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ashdownbloodline · 5 years

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We Need You For Something...

Part 1: The Knock Of Change

This is my first fanfic, I hope you all like it. I need to thank @dammn-dean for all her help! She has really helped me through all this. If you haven’t, go check her out. Let me know what you guys think of it.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Original Character (Yauna), other OC’s and Avengers pairings later.

Words: It's high

Warnings: Adult Themes, Language, Eventual Smut, PTSD, motions of Torture, Fluff, Death

Summary: Yauna just wants to be normal and Tony recruits her as his head engineer. Her past catches up and shit goes crazy.

(Again gif isn’t mine)

(Age 27) so eight years after prologue

The sun peered through the high windows of the England town house, warming the hard wood floors and helping to reveal the sketches underneath of Yauna’s latest project.

She walked from the floor to the ceiling to the walls, trying to change her angle of thinking. Every time she found a new position, gravity would betray her, pushing her curly, carrot red hair into her face and hiking up her blue, green, and black long tartan skirt.

Finally, she landed on upside down as being the most productive. Moving her hair into a loose bun and threading her feet through the rafters on the ceiling, she let her weight hang from her legs.

The tattoo on her back moved under her skin, making it itch. “Stop it! I need to finish this.” Artemis wanted to keep moving, she had been cooped up for too long.

Her skirt took to gravity and fell into her face, letting out a huff of frustration. She flicked her hand and pinned her skirt to stay at her knees with her magic.

She was working on a project for a client in Brighton, where she lived luckily. Working as a private engineer for tech companies and other facilities was nice, her own hours and she could show up the men of the field that downgraded women.

That particular benefit made Yauna so happy and gave her the satisfaction she needed to continue. This project was being particularly stubborn though, the power supply requirement was giving her problems.

What felt like moments were actually hours passing, as she tried to figure out a solution. About three hours later, she groaned in frustration and was about ready to give up, just then there was a knock on her door.

After a moment stunned she started to dismount, hoping it wasn’t her neighbor about the late night music. Not going fast enough apparently, there was another aggressive, impatient knock.

“Hold on, a girl needs a wee feckin’ moment!” Her accent rang out, as she righted herself and walked to the door. Opening it she found three men standing in front of her; Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, and Steve Rogers.

She smoothed her skirt and untied her hair letting it fall to just brush her shoulders, then invited them inside. “Hello, you bies need a bevy?” She asked standing in her entry way, taking in their appearances.

Tony in formal suit as always, Bruce was in dress pants and a cardigan, and Steve was in jeans, a t-shirt, and a jumper.

They looked at her in confusion, she mentally kicked herself and a soft pink of embarrassment dusted her cheeks.

“Sorry, a drink. Do you want a drink?” Bruce let out a small chuckle and Steve gave her a reassuring smile.

“No, we need you for something in New York.” Tony said in a businessy tone. “Hello, I’m Steve Rogers. These are my coworkers-”

Yauna cut him off, “I know who you are dearie.” She smiled before continuing pointing at them in order, “You are Tony Stark. You are Bruce Banner, love your work by the way. And you are the product of the miracle serum, Steve Rogers. I’d love to pick your brain sometime.”

They stood for a moment in silence. “So, what are you bies needn’?” Yauna looked at the men standing in front of her, praying they weren’t here on business with her past.

“Um, we are here to ask you to come work in New York with us.” Tony stattered, shifting foot to foot. He hadn’t been nervous very many times, let alone intimidated, yet right now he was both.

Yauna’s face turned slightly grimmer, causing the entire group to hold their breaths waiting for her response. “What are you needn’ me for?” She said apprehensively, hoping they just meant her brain.

Bruce perked up, “We need you for-” Tony cut him off, “Can you show me what you’re working on over here?” Talking about anything else right now was preferred by Tony, he could talk tech and science. He needed to let his brain cool off a little bit.

Plus Tony wanted to test her a bit, wanting to see what skills she really had. Tony and Yauna talked about her projects for about an hour and a half, drawing Bruce’s and Steve’s attention every now and then. Solving some of her problems and arising others, Tony was impressed. She knew a lot and was creative, more creative than him.

