stop even if he wanted to; even though he knows it would be the right thing to do, given everything that’s happened in the last few weeks.
But Harry is starved for it. He’s ashamed of how much he wants and needs this, despite his many assurances that it’s the last thing on his mind. His hands come flying up on their own, tangling in the fabric of what is his own sweatshirt, but worn by Louis, warmed by him, smelling like him, and it’s heady.
Louis takes, uncompromising and open-mouthed, and Harry lets him take it, would let him take everything and more for just a few moments of this on occasion. They’ve not kissed since that fateful day in the spring, and this is sudden, it is far too sudden, especially since Louis has been so far away recently. And there is a persistent voice in Harry’s head that’s getting quieter and quieter, that’s telling him that this is not just a bad idea, but that something is just wrong.
But his mind needs to shut up, because Harry doesn’t care.
His arms circle around Louis’ waist and Harry pulls him closer – still not close enough, but Harry will take it gladly. With his jeans getting tighter and his pulse increasing, Harry can’t stay still anymore. His legs are twitching, and the muscles in his arms are screaming at him to put them to use. It’s just too easy to let muscle memory take over, biting at Louis’ lower lip and using that brief moment of surprise to topple them over onto the mattress, sheets rustling as their combined body weight sinks into them.
Chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat, with hardly an ounce of air between them, Harry is about to lose himself to it when he notices that Louis – he’s not –
He’s so still, apart from his lips and the pressure of his hands on Harry’s neck, and from one second to the next, as if something had sent an electric shock through Harry’s body, Harry shoots up and scrambles back. His heart is thundering away, but his whirling mind screeches to a sudden halt when he looks at Louis.
And he looks entirely unaffected. His lips are swollen and his hair is tousled, but he’s pushing up onto his elbows, and he’s looking at Harry with…with empty eyes and an expression so vacant that Harry thinks for a moment that he’s going to throw up. Louis doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t move another inch, his unwavering stare cold but still burning into Harry, because – Christ.
He pushes off the bed, pulls the sheets halfway off with him because they get tangled around his legs, nearly making him fall backwards. Harry just catches himself, heart thumping away painfully, and because he’s apparently the absolute worst at dealing with things head on, Harry does one of the stupidest things he’s ever done – he darts into the bathroom and slams the door shut behind him.
The lights flicker on, bouncing off the white tiles so brightly that Harry squeezes his eyes shut. Blindly stumbling towards the sinks, he leans heavily on the cool marble counter, swallows thickly and tries to get his breathing under control. When he opens his eyes and takes in his reflection that is taunting him from the mirror, he looks – well. Harry looks like he was just thoroughly fucked.
His lips are red and puffy, his face is flushed, and the curls that have started to brush past his shoulders are in knots. Only the look in his wide, red-brimmed eyes betrays that illusion. The shock of it clings to every inch of his body; realizing that Louis was – that he wasn’t quite present. That something had triggered Louis to kiss him, or perhaps it was the kiss itself that was triggering, and Harry struggles to determine what’s worse, ultimately deciding that it was him not realizing that and…and selfishly taking advantage.
Harry turns on the tap and splashes some cold water in his face, but it doesn’t help to settle him even in the slightest, and it doesn’t slow down the steady stream of panic that is circulating through his body. It doesn’t matter what happened back there, and why. He took advantage when he should have known better, when he should have been strong enough to stop Louis. He should have known that regardless of how much he wanted to be close to Louis, they aren’t ready for that. There is no way Louis is ready, given how frequently he still zones out, has episodes and moments of obscurity. And if Harry is being perfectly honest – he is far from ready himself.
While there are still gaps in Louis’ memory, they cannot become physical.
Harry stays in the bathroom for a long while, thinking about what to do next, how to approach Louis and how to broach the subject without – without making him more uncomfortable; without fucking up again. He doesn’t want Louis to feel rejected – or worse, violated in any way – and he needs to apologize. But he figures he should be doing that with a clear head, after sufficiently calming down and carefully selecting the right words to say.
And maybe Harry should listen to his own advice and talk to someone first. He isn’t going to call Caroline this late at night, even if that’s what he really wants to do, but he is pretty sure that both Liam and Niall are still wide awake. None of them have particularly healthy sleeping patterns.
He exits the bathroom quietly, still expecting Louis’ empty stare to fall on him once he steps back into the bedroom, but instead, Louis has returned to his previous position, curled up and facing the window, curled up and small – fragile. Like nothing had happened at all.
