Chapter Text
“Shoot me. Kill me.”
Harry heard a noise but all he could focus on was the gun pressed against James’ head. Why was it always a gun? The whole scene was surreal. James on his knees, hands tied, gagged, with a gun pressed against his head. Nothing made sense.
This was their flat.
Pictures of smiling faces adorned the bookcases. Elle, who still calls every couple of weeks just to check in on her big brother. Harry could tell she still felt a little guilty about not being there when James needed her the most. She lifts James’ spirit every time she calls—tales of adventures with laughter like bells twinkling, make him smile for the remainder of the day. James always stands a little straighter after speaking with Elle, finally accepted into the coveted loved (instead of tolerated) family member position. Harry pretends he doesn’t hear Elle’s voice, just so James can repeat her stories with a contented look on his face.
Alfie remembers to check in just to avoid Marnie’s worry; well, not only to check in. He likes to regale his big brother with tales of life in the Big Apple. No doubt, Alfie’s seen the New York themed art and wants to share in his brother’s passion. James always smiles but there’s a hint of worry about Alfie. James once relayed the absolute terror he felt when he saw his littlest brother on the bridge. Though Alfie wasn’t afraid—too lost in his sickness to care. It brought up nightmares of Nathan and how scared he must have been as he fell. Even though Nathan and James weren’t on good terms, or maybe because, James always felt like he failed him. Nathan was his little brother and he didn’t save him. So James worries about Alfie, even as he praises him for his independence.
There are pictures of Romeo, the estate thug who turned out to be this pure soul. The son who challenges his father to be a better man—to meet the expectations that are both lofty and so mundane. Romeo, born out of tragedy, the boy who turned his part into a comedy, sometimes of errors, but mostly of joy. Juliet’s got a place as well. Next to Marnie, whose presence is felt in every corner of James’ life.
Harry’s picture is there as well. Shot at some time that he doesn’t remember. He is smiling his James’ smile so he must have been looking at him. Sometimes James will pick up that picture and the softness of his face always makes Harry want to ask what he’s thinking. But the quiet moment of joy shouldn’t be interrupted so Harry never does. He’s seen James have that same look when focused on his phone—but James just switches it off, if people notice.
It’s not just pictures. Little bits and bobs of memories were strewn around. Souvenirs from James’ travels…artifacts that Harry’s afraid he’ll break (but James just laughs and he pulls him back in). There are some of Harry’s trinkets. Not too many, because he had stopped caring about making memories for so long. He’s slowly adding physical reminders of this life he shares with James. His favourite, art that will forever remind him of time in a rainy city—shared kisses of love, like notes harmonizing together in the city of music.
This is their home.
“What?” The man seemed confused. The grip on the gun didn’t lessen but his eyes shifted back to Harry.
It had been a surprise to hear a raised voice outside the flat as Harry was returning. Especially because it wasn’t one, he recognized. He’d stopped to listen for a moment, but it was hard to understand everything. Phrases like “your fault,” “only you’d helped,” or “I’m alone.” It was so hard to figure out what was going on. He wondered if he should just turn around to avoid an emotional client. As involved as he was in James’ life, James still maintained his client confidentiality—mostly to protect Harry. He had just about made up his mind to turn around when the voice said something that made Harry want to burst through the doors and start screaming.
“I’m going to kill you. You’re going to suffer. Feel pain. You’re going to die.”
Harry had fumbled with the keys, hands shaking too much to get them in the lock. The terror so much worse than anything he’d ever felt. Fear had sat on his chest and he couldn’t breathe. The tears in his eyes didn’t help him unlock the door any quicker. Too afraid of what he’d see when the door opened.
As the lock gave way, Harry could see the movement of a man (so small and ordinary looking) drag James by his collar to face the door. A gun was pressed against his head. Right at the part of hair that was slowly going more grey—the part Harry would run his fingers through and image a lifetime of memories.
Harry had to try, “Stop! Please stop. Whatever you’re doing…just go. We won’t say anything.”
“Get out. This doesn’t have anything to do with you.” The man maintained his grip on the gun and gestured back toward the door. James relaxed minutely when the man signaled toward the door. The gun moving away from him had less to do with it, so much as a chance for Harry to escape. A chance, that James should’ve known he wouldn’t take.
Harry’s voice was watery but strong as he shut the door. “I’m not leaving.” He slowly moved further into room, bypassing pictures and trinkets—trying desperately to keep the man’s focus on him. “I don’t know what is going on, but I’m not leaving. I can’t.”
