047

note: follow my twitter @thenoshipzone or i throw tater tots at you (jk jk)

idk who made this edit but it's amazing, and the remix on the side is so cool i'm actually such a remix geek. i like a song, so i have to find a remix.

this is one of those stories where you have to read the details bc then you're completely lost, and idk why i have a habit of writing like that, but i'm happy a lot of people read them :) 

chapter is REALLY long, but try and read every detail plz. thanks for reading homies.

I hold a refrigerated bottle of water in my right hand, the other occupied by a pack of ice. The house seems lonely, unusually quite with the lack of men around at the moment.

I've spent most of the hours in a day with Harry, and his stubbornness towards being cared for.

Swinging the door open, I gaze up to find him standing with obvious struggle. The clench of his jaw and his lips pressed harshly into each other makes it evident. I sigh heavily and let my shoulders lazily droop.

"Harry, I told you to stop trying to get up," I groan in slight frustration, though I have half accepted he's not going to give in so easily.

He grunts lightly and tries to stand up straight. Once he's steady on his feet, he breathes, "I'm fine."

I scurried over to him, placing the bottle of water on the bedside table and the pack of ice next to it. My hands reach to aid him, but he shakes his head and warns, "Cata."

"You're going to hurt yourself," I insist. "You need to rest."

Harry's eyebrows furrow as he stubbornly ignores my advice and continues to walk to the bathroom. I can't believe he is so injured and he's forcing himself regardless.

In the bathroom, having followed him, he undoes the belt and zipper of his jeans, standing by the toilet.

"Care to watch me piss?" Harry spats sarcastically with his back to me.

I'm not as bothered as I would have been before, so I only roll my eyes and stand by the sink to at least wash my exhausted face.

"I was only kidding with you," he then says, as if he thought I took it in as him being rude.

I turn on the faucet and look at myself in the mirror. Face paled, eyelids a soft pink color from excessive crying. My eyes have dark circles and my hair is just an awful rat's ass. I can't continue to look at myself so I look down at the running water.

"I know," I murmur, bending down to wash my face. But I can't as a pair of hands grab me by the arms. He pulls me away from the faucet and turns me around.

He traces his thumb across my cheek, and I gazed up at him with a frown.

"You should be sleeping," I said to him quietly.

"I've slept enough," he mutters, reaching behind me to turn off the running water. "But if you insist, you have to join me."

"I can't sleep," I sigh. "My father could call me down or something."

Harry slips his hand into mine, thumb rubbing across my knuckles. "If he calls, I'm sure we'll hear someone call for you."

"Harry --"

"Stop. He's only letting you take care of me so he can later use me. He won't be calling you for anything until I'm healed."

I pause. "He won't be calling to just talk to me either. But it's fine. I don't want to see him either."

His pale green eyes gaze at me intensively, eyebrows deeply furrowed. "Don't feel repulsed by your father. He may seem heartless, but he's never cared as much for someone as he cares for you. He had the right to hit me. He trusted me and I was planning against him."

I'm too dull and tired to say much, or even process it, but I can understand why Harry feels such way about it. Because he's someone of his word, and when not kept it seems to affect him. Still, I don't wish to see my father right now.

When I don't answer, Harry pulls me out of the bathroom. I help him lay down on the mattress, and with slight struggle we manage. I find a place beside him.

I place the ice pack to one of his bruises on his jaw and he hissed in surprise. He opens his mouth to possibly demand me to stop, but I lean over and kiss his lips in a short instant.

"Shh, it's just ice," I murmur onto his skin, finding the only way to shut him up was to kiss him.

He's quiet for the time being, but he leans forward and kisses me again. This one lingers for more and with its softness, it lulls me further to sleep.

I lay on my stomach beside him, icing his jaw though he doesn't seem to like it. I don't care so I do it anyway.

"Stop that and go to sleep," he rasps. He takes the ice pack from me and carelessly throws it on the floor. I feel him wrap my arms around his neck, and his around my body. I am careful not to lay on his injuries.

And for a few days, this is all we do. Constantly getting ice packs, his protesting, my insisting, and the natural tendency to fall asleep after doing nothing physical.

Day four ever since my father arrived, and they've been gradually making changes to the house. I've started to notice how they're getting back on track. He's more than prepared now.

Marco has stopped insisting that I keep away from Harry. There is a slight chance that my father is aware of my feelings, but I insist on doubting it.

As for the current moment, Harry stands in the middle of the room straight out of a shower. Beads of water remain on his back, damp hair slick back from his face. I sit by the bed, eating the pasta and chicken that was meant for Harry.

He wraps a towel around the back of his neck and turns to me. His lower half is in a pair of grey joggers, the band of his underwear visible where his defined v-lines disappear into.

"I thought that was my food," he states, gazing at me with that stolid expression of his.

I gaze back, chewing and swallowing before speaking. "Well, you took a while and I got hungry."