Taking a shuddering breath, Harry makes a beeline for the hallway, and wonders briefly whether he should just join Niall watching whatever it is he decided on, perhaps exchange a couple of words in between scenes. But Niall has his own worries at the moment, weighed down thinking about what might have happened to Zayn, and he doesn’t need to burden himself with Harry’s problems as well. Liam is most likely elbow deep in another creation of his and distracted, but he’s proven to be a good listener, so Harry decides to head to the lab, where Liam spends about ninety-eight percent of his time.
Loud music blasts into his ears the second the lift doors slide open. He can’t even see Liam at first, because it looks like someone dumped an entire junkyard’s content into this room. It’s a weird clash of extremely modern equipment and rusty car parts. On his left, there’s a collection of beeping noises that break through the music, and Harry turns to see Dum-E trying to wheel through the mess on the floor. Harry doesn’t even begin to wonder why the robot has a neon yellow feather boa around its…neck.
He finds Liam, as expected, elbow deep in one of his suits, which is a mildly disturbing sight, to say the least. He’s looking frazzled, brows furrowed and exposed arms and face shining with sweat. Behind him, the panorama window shows an impressive view of midtown Manhattan at night, windows lit up like stars on the darkened canopy.
Liam looks up from his work, clearly surprised, but he schools his expression quickly, pulling his hands out of the machine and wiping them on a rag that’s tucked into the waistband of his pants.
“Hey there, Cap,” he greets him and the music gets quieter and quieter until it’s barely a hum in the background. “Didn’t expect to see you down here tonight.”
“Yeah, I…” Harry trails off, not sure what to say really, or what to do. He’s always a bit wary about touching or coming too close to some of the things in here. “Don’t think I can sleep tonight.”
Liam’s face falls. “Oh shit. You talked to Louis, didn’t you? Did it not go well?”
“Not well is a bit of an understatement,” he rasps in response. He knows his eyes are probably wide and glassy, his face red and blotchy. “Liam, I –I screwed up.”
Liam gets up, alarmed, and rounds his workshop bench, conjuring two chairs out of seemingly nowhere and pulling Harry down on one of them before taking a seat opposite him. “What happened?”
Harry feels ashamed just thinking about it, but he came here to talk, so he’s going to talk. “He didn’t say anything,” he tells Liam, “but I just wanted him to know that, you know, we’re all here to talk if something is going on, and I just wanted to assure him that I wasn’t going to look at what’s on the data stick you gave me. I mean, I want him to tell me what happened to him once he remembers, once he’s ready.”
He pauses, and Liam extends his arms, places his hand on Harry’s knee, silently encouraging him to continue.
Harry’s throat goes tight. “He – just out of the blue, he kissed me. And I didn’t stop him.”
Liam’s brows draw together. He opens his mouth to respond, but gets cuts off by Dum-E beeping in distress because the feather boa has fallen to the ground. He mutters something under his breath that sounds a lot like “stupid robot,” before focusing on Harry again. “That’s not a bad thing, is it? You guys have…I mean, saying you guys have a history is an understatement.”
Harry shakes his head, dropping his gaze to his hands wringing in his lap. “You don’t understand, he…when I pulled back – he wasn’t there. Behind his eyes. He was just…vacant.”
“Shit.”
“I don’t know where he went,” Harry continues, knuckles white from tension, “and I don’t know what triggered him, but he wasn’t there and I – I didn’t even think about that. I took advantage and –”
“Hey,” Liam cuts him off, squeezing his knee, causing Harry to meet his eyes. “Come on, Harry, you’re too hard on yourself. This situation, Louis’ brain…it’s a minefield. And you can’t anticipate everything and you can’t keep castigating yourself.”
“But –”
“No buts,” Liam says with a firm voice that doesn’t allow protest. “Not everything is your fault. And you stopped. You probably stopped the second you knew something didn’t feel right, so don’t beat yourself up.”
Harry huffs in protest. “Well, what am I supposed to do instead?”
“Call Caroline in the morning,” Liam is quick to respond. He gives Harry a quick smile, another squeeze to the knee before putting his hands on his thighs and twisting his neck to the left and to the right, his spine cracking quietly as he does it. “Have a chat with her, get Louis to talk to her as well. Or sit with her, at least.”
Harry’s eyes flicker to the window. It’s hours until dawn, hours until he can call their trusted therapist without feeling guilty. “Sitting with her is more likely. He isn’t doing much talking at the moment.” He glances back at Liam, who’s biting his lip like he’s holding back something he is eager to say. “What is it?”
He pulls a face, which Harry doesn’t consider a good sign. “I don’t…nothing, really.”
“Liam,” Harry insists. “Come on. What?”