The man straightened up and focused his eyes on Harry. The gun back at James’ head, the man raised his voice. “Get out. I don’t care who you are. This isn’t about you. So go!” As if shouting at Harry would make that demand a possibility.
“It is about me. You have a gun to head of the man I love. It IS about me. And I can’t leave.”
“The man you love huh?”
“Yes.”
“And what if I told you that this man is responsible for the death of the one I loved?” James started talking, incomprehensible words meant to either defend himself or send Harry way. Harry started as the man pushed the gun closer against his head. “Because of him, I’m alone. Completely. Because of you, I wake up everyday and wish I hadn’t. The loneliness is only ever surpassed by the pain. She’s gone. She’s never coming back. You did this!” The gunned pressed so hard against James’ head, that only the grip in his hair kept his neck from bending.
Harry raised his hands. Suddenly steady, he needed his hands to save James. This man shouted more words about loss and pain. His voice faltered but his gun never once shook. Looking around the flat, Harry searched for anything he could use. The pictures were suddenly less lovely and more useless. The trinkets wouldn’t help either. The man’s anger was visible—a darkness in the room that was slowly engulfing the light. This man was here for revenge. Not the trite spite Scott employed or even the complicated revenge that Sami used. No, this man wanted simple revenge. Primal. He wanted James to suffer. He wanted him to feel his pain.
“Shoot me. Kill me.” The words had come out of Harry’s mouth even before he knew what he was saying. But that didn’t make them any less true. He didn’t mean them any less. He could hear a noise from James. A wretched whine, but he couldn’t stop staring at the gun.
“What?” The man seemed confused now. The grip on the gun didn’t lessen but his eyes shifted back to Harry. “Kill you? Are you mad?”
Harry couldn’t look at James, couldn’t see the terror in his eyes. “You said, you are alone. You said, he took away the woman you loved.” James frantically started to move. Always so in tune with each, Harry knew James saw where he was going.
“He did.” The man had to tighten his grip on both the gun and James’ head.
“Killing him’s not going to fix that.”
“No, but it will make me feel better.”
“No it won’t.” Harry never been so sure of something in his life.
“You’re just wasting time for the cops to get here. You won’t stop me.”
“It won’t make you feel better because the pain will still be there. James won’t be, but you will. Killing James won’t make him suffer. You need me for that” Then, the terror melted. The fear subsided. Harry knew he was right. He was going to save James and suddenly it was okay. Glancing at James, he focused on those hazel eyes, now filled with fear. He could see him trying to shake his head. Screaming behind the gag. Harry felt his own tears form. But strangely enough, so did a smile.
“You?”
Harry focused on James—staring into his eyes. “I’m the man he loves.” Harry could feel the truth in his words. “He has loved me for so long. When I couldn’t even love myself, he loved me. I am his happily ever after. I’m the fairytale ending.” His voice tempered down into a whisper, “I’m his person.”
“So what? James is the one who should suffer.” Contrary to his words, the man (still so small and ordinary) started to look less certain.
“He will. Aren’t you suffering?”
“What?”
“You’re in pain because she’s gone…because you’re not. You’re here and she isn’t. You’re alone without your person. And you want to make someone pay for that. Right now, the only person you are going to make suffer is me.” Looking away from James was the hardest thing Harry ever did.
“You?”
“That pain: the emptiness and loneliness. You are going to give that to me. I’m the one who will wake up alone and wish I hadn’t. I’m the one who will visit stones marking rotted flesh—all that remains of the person I carry in my soul. I don’t deserve that. You said it yourself, it isn’t about me.”
James managed to wrestle himself away from the hold and wrenched himself towards Harry. The noises he was making were louder—the screams more visceral. Trying desperately to stop Harry, to protect Harry, to save Harry. The impact of the gun against his head, drove him to the floor. James sluggishly turned his head toward Harry, still trying to move. Begging with his eyes.
Harry smiled at James. Saying the words were both easier and harder than he thought. “You shoot me. You kill me. And James lives.” He could taste the tears. “You want him to feel the what you feel. That suffering. That loneliness. He once said that he would die alone. But if you kill James, it’s done—the pain. If you kill me, it’ll never end. Not for James.”
The noises from the floor were different...softer. Crying.
The man looked down at James. “Okay.” He pointed the gun at Harry.