Work Text:
Louis swipes the miscellaneous items off of the tabletop with shaking hands. Everything clatters to the floor and Zayn spares a single second to worry about the equipment they’ve just stolen as it crashes onto the cement below. Niall lets out a pitiful, half-sob of a groan and Zayn refocuses on the task at hand. He unwinds Niall’s arm from around his neck and releases him from his fireman’s carry to settle him onto the flat, shining steel surface.
“Z-Zayn,” Niall crackles out a wheezy breath. Zayn’s never seen Niall so afraid before. He feels as if he might vomit so he swallows a few times in an attempt to get the bitter taste of bile off of his tongue. Niall’s lips are dry and peeling open. It makes Zayn wince every time Niall’s pink tongue slips out to wet them. He sets a hand to the blonde’s painted face so he can push the beanie off of his forehead and brush the blonde bangs out of his eyes.
“S’okay, Niall. Not goin’ anywhere,” Zayn says, smudging the bruising makeup under Niall’s shining eyes.
“Harry. Harry!” Zayn hears Louis off to his left and the sound of trainers slapping against the floor in a run.
“Liam?” Zayn looks with worried eyes to find Liam across the room digging around in a drawer. He whips out a bunch of medical supplies—syringes, gauze, a scalpel, forceps, and a bunch of other metal tools that clink when Liam sets them beside Niall’s body on the table.
“We’ve got to get him stable. Keep him still. Louis! Bring a blanket!” Liam calls over his shoulder. Niall’s grip on Zayn’s hand is tight but Niall closes his eyes and stops wriggling around so much. His head thunks down onto the table and Zayn makes a noise of dissent.
“Wait,” He says as he shimmies out of his hoodie with his free hand. He balls it up and slides it beneath Niall’s head. The blonde lets out a hefty sigh.
“Can’t believe he hasn’t passed out,” Liam comments quietly as they wait for Harry and Louis to bring the rest of the supplies. Zayn shoots him a look from behind Niall’s head, but silently agrees.
Niall’s always been the strong one. The fighter. Their protector at times. Zayn wants to hit him. That bullet was meant for Zayn, but heroic Niall shoved him and took his place. It makes Zayn angry. Niall’s always taking care of everyone else—never himself.
Harry and Louis return with a flourish. Louis is sweating through his t-shirt, his fringe sticking to his forehead. He looks exhausted. The mission went south so quickly he didn’t even have time to check any of the others for injuries.
“Y’alright?” Zayn asks him, sets a hand to his elbow.
Louis nods numbly and slips the blanket over Niall’s legs and tucks it around his waist. Liam grips a pair of scissors, voice commanding and soft as he says, “Make sure he stays still.”
He cuts Niall’s t-shirt off and Zayn thinks idly that Niall will be absolutely gutted when this is all over because it’s one of his favorites. He comforts himself that way. Picturing Niall like that, so angry and shouting and alive. He can’t picture the other option. Won’t allow himself to consider it.
Louis and Harry pull the tattered remains of the top off of Niall’s body. The gunshot wound is high on Niall’s shoulder, but at this point there’s so much blood they can’t tell where exactly it’s gone in. Zayn’s anxious that it’s gone through the bone and possibly ruined Niall’s shoulder forever. Harry grabs a cloth and dips it into a hot basin of water that he must have carried in earlier. He dips it quickly into the water, steam rising, before he wrings the cloth out over the wound. Pink water dribbles across Niall’s pale skin and onto the steel table beneath. Harry repeats the motion several times before dipping the cloth and dabbing at the coagulated blood around the wound. It’s more visible now.
He wasn’t sure what he expected to see. There’s just a single hole the size of a dime a bit above the dip of Niall’s collar bone. It’s in such a place that none of the boys can identify the severity of it yet. Zayn prays that it hasn’t blown through the bone.
Niall’s grip lessens in Zayn’s hand. Zayn squeezes a bit tighter, “C’mon, Niall. Just a little longer.”