It takes a sigh and a minute of Liam chewing on his lips before he speaks up again. “I guess I’m just wondering how often Louis still – zones out. Has episodes where he’s not quite himself. How far gone he is when that happens.”
It stuns Harry a little. He hasn’t really thought about it that way. He has been so preoccupied thinking about literally everything else that he hasn’t let his mind wander in that direction. “I’m not sure. He’s been keeping to himself, so I can’t, but SHIELD has given him clearance for missions, and Cowell wouldn’t –”
Liam’s brows shoot up. “Really? You think Cowell wouldn’t give the green light prematurely to get shit done? And I’m pretty sure Zayn had clear instructions on what to do should Louis relapse mid-mission.”
Harry can’t say he likes it, but Liam has a point, and it had been Louis’ choice to go as well. But in the summer, he’d also seemed far more stable and like he was making actual progress. “You’re right. But…there is no way of knowing, is there? No precedent. We’re just – flying blind.”
“Well,” Liam shrugs, “ain’t the first time, right? It’s not like we were prepared for an alien army invading New York either. In comparison, a semi-amnesiac, formerly brainwashed cyborg assassin should be a piece of cake.”
Harry can’t help but chuckle at that. “Should be, right? Trust me, an alien army from outer space has nothing on Louis.”
“Somehow,” Liam says with a smile, “that doesn’t sound like a bad thing when you say it. And maybe it’s not. Your Louis is a tough cookie. And so are we. We’ll figure it out.” He claps his hands together and gets to his feet. “Now, if you want to seek sanctuary in my lab, you’ll have to make yourself useful and get Dum-E his boa before he messes everything up even more. There’s a system to this chaos.”
“Of course there is,” Harry mutters under his breath and gets to his feet, careful to not step on anything that’s lying on the ground between him and Dum-E. He drapes the feather boa around the robot and it whirrs contentedly before wheeling itself off to the side. Liam is already back at his suit prototype, digging around its innards in concentration, so Harry finds somewhere that isn’t in the way and settles down to watch Liam work.
Harry wakes to his cheek sticking to a metal workbench and a mouth that feels like cotton. With a crick in his neck, he pushes himself into a sitting position and rubs his eyes. The early morning sun is flooding into the lab, all the polished metal parts multiplying the orange rays and dipping everything into an almost unnaturally intense glow. He must’ve passed out quite a while ago, because despite his awkward position, Harry feels relatively well-rested.
“Morning.”
Liam doesn’t look rested, walking down the few steps that lead to the lab’s small but well-equipped kitchenette, two steaming cups of undoubtedly really strong coffee in his hands. He gives one to Harry, who says his thanks and takes it despite the urge to brush his teeth and eat something first.
“Morning. Sorry for nodding off. And,” he adds with a grimace, “drooling on your work bench.”
Liam waves him off. “Good thing you did. Because I got a message from Cowell summoning us to his office first thing this morning. Better to be rested for that.”
Harry nearly spills his drink. “What? Why is he calling us in?”
Suppressing a yawn, Liam shrugs. “No idea.” He has a sip of his coffee, runs a hand through his freshly-showered hair. “Something to do with Zayn? Maybe he needs backup.”
“Let’s hope so,” Harry replies, puts his cup down and gets up. His body feels stiff, but that’s nothing a hot shower won’t fix. “Does Niall know? And Louis?”
“I’ve told Niall,” Liam tells him, “he’s on his way over there already. Said he wanted to make use of the shooting range so that he doesn’t end up shooting Cowell if it’s bad news.”
“Sounds sensible. And Louis?”
“Um…” Liam hesitates. “Louis has gone ghost on us. And JARVIS. Pretty sure he’s discovered all of JARVIS’s blind spots. But I left a message.”
“Oh.” Harry isn’t sure if Louis finding blind spots that probably didn’t exist before he got there is as little a deal as Liam makes it sound, but if Cowell wants them in his office, then there’s no time to ponder on that. And unfortunately, there’s also no time to call Caroline, so that will have to wait until after. “Do I have time to shower?”
“Sure, Cap. Knock yourself out. I’ll wait for you in the garage.”
Harry puts on his nondescript, black SHIELD uniform, feeling that it’s appropriate for a meeting with Cowell and perhaps necessary if they’re being sent off straight away. And since Liam is driving them, he doesn’t have to worry about drawing attention to himself. He would have preferred to wake up earlier to squeeze in a short run, but it’s already past seven, and the Director isn’t known for his patience.