Her frustration limits were far better than his and she was fun to be around. She was kind, taking time to explain to everyone everything that she was talking about and listening to what idea each person was offering. She was perfect for the position he wanted to fill.

“I want to offer you my position, per say. I want you to be the head of engineering for the team. If you accept, you’ll have your own lab and you can enlist the help of anyone you wish and who accepts, as long as they are approved security wise of course.” Tony watched her expression, unreadable and under debate.

“Pepper says I need to stop stressing so much. So, I found you. You’re brilliant and I’d trust you with the position.”

Finally she nodded, “I have some conditions.” She stated, at which Tony nodded for her to go on.

“I will take the job as a trial period, the environment is important to me. I need to make sure that everyone is comfortable before agreeing long term. Also, I want to keep my flat here until I decide that this position is perfect. Lastly, I request that my hours be flexible. My inspiration varies and a tight schedule isn’t a friend of mine.”

Tony took in the information and gave a small smirk, “Of course, I’m not asking you to sign your life away in one second. A trial period is perfect and you’ll be living at The Compound, so your hours are yours to make. Except meetings, I will work with you and the others to find good times, but you will need to attend those.”

Yauna smiled brightly and laughed, “Well, I’d be happy to work fer ya!” She pushed her hand out waiting for Tony’s.

In that moment, Tony noticed the thick light pinky-white scar on her neck. Starting on one side of her neck, disappearing behind her neck and reappearing on the other side, then trailed down her chest disappearing into her sweater. Absentmindedly, he took her hand and shook it lightly.

Yauna noticed his gaze and knew immediately that he noticed, thinking to herself. Eventually I’m going to make to tell him, he will find out. I want it to be from my gob, not someone else's. For now, she pushed it to the back of her mind, focusing on the deal at hand.

Talking over some other detail with each person, they left with a box of pastries she told them to take or else. Each of them seemed to like her, she was really nice and personable.

But, they all noticed the subjects that made her eyes grim and they all noticed the scars. That would have to be addressed sometime later, eventually.

Tony told her to be ready by Thursday, that someone will be here to pick her up and she could pack up her stuff that she needed to ship. The door closed and Yauna took a deep breath and thought, Well, this is going to be an adventure…

On the way back to the Compound, Tony had to ask them to get their opinion. “What did ya think?” He said from the pilots seat, his question pulled Steve and Bruce out of their conversation.

“She was nice, I really like her.” Bruce said first with a shrug. “Yea, she seems knowledgeable.” Steve said with a nod to agree with Bruce.

“I’m curious where she got all…” Bruce gestured to his neck, not wanting to say the word, it made him hurt to think about all those he could see.

Tony ignored his comment, he didn’t know what to think of all those scars. But, for some reason he still trusted her.

“Okay, then I’m sending you to pick her up Steve.” He declared instead. The rest of the flight was silent, not uncomfortable just silent.

Thursday came sooner than Yauna had expected, she had all her essentials packed in her green suitcase. The file she had made for Tony was in her haversack, all her secrets (well factual secrets) we tucked so close to her.

Taking one last look in the mirror at her mustard yellow sweater with bows at the wrists and her light blue jean overalls, she paired with a blue and green based rainbow beanie and brown slip ons. Maybe she should have rethought her outfit, she fidgeted with her curly hair, but just made it poofier. Ugh, why did my mother give me this stupid type of hair!

There was a strategic knock on her door, moments later drawing her out of her anxious thoughts. Walking up to the entrance she had to shush Artemis, who was clawing under her skin with anticipation and worry. Then, she flung the door open to the sight of Steve Rogers.

He was dressed in a baseball cap, gray jumper and gray sweatpants almost matching. She smiled, Steve looked slightly rough today and in need of a smile. “Ready?” He asked returning the smile.

“Yea, you okay?” Yauna pushed the straps of her haversack over her shoulders and took up her suitcase, proceeding to follow him to the car waiting at the curb.

He waved his hand dismissing your concern, “I’m just tired...Had to deal with a lot of stuff last night.” Yauna gave him a sympathetic smile as she moved to the back of the car to stuff her suitcase in.