His fully tatted arms wrap around my waist, and in astonishment I simply eye him with wide eyes. My legs wrap around his waist, and until I'm hoisted up and secured, he doesn't drop his hands down to my hips.

I grasp the bowl I was eating from with one hand while the other reaches for his shoulder to find a balance.

"I see you've healed enough to do that without wincing," I murmur, brushing off the stunned feeling I had first reacted with as a result from his actions.

Harry turns around and sits on the bed, taking my previous seat. The only difference now is I sit on his lap with my legs around his waist.

He looks at me with an obvious look of solemnity. I frown in confusion, bottom lip jutting out. I just watch as he takes the bowl from me and takes the fork that was stabbed into the chicken. He casually begins to eat the food that was initially for him.

"You're strange," I sigh, shaking my head.

Harry digs into the bowl, eyes down towards it as he says, "There is nothing more satisfying than having you on my lap. Oddly enough, I find it quite comforting."

I have the urge to blush at his words. "Why's that?" I question quietly.

He shrugs. "As much as it is sexy, it gives me a sense that you're close to me. I can feel your weight and your presence."

My silence is inevitable because I am always at lost for words with him. I absentmindedly play with the short frills on the towel hanging from his neck. I have been thinking about it a lot. The things he's been saying lately.

"Did you...did you really love me for such a long time?" I ask him softly.

"Yes," he answers huskily, not even hesitating. "I did when your hair was brown, I did when you cried over your looks, I did when you tried to change your appearance because some boy made you believe you were not as good as you are." His eyes find mine.

My heart takes a rapid skip. I am overly touched by his words and I can only remain wondrous of what he will continue to say if he even does continue.

"I never saw you..." I trailed off.

"I didn't want you to," he corrects. "I wasn't about to mess up because I encountered something I wasn't expecting. But it looks like it was inevitable."

I cup his face with my hands suddenly, holding his to mine. He only watched as I do so. "You're not what I expected in every way. Even though at first you wanted nothing more than to push me away, there were times when we were actually in danger, and you gave me that sense of security. You made me feel safe with you," I assured him.

"That's what I wanted. To keep you safe. But you can't forget that I was supposed to kill you. You just can't let that go. I may love you, but I am not selfish," he begins to insist.

My face leans more into his, our noses brushing. "But I can't forget how you protected me with your own life. You insisted it was your job, but it wasn't. You protected me and it never was because you had to," I whisper.

"I'm not good for you, Cata," he rasps, "I have people who want me dead, and I can't drag you into more issues."

I shake my head in protest. "But I don't care. I just...I am supposed to be angry with you, but I can't. You insist that you're dangerous, but if it weren't for you I would be dead."

"And you still can be, which will completely destroy me inside and out. I want to be selfish, but I'm only asking of you is to think about it. Do you really love me enough to risk what's most important?"

"What's most important to me is you. I had plenty of time to think about it when I saw you getting hurt," I firmly state. He eyes me carefully, almost skeptical of what I just said. But, I'm afraid I believe my death is less worrisome than that of Harry's.

His breath fans against my mouth, his lips ghosting mine. For a brief moment he inhales deeply, and I close my eyes. He was going to lean in to eliminate the distance between our lips, but the moment never came as a knock was heard outside the door. 

I pull away, slightly disappointed, but I remove myself from Harry. He proceeds to being casual, digging back into his food while I reach for the door.

On the other side of the wooden door is a young boy, much younger than I am. Fifteen, and his neck is covered in ink. His eyes seem hollow, those of of exhaustion.

I look at him and I see a world where we live on a daily basis protecting and preserving the future of our country, though we expect that our actions now won't afflict those of our future. 

"Mr. Gates wants to speak with you," he informs slowly. He then solemnly backs away from the door, and I nod quietly. I briefly turn to Harry, but he's silent and unfazed. 

I shut the door behind me soundlessly. I don't need directions to my father's office, though he leads me to it anyway. When I arrive in front of the door, the boy nods me off. I remember the slight detail of his exhausted complexion. Droopy blue eyes and pale skin, dark hair messily pushed back from his face.

Inside, my father resides on his chair, a few men at his side discussing something I'm sure deals with Fray. I'm acknowledged, and the silence begins. 

I sit across from him. My lack of desire to be here is obvious, though I make sure not to seem to elaborate it through body language. 

His eyes meet mine, and I can't help but remember how he hurt Harry. I don't let that affect the way I act, though. Or else I might make it obvious how much I care for Harry, and I don't want my father to have another reason to be furious.

"I've heard some things from my men, darling. I don't appreciate you using foul language, ever," he's calm and soothing, two things that make me uncomfortable because he and I both know he's neither. 

My eyes scan over his features, though I hesitate to speak. "I don't mean to come off a little disrespectful, but I've used it plenty while you were away." 

His jaw clenches. I'm testing his patience. "Are you talking back to me?" 

"Back talk is something an actual parent resents of their kid. You and I...dad, we're almost like co-workers," I mutter. I surprise myself. My mouth won't resist, my brain shuts down, and as odd as it sounds, I speak from the heart.