Liam is waiting in front of one of his sports cars that will definitely draw attention and that Harry finds more than a little over the top, but it’s too early to get into a discussion about Liam’s flashy taste. Harry and Louis had grown up in poverty with barely enough money to pay for food and a roof over their heads, so he can’t help the discomfort that arises when he’s confronted with Liam’s wealth and how easy it is for him to throw it out the window, spend it on expensive and over-the-top things that he’s sure nobody really needs. But it’s neither the time nor the place to talk about that. They need to get this meeting with Cowell over with and then put out the few fires they’re leaving behind at the tower.
The engine of Liam’s car is obnoxiously loud when he puts it into gear, and they don’t even need that much horsepower, because as expected, Manhattan traffic at this time in the morning is an absolute nightmare and by the time they reach SHIELD and put the car into park in the building’s underground garage, they’re already a few minutes late.
They run into Niall just outside the lifts, his face unusually stoic. The circles beneath his eyes seem even darker than yesterday and his mouth is pressed into a thin line, seemingly every inch of his body in tension.
“Gotta to take a leak,” he tells them and waves them off, “I’ll meet you in his office.”
Harry and Liam take the lift without him and watch as the number goes up and up as an uneasy feeling starts to grow and fester in Harry’s gut. The tips of his fingers start to tingle for some inexplicable reason and suddenly he’s glad that he didn’t have anything but coffee earlier. Somehow, he feels like this meeting won’t be over and done with within the next half hour. Something tells him that this year is not going to go quietly.
And that these few minutes in the lift are the last moment of calm before the storm.
Now, Harry has always been able to trust his instincts. And he’s always had pretty good intuition, but nothing could have prepared him for how on point he is on this day, because he is barely five steps down the hallway to the Director’s office when the ground rumbles underneath his feet and a beat later, a fire erupts ahead and a hot shockwave sends him flying.
When the dust clears, Harry’s ears are ringing. For a moment, it throws him off, and it takes a beat for it to sink in that he’s in a horizontal position on the floor, cheek pressed to itchy carpet. He rolls over and pushes up, coming to stand on wobbly legs and feeling completely off balance. He stumbles sideways, shoulder hitting the wall as dust and shreds of paper whirl around his head.
He thinks he hears screams through the shrill noise echoing in his head and Harry squeezes his eyes shut for just a second, presses his right hand to his temple and tries to breathe. When he opens his eyes again, he sees it; sees, but doesn’t register. Not really, at least. Not completely. Up ahead, the hallway just – cuts off. It cuts off and in its place, where Cowell’s office should be on the top floor of SHIELD’s Manhattan facilities, is nothing but a gaping hole. There’s nothing but…there’s nothing.
Instinctively, Harry reaches for his shield before realizing that it’s at the tower, that he hadn’t felt the need to bring it with him, because there was no reason, there was no threat, nothing indicating anything like this might happen. He wasn’t prepared, Harry realizes, legs glued to the spot and spine rigid. This is one of the few moments in his two lives – and he’s been in ambushes before, in explosive and unpredictable situations – that he’s staring ahead and hasn’t got a fucking clue what happened or what he is supposed to do.
A modern painting – abstract and colorful shapes in a silver frame, literally hanging by a thread – suddenly drops to the ground, tips to the side and topples over the edge and towards the street hundreds of feet below. Strangely, it’s what makes Harry snap out of it long enough to remember that Liam is with him. He spins around, balance still off, and sinks to one knee, black spots clouding his vision before he can make out Liam curled up just a few steps to the side, arms crossed over his head and forehead pressed to the floor.
Harry makes his way over and grabs Liam by the shoulders. His body is shaking and his face is white as a sheet, far-away stare going nowhere, and what Harry assumes is his PTSD hitting him with full force. But he’s not injured, at least not that Harry can tell, so he deposits Liam a couple of feet back, propped up against a hopefully stable wall. Agents are already approaching to get everyone out and secure the premises, Harry guesses, and he should help, get people out and away, but he can’t help but turn around again.
Wind blows around his ears, tearing at his uniform-clad body, gurgling and growling, the damaged building groaning and people still screaming, clambering away from where Director Cowell’s office has just been ripped out of the side of a fucking skyscraper like it was nothing but a block of LEGO in a toy tower.
They were meant to meet the Director in there in just a minute. To talk about – Harry isn’t sure what Cowell wanted to talk to them about. Perhaps clue them in on where Zayn has disappeared to, what he’s up to, why Niall can’t get a hold of him. Harry had just assumed it was going to be a day like any other; a briefing like any of the briefings he’s sat through since waking up.
Through the chaos and eardrum-shattering noises, Harry looks at Manhattan lying to his feet and it hits him then – it hits him that Director Cowell is gone. Just – gone.
Wiped off the face of the Earth like it was fucking nothing.
***
to be continued