Niall whines high in the back of his throat when Harry rubs the cloth over a particularly bruised and swollen area of skin. He groans again and attempts to roll away, as if he could escape the pain. Zayn gently places a hand on the opposite shoulder and presses down slightly as he sets his other hand over the damaged shoulder’s bicep.
“No, hold still, love” He whispers to him. Leaning over the head of the table to stare directly down into Niall’s upside down face. Niall whimpers and Zayn’s heart thuds painfully in his chest. He breathes a shaky breath through his nose and puffs it out of his lips. Harry looks up from his cleaning and reaches his free hand out to wrap around Zayn’s ribs. He pats him twice and then refocuses on the task at hand.
Zayn’s a bit in love with them all in that moment. At the way they move together as a unit, like they’re one system. Harry cleans, while Louis replaces the water to keep it warm and free from debris and blood. Liam moves between the cabinet at the side of the room and the table. He collects various medical objects before finally locating a vile of some sort of medicine. Zayn figures they’ve acquired it during their raid at the hospital a few months back.
Harry finishes his cleaning with a ‘it’s the best I can do’ and a crease between his brow. Liam takes the syringe and draws out about a quarter of the vile’s liquid. He taps it a few times to remove the air bubbles and then sets the syringe to an area near the wound. He applies the anesthetic a few more times in the immediate area and then sets it aside.
“Give him a few minutes. It needs to set in before we flip him over so I can see if it went through. If it hasn’t gone all the way through…” Liam pauses, face paling.
“We’ll need to find more professional help immediately,” Harry says softly.
Their eyes widen in fear and the tension between them stretches thin. Liam makes a motion and they crowd around the table. Zayn remains at the head, staring down at Niall’s painted face. He brushes his bangs out of his eyes again and again, petting him and whispering nonsense. He knows Niall’s probably halfway gone to sleep at this point from the pain and can’t feel anything anymore, but if anything, it’s a comfort for himself.
“On the count of three. Be gentle as possible. Try not to rustle him about.”
Louis counts and they gently roll Niall over enough that Liam can get a good look. Niall barely groans anymore and Zayn knows that he’s going to pass out any second and become dead weight. That makes him wince again.
“It’s gone through,” Liam says after a moment. He prods with a tool for a moment. And then sets his fingers to various places around the wound. “Set him back down.”
They recline him onto his back again.
“It’s gone through. There’s no bullet in there. And it’s just missed his clavicle. It’s just blown through muscle. It will take at least eight weeks or so to heal enough that he can use his arm for light work. We’ll have to find a sling for him. He’s going to be okay if we can get this bleeding under control.”
Zayn lets out yet another shaking, relieved breath and rests his chin against his chest for a moment. Harry sinks into his side, so Zayn wraps an arm around him. Louis cuddles against Harry and Liam sets his forehead against Louis. They all place a hand to Niall’s warm belly. They’re anchored to their fearless founder.
They’ll pull through. Niall will pull through.
Liam says that he shouldn’t suture up the wounds. Niall will require the use of wet to dry dressings that will need changed twice a day for a maybe two to three weeks. But first, he explains, he must cut away the necrotic skin tainted with gunpowder. If they leave it, Niall could catch an infection and die.
Liam gives Niall another shot of lidocaine before beginning the excision of skin.
Zayn watches with bated breath as Louis and Harry trade off in handing Liam tools and fetching clean water. Liam cleans the area more thoroughly before asking for a scalpel. The room falls completely silent and Zayn reaches down to rest his fingers against Niall’s neck. He needs to feel his pulse. Needs to know he’s okay.
It thumps a bit slowly, but it’s there.
Liam sets to work. It takes him nearly an hour to get the wound the way he wants it both in Niall’s front, and the wound at his back. When he’s finished, he removes the gloves he had put on before beginning and slips on a new pair.
He cleans the wound again with saline and then dries the skin off with gauze. Louis brings some antibiotic ointment and squirts some on Liam’s fingers. Liam applies the ointment and then sets the gauze on. He tapes it in place and steps back.
“’S not the best. But it will do.”
“We’ve got to move him somewhere more comfortable,” Harry says as he reaches out to brush his fingers across Niall’s biceps. Louis and Liam nod and retreat in the next room to prepare a bed for him.
“Zayn?” Harry asks as soon as they’re gone and the room is silent. Zayn can hear the sink in the corner drip.
He hums at him. Harry nods, kisses his cheek and pats the other one affectionately before drawing away.
“I’m going to get another cloth for his face,” He leaves the room through the same doorway Liam and Louis had both used.
“Oh, Bones.” He whispers, kissing Niall’s skeletally painted lips one, twice, three times before moving to unpin Niall’s skeleton pin from his shoe. He pins it through a belt loop for safe keeping and waits for the boys to return.
Niall snuffles in his sleep. He rolls a bit to the right and lets out a loud grunt and Zayn’s suddenly alert. He shuffles out of the chair he had been half-dozing in before flicking on the lamp beside the bed. Niall growls at him, shielding his eyes with his good arm.
“Where ‘m I?” He mumbles, cracking his eyes open a hair’s width. Something about Niall’s posture sets him back to their raid. Everything was supposed to go smoothly. It was supposed to be a simple and routine mission. But a member of the Vanted had been alerted to the area because of an unknown sensor triggered on a camera at the street lights just up the road. It appeared at the wrong moment, just as Harry and Liam were boosting Louis through the upper window. The officer had pulled his gun and aimed right for Zayn. Harry and Liam had dropped Louis but he landed on his feet, hands splayed in the dirt. They took off running as the Vanted’s robotic voice called for them to stop. When they didn’t, it fired right for Zayn. Zayn expected to feel an impact in his chest or an excruciating slice cut through skin and bone. Instead, a hand tugged on the back of his jacket and down he went.
Everything seemed to move slowly. He lands flat on his back, shoulder blades firmly pressed to the dirt as his feet set propped on the ground. He watched Niall’s body shudder hard and he stumbled backwards. Zayn didn’t waste any time before he pulled the pistol out of the back of his trousers and shot the robotic police helmet right through the screen and into the brain. It flopped on the ground unceremoniously, releasing a loud wailing siren. The sirens alerted the other Vanted that a bot was down and that trouble was afoot. Zayn through Niall as carefully as he could over his shoulder and took off after his boys.
“You’re at home, babe. In the hideout,” Zayn tells him. He sits down on the bed beside Niall’s hip, angling his body slightly over Niall’s in a protective gesture, as if he wants to keep the world away. He rests his hand on Niall’s cheek. There’s a small scrape to the side of his nose that he must have received when he fell back from the impact.
“Zayn?”
“Yes, love. S’just me,” Zayn whispers.
“Harry? Louis, Liam? They’re okay, right?” His voice cracks from disuse and the stuffiness of the room.
“Yes. They’re all fine,” Zayn can’t help but smile. Of course Niall would be more worried about everyone else.
“How are you feeling?” He asks him, eyes dark and mischievous looking in the light.
“Like I’ve been shot in the shoulder,” He says staunchly.
Zayn snickers softly. His tongue pokes against his front teeth in his rare, bright smile. Niall beams back at him.
“Maybe I should be asking you if you’re okay?” Niall says dryly. Zayn frowns at him, “I’m fine, Niall. I can take care of myself. What were you thinking? Huh? What were you thinking jumping in front of me like that. You’re an idiot!”
Niall glares at him, as best as he can when he’s full off painkillers.
“You almost died,” Zayn’s voice cracks. Niall’s face softens, “Zayn. Zayn.”
“You almost died. You almost died. You almost died!” Zayn doesn’t know what’s happening. He doesn’t show emotion like this ever. Never. He keeps his guard up, stays on his toes.
“Hey, none of that. Hey,” Niall reaches out with his good arm and rests a hand against Zayn’s neck.
“I’m fine. I’m okay. And you are too,” Niall tells him. He’s a bit worried then. Zayn doesn’t show emotions. He never cries. He never gets upset. At least not in public or where someone might see him. Zayn holds his emotions close to his heart. Keeps them out of sight.
“No, no ‘s not okay. You could have died. Jesus, Niall! Jesus! You could have died and then fuck. Fuck I’d be alone!”
“No, no Zayn. Harry and Louis and Liam,” Niall begins but is cut off.
“I love you.”
Niall sits back, hand falling away. They don’t say those three words. Never. It’s unfair to say them in this environment. It’s not right to use them like this. Puts too many things on the line, endangers them and their team and the boys and the entire resistance.
But Niall thinks that if the world wasn’t like this, if this was another universe or alternate reality…if there were no bombs and guns and fighting everyday…if they didn’t feel the need to live, not just survive…He could tell Zayn he loved him.
Zayn’s heart is racing. The words tumbled out with abandon. He does love Niall. He loves all of them really. They’re the closest thing to a family that Zayn’s ever had. Liam and Lou and Harry, too. But he looks at Niall and feels something else in his chest. Cracks his ribs and spills his heart out of his chest to bleed on the sidewalk. Niall makes his voice shake and his heart thud. Makes him stop and consider everything that could go wrong so that it doesn’t. Zayn would sacrifice everything for him. He would take a match to everything he has for Niall and would kill anyone that tried to harm him. And it’s an absolutely fucking terrifying feeling.
But not as terrifying as this. As Zayn saying those words out loud. Because now it’s real.
“You’re not supposed to say that, Ghost,” Niall says affectionately, using their names for the resistance. But Zayn’s face falls. He moves like he wants to stand and leave but Niall reaches out and grasps his bicep. It sends a twinge near his wound and he lets out a small squeak of pain. Zayn checks him over with fearful eyes but Niall shakes his head.
“Listen. No, stay. Listen,” He pauses to push his bangs out of his eyes, “Listen to me, Zayn.”
He pauses, blue meeting caramel brown.
“You’re not supposed to say those words. You’re supposed to say ‘I’d put you out of your misery’ and I’m supposed to say ‘I’d put you out of your misery too’. That’s what we decided.”
Zayn sits motionlessly, thinking back to the first night that he realized he felt something more for Niall. The moon had cast an eerie glow on the blonde’s face. It had been all painted up like a skull because of the mission they had completed earlier on. It was the night that Zayn realized Niall meant more than anything to him. More than the resistance, even.
Niall had been straddling his lap, shirt somewhere discarded on the floor. Niall was always like that after a mission—hot, needy, wanting. Zayn could feel the stickiness of Niall’s paint where it had smeared across his own cheeks.
Something about the light and the heat between them and the moment had Zayn mumbling out, “I lov-“
But Niall had looked at him with curious eyes, backing away a bit from Zayn’s embrace. It had been intensely silent, the atmosphere charged.
“Would you,” Niall starts, “Would you put me out of my misery. Kill me. If it was the end and we were about to go down. Be murdered at their hands?”
There’s a massive pause. Zayn runs his fingers across Niall’s hip. He thinks about it and nods harshly, “Yeah. Yeah I-I would.”
Another silence as Niall pulls himself closer to Zayn, that inherent need to be close aching and yawning between them.
“And me. Would you do the same for me?” Zayn asks him, looking at him from beneath his lashes.
“Yes, Zayn. Yes I would. I’d do that for you.” Niall had said. And that’s what they’ve always done. Always closed an intense moment with that.
But Niall looks him sharply in the eye now.
“That’s what we’ve always said. And you agreed not to say those words, to say ‘I love you’ but…”
He attempts to pull Zayn closer, but he sees Niall shudder a bit in pain. Zayn scoots closer a hair’s breadth. Niall palms the side of Zayn’s face gently, running a thumb under his eye.
“You’re not supposed to say those words. But I’m glad you did.”
He meets Zayn in an intense kiss, tongue swiping out to touch Zayn’s own. He pulls back to catch his breath, “I’m glad you did.”
“I’m glad you did.”