“Here let me get that...Is this all you’re bringing?” Steve pushed the suitcase in and looked at her expecting more.

“Yea, ‘m mailing the rest. Is all I need for a quick bit.” She didn’t mean for her accent to slip through so much, not that she was ashamed, but most people didn’t ever know what she was talking about.

Steve chuckled a bit surprised for a moment. “Okay, well shall we?” He motioned for Yauna to get in, then they were off.

The ride to the airport gave time for Steve and Yauna to get to know each other better, and the plane ride to New York allowed even more. Before they landed, Steve started feeling protective over her anticipating what the others would do. Weirdly, he felt like she was like a little sister to him, she had something about her that reminded Steve of home.

The plane landed and Steve showed Yauna to her quarters, “Well, here we are. Do you need anything?” He sat her suitcase down, that he had insisted on carrying, giving her time to think.

“No, I don’t think so. Thank you Steve.” She smiled and it was infectious, giving him a twinge of happiness. They waved goodbye and Steve set off down the hallway.

Yauna pulled out the keycard he had given her, then she remembered something. Whirling around jolting a bit, “Wait, Steve?” He jerked around nodding to her to continue.

“If you see Mr. Stark, can you tell him to come see me when he gets a moment?” Steve laughed at how formal she was, but nodded, “He actually was going to come see you anyway.” Yauna gave him another infectious smile and yelled thank you, he turned back around and continued down the hallway.

She swiped her card and the door slid open to reveal a living space, including; a couch, end tables, a dining table, a coffee table, and an entertainment center.

On the other side of the television stand stood a tall bookcase with a note, “I hope this is enough space for all your books and more. You can thank Bruce and Pepper later. -Tony” She laughed and noted to thank them later .

Next to the living room was the kitchen, fully equipped with appliances, cabinets and a breakfast bar. On the back wall was a glass door leading to a balcony with chairs.

There were two doors on the left wall, the one closest to the door was the bathroom, the second door was the bedroom; a bed, a walk in closet, an entertainment stand, end tables and a desk.

Next to the entertainment stand was a door to connect the bathroom to the bedroom. Yauna started to unpack what she had brought with her, not starting putting anything too far away just in case what she talked to Tony about didn’t go over well.

A few hours later, about 8:30 pm, a musical knock came on her door. She steadied her nerves again, opening the door with a smile. “Hey, came by to see how you were doing. And I wanted to show you your lab.” His face looked lighter than it did when he came to see her over a week ago.

Yauna didn’t move from her place in the door though, her face serious. “I need to talk to you about something first.” She moved beckoning him in before he could say another word. “Yer gonna find out sooner or later. I’d rather it’d a’bea from me.” She turned pulling out the file she made for him about her life, her real life. “This is everyt’ing, well almost everyt’ing.”

She handed it to him, preparing herself for rejection like always. Tony flipped the folder open, he saw a picture of two children and their mother and father. “That’s my mother, father, brother, and I. We are part of a hidden society that protects everyone from the horrors and evil's lurking in the background.”

“My parents died when I was 11, murdered actually. I was kidnapped by a family friend before they died. He killed them while he had me, my brother had to kill his goons.” She explained, then went silent for Tony to read the rest. That file had everything; her parents death, her whole ordeal, the aftermath, and her powers.

After Tony finished and set the file down, Yauna waited long for his words. Finally they came, “Why did you show me this?” He questioned without any emotion, Yauna took that as a sign for the worst.

“You needed to know. Work only happens with trust and you can’t trust me with this big of a secret. I wanted to be hired for my brain not my powers, I just wanted to be normal. If you can’t trust me, I understand.” Yauna hung her head slightly, some hope still left.

She figured if she was going to go out better go out with a bang. “I’m a half-breed, that’s what they call me where I come from. I have demon, human, and angelic blood coursing through my veins. The mix allows me to have powers.” She went silent after her admission, hoping that her honesty would help her in some way. It seemed to stay silent for years.

Then his voice broke the silence again, “Of course I trust you, I did even before this.” He gestured to the folder with a laugh, “Yauna, I understand and thank you for telling me. This won’t be a problem with anyone, we all have our pasts.”