He shifts a little in his seat, leaning forward on the desk. The narrowing of his gaze makes me clutch my hands tightly in my lap. 

"If you complain about my parenting --" 

"I wouldn't call it that. But because you are genetically my father, I'm being a little less of a brat," I steadily tell him, sighing. "I just want to know why you called me down." 

A hand slams down onto the desk, and the loud noise startles me. "No," he bit back, "We'll talk about your behavior right now. This back talking shit...it has to stop. I'm not tolerating it. I'm your father, whether you like the way I do things or not." 

I inhale deeply. "I don't want to argue. But you can't expect me to act like I used to. You weren't there these past months." 

"Well you surely he has. Because you're need to have him alive really intrigues me, Catalina," he spat. "Tell me now. Explain." 

I swallow down any other statement I had to say. Whatever could have regrettably been said is now avoided. "I feel nothing for him but gratitude. He protected me. He kept me alive. He went against his job, and followed yours regardless. And then you beat him for doing what you said to do." 

"He betrayed me!" He roars. "He played moves that were cunning, and I didn't expect them at all! He made me look like a fool for trusting him. His purpose was not to keep you safe, though it was to kill you. Now...why would he neglect his orders now? Why did he keep you alive, when Fray told him to kill you?" 

I don't answer him. I can't find the words at the moment, but through thought process I was hoping I did. 

My father huffs, tightened fist against the surface of his polished wooden desk. "He's one cunning son of a bitch. That boy has learned and taught himself the greatest tricks in the book. He made some up himself. You know what that tattoo on his neck means, don't you?" 

I shake my head, jaw clenched. 

"That's Fray's favorite animal. Your insane uncle, who also happens to want you dead, tattooed the young boy at eight with a fucking cobra tattoo on his neck. Marked him as part of him permanently. Fray turned him into a killer," he angrily explains.

"What a fucking shame your entire family is filled with sickos, Catalina. I should have given you to your mother from the start. We could have avoided this." 

He leans back into his chair, faltering from his speech. A heavy sigh escapes his lips and he snaps, "Bring Harry down here. And I want you to listen to our discussion. I think we're all about to hear some surprising news."

Minutes later, Harry joins us. He walks in through that door with a look of solemnity. I fear that this conversation will take an unexpected turn. 

Harry sits beside me, firm gaze never leaving my fathers. I watch carefully as my father stands leans forward again, elbows on the desk.

"I won't hesitate to kill you, ripping your limbs off one by one if you turn against me ever again," father firmly states to Harry in a slow manner. "But...as Catalina has mentioned...you kept her alive regardless. I don't know why you went against my brother, but you did what I asked of you."

Relief washes over me, and I prayed I didn't speak too soon. Harry is still as a statue when he lowly speaks. "I've always hated your brother, much more than I despise you." 

The way he admits that he hates my father, too, really worries me. Harry never seems to care at all. 

A bitter laugh escapes my father's mouth. "Fair enough." 

"Did you forget the many times I've cared for her when it was your job?" Harry questions spitefully, eyes narrowed. He shows hatred. "I refuse to kill her because she doesn't deserve it. You, however, I'm not too sure." 

My blood runs cold. Harry's absolutely insane. I turn to look at my father, and the way he stares at Harry, I find it odd. His features are angry, though he is not tense nor does he react that way. 

"I did nothing but look over you, Harry." 

"So every time you kicked my gut, broke my nose, and bruised me was all apart of you trying to raise me?" Harry furiously spits.

"Believe it or not, yes. You've grown to show impeccable strength. You are a strong young man, and it's because I was never soft with you. Fray dumped you onto me with hopes that you would destroy everything I cared for, but he was wrong," he replies. "You belong here." 

A silence takes over us. 

"One day you will understand," father reminds him. "And so will you, Catalina. But for now, this is not what I called you down for. I have other news." 

He gestures for one of the men dressed in black. The man hands my father a piece of paper. Father scans over it before sliding it down on the desk towards Harry and I. 

"Here," he mutters. 

A man on the other corner holds a hand to his ear, announcing, "Sir, we've got company." 

"Can you identify?" 

"He's one of ours. He's here to report what he's found out." 

"Alright, send him up here, please." 

Seconds later, the door opens. I turn my head just as an unfamiliar voice playfully says, "Harry, wow, I thought you were dead."

"Shut yourself up before I have to shoot your throat," Harry retorts, clearly not in the mood. 

The blonde guy waltzed in and leaned against a wall, crossing his arms over his chest. He gazes at me briefly, baby blue eyes scanning the people in here with slight interest.

"What have you got to tell us, Niall?'

He sighs heavily, almost preparing himself to speak. "Alright, but first. Did you get the document?"

note: t-anks for reading, homies. as usual, i will try to update as fast as i can. this chapter is probably the longest i have written. 

niall is finally in the story :)