Yauna’s eyes jolted up to his, “No! No, I don’t want anyone else to know yet. I don’t want to be judged because of what happened.” Tony nodded, “Okay, you can tell them in your own time.”

He laid his hand on her shoulder giving her a soft smile, “Come on, I’m really excited to show you your lab. No one is as passionate about this as I am.” Yauna smiled, following him out the door.

That went better than I expected. Now, hopefully I can keep it together. She thought as Tony showed her around the rest of The Compound, telling her he made a mandatory breakfast for ‘everyone’ tomorrow to meet her. He agreed to make Friday keep her secret as well, she could use her magic when needed and Friday would be her watchman.

She made her way back to her room, after the two said their goodbyes and goodnights. After sliding the door open, she looked around and felt excitement well up inside of her. Now it’s time for decorating! She thought as she looked around the apartment, nearly jumping up and down.

Alright! There’s part one of this series. I’m so sorry this is really late. I’m going to try and post the next one in about 5 days. Let me know what you think! I’m always open for questions or suggestions! Till next time.

#bucky barnes #bucky xoc #marvel #cute bucky #shy bucky #fluffy bucky #marvel fanfiction #bucky fanfic #oringinal character #bucky barnes x original female character

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thunderoad · 6 years

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3.3k of a time traveller au; 2017 harry wakes up in december 2012, and 2017 niall finds himself responsible for helping 2012 harry get home

Jeff slings his arm around Harry’s neck and pulls him in close, tucking him up under his chin. Harry tries not to smile but he’s just hammered enough to know he’s grinning like a Cheshire cat. He snakes his hand under Jeff’s blazer and curls his palm around Jeff’s hip. It makes Jeff huff - he must’ve touched a ticklish spot - and then laugh and shake his head.

“You did it, Hersh,” he says. Harry can’t crane his head up to look at Jeff’s face with his cheek pressed to his collarbone, so he regretfully pulls away to stand up on his own. Well, mostly on his own. He still needs Jeff’s arm around him to stay upright.

“It’s a great party, isn’t it?” Harry asks, raising his voice to be heard over the din. His assistant, Marilou, always does such a fabulous job with the lighting and with making sure that there’s lots of little trays circulating with lots of interesting things to eat; since they’re in Japan, the platters are stacked high with sushi, and Harry thinks she might have even called to hire street artists to demonstrate how to swallow a flaming sword. A troupe of buskers sing a mournful song in a language Harry doesn’t know, and a flash of annoyance shoots through him. He can’t tell if he’s annoyed with himself for not understanding or with them for playing such sad music, but he does his best to shrug it off.

Jeff squeezes Harry’s shoulder, his smile wide. “Not the party, man! I meant the tour!”

“The tour!” Harry shouts agreeably, and snags a sparkling pink drink off a tray passing by to raise his glass in a toast.

“First tour done!” Jeff goes on. Glenne squeezes between two vigorous dancers and takes Jeff’s hand. She puts her other hand on Harry’s shoulder and gives him a friendly squeeze. Harry’s careful not to slosh his drink all over her when he leans in for a proper hug.

Harry repeats, “First tour done!,” clinks his glass against Jeff’s, and knocks back the drink in one go.

“Many more to come,” Glenne adds. She takes the empty glass from Harry’s hand, sets it high on the heaping table near where they’re stood, and pulls them both into the throng of dancing bodies. Harry goes easily, feeling the bass thunder up from the quaking floor right into his very bones.

***

A beam of sunlight shoots through a chink in the blinds and lands squarely on Harry’s eye. He groans and rolls over, but rolling entails moving, and now his swimmy stomach feels like it’s trying to swim right up through his mouth. “No,” Harry whines weakly, and waits, and hopes, and the need to puke recedes minutely.

Complaining would feel good, Harry thinks (he feels like he’s dying and his bladder is about to burst and his mouth tastes like Jaeger), but the amount of effort required to form his thoughts into sentences puts him off it.

Room service. If he can find the phone, he can dial room service, and room service can bring him some paracetamol. But first he needs to get up and pee. Harry concentrates, but he can’t remember the floor plan of his hotel room, and he doesn’t fancy smashing his face into any walls, so he unwillingly cracks an eye open.

And it’s...not his hotel room, that’s for sure. Did he go home with someone last night? Maybe. (Probably.) But this doesn’t even look like someone’s room, really, unless that person has the personality of a member of the Queen’s Guard. The sheets and duvet are twisted up round Harry’s legs, but they’re mystifyingly white and tan. There’s a TV and a writing desk across the room on the opposite wall next to a lamp bolted to the floor.

Alright, Harry thinks, so definitely a hotel room. Whose hotel room? Are they still here? “Hello?” Harry tries. He twists his fingers in the sheets to ride out the wave of nausea like he’s back in Jamaica gripping water through his fingers to stay afloat. “Is - Is anybody there?”

No answer. Maybe he changed hotels last night? Normally, if fans figure out where he is or whatever, he just changes rooms.

The need to pee pushes all other considerations out of Harry’s head, and he slides his weight carefully onto his feet. He’s a little surprised his legs hold, and more than a little proud of himself. He hustles to the en suite bathroom and drops trou, surprised to find that he’s still wearing his pants.

Ordinarily he sleeps naked, and if he took someone home with him - but maybe he didn’t? Maybe they took the party on the road and Jeff checked him in here to sleep it off. Jeff. Harry’s phone. Yes, brill plan. As soon as Harry’s done emptying his bladder he’ll get right on it. And he might call room service, too.

Someone bangs on the door, making Harry jump so hard he nearly sprays the toilet lid like he hasn’t done since he was just an itty bitty lad. “We’re leaving for the airport in five, and if you’re not in the car we’re leaving without you!”

Bus? Harry’s on tour, yeah, but they mainly travel by plane; they hadn’t had the tour bus shipped all the way to Japan for a couple of dates. Had they?

“Sorry,” Harry clears his voice, “I think you’ve got the wrong room.”

“Ha ha,” someone says. They don’t really sound like they’re laughing. “Very funny. Not really, that was awful. See you downstairs!” The doorknob jiggles like someone’s trying to let themselves in, and Harry freezes with his pants gathered round his ankles and his hand still wrapped around his willy, defenseless. He holds his breath.

The door stays shut. “Five minutes!” The person repeats, and Harry lets out a breath. He tugs his pants up around his hips, washes his hands quickly in the sink - he’s not an animal, this might be a strange situation but he has standards, thank you very much - and hurries to find his clothes so he can get dressed and out of here before whoever thinks he’s coming with them finds out he’s very much not. He can call Jeff just as easily from the lobby, huddled behind a potted plant. He’s done it before.

His own clothes are nowhere to be found, but he discovers an open suitcase with a heap of jeans and ratty t-shirts inside, contemplates theft for a moment, realizes he has no other options, and quickly pulls it on. The clothes look familiar for some reason, like maybe he shops at the same store, but he doesn’t stop to think about it. He’s sliding his feet into a battered pair of trainers and pats his pocket for his phone before he realizes he never found it.

Harry freezes, torn between two equally awful possibilities. Look for his phone and wait to get caught, or leave it and be effectively alone in a city whose language he doesn’t speak?

Fuck.

Harry’s still frozen when he hears the distinct sound of a key card sliding into the lock. He closes his eyes again. The door swings open, and Harry braces for the worst.

“Harry?” says a familiar voice. “What are you doing stood there for? We’ve got to be in the car five minutes ago, or we might miss our flight! What have you done to your hair?”

Harry opens one eye, then the other. Liam fucking Payne is stood across from him with his arms folded across his chest like a disapproving father and his brow wrinkled like Harry’s nan’s. “If you’re hungover, that’s not our fault,” Liam says crisply. He steps sideways, shuts the door behind himself, and sets about tidying Harry’s room for him. He heaps the shirts and jeans and pants he finds lying around into the suitcase and sits on it to zip it closed.

“Liam?” Harry squeaks. He clears his throat. “What...are you...in Japan?”

Liam looks up at him. He’s buzzed his hair again, Harry thinks absently. His face is soft and round, though; Harry’s heart gives an unwilling surge of affection. “Japan? What are you on about? We’re not in Japan.”

“Not...in...” Harry blinks. What was Harry drinking last night? Maybe he wasn’t drinking, maybe he took something? What could he have taken that’d let him wake up in another country? “Where...are we?”

“New York,” Liam says briskly. He puts his hands on his hips. “Seriously, how much did you and Taylor have to drink last night?”

“Taylor?” Harry repeats.

Just then, a series of rapid knocks lands on the door.

“Don’t answer it!” Harry squawks.

Liam shoots him a bewildered look and ignores him entirely, the traitor. He pulls the door open quickly, and someone dutifully recites, “Paul says to come and make sure you didn’t get killed so he can kill you himself. What the fuck’s taking so long?”

“Harry’s on a bender,” Liam answers primly. Harry’s scowling before he can think twice.

The other person whistles lowly. “Is he really? What’re you having, then, Styles, did you save any for me?”

Irish lilt, skinny legs, pink cheeks. Harry knows this other person, too. “I think I need to sit down,” he says, and can’t think how to move, so he doesn’t. “What are you two doing here?”

There’s the fractured silence of two people sharing a meaningful look, followed by Niall’s thoughtful, “You reckon he hit his head?”

Harry stiffens in surprise. He does have a headache. Maybe this is all just some weird hallucination, and his subconscious is speaking to him through his old bandmates. He bends his head obligingly for Niall to check, only Niall clucks in disguise. “I’m going to need a feckin chair to stand on. When did you get so tall? And what happened to your hair?”

Even as he talks his hand finds its way carefully to Harry’s head. It comes as a shock when he combs his fingers gently through Harry’s fringe before setting about feeling for any lumps. Harry looks up at Niall through the screen of his hair while Niall investigates him for brain damage, and realization trickles in first slowly, then in a rush.

The tips of Niall’s blonde fringe poke out from under his gray beanie, and his face is entirely smooth, no stubble to be found. He doesn’t even really look like himself, he’s so young. Liam, with his buzzed head, too...and no tattoos on his bare arms.

“I’m having a panic attack,” Harry announces, and waits to faint, or something.

There follows a mystified silence, ended abruptly by someone throwing the door open with all the force of a wild karate kick. “What’s wrong with him?” another familiar voice asks.

He must be dying, Harry thinks. He must have a brain tumor or some other serious illness. Something must be very, very wrong.

“He says he’s having a panic attack,” Liam answers Louis quietly, like Harry’s a proper mental patient.

Niall offers, “That don’t look like no panic attack to me,” thoughtfully.

“He’s going to make us late to the airport, and if we’re late there, we’ll miss the Jingle Ball,” Louis says in his brisk important way. To the others, he says, “He and Taylor probably had a row.” Then, to Harry, “Get your things and let’s go. You can finish your meltdown on the plane over coffee and brekkie.”

It’s the promise of coffee and breakfast that, more than anything, convinces Harry to go along. It isn’t till they’re stood in the hallway waiting for Paul to come and collect them that Harry musters up the strength to ask, “Jingle Ball?”

“Yeah,” says Niall. He starts chewing on his thumb nail. “Back in London.”

Harry frowns. “You going to be alright on the plane for that long?”

“Are you?” Niall fires back.

Harry falls silent, chastened. To himself, he murmurs, “Jingle Ball, London...”

“December 8, 2012,” Niall nods along. “Now you’re getting it.”

&&&

Niall’s cycling through the apps on his phone backstage and considering whether to launch another Instagram livestream when Conor whomps him in the face with a pillow from the sofa. “What the hell?” Niall splutters.

Jake and Gerry both laugh. “We can hear you thinkin’,” calls John from his spot over by the huge gift basket they arrived to find set out for them with Guinness, peanuts, and candy in. “The boys and I agree: no more livestreams till you think of something to do during them.”

Niall splutters again, this time to keep from laughing. “I’ll have you know I’ve been doing absolutely nothing on streams since before there even were an Instagram,” which may not technically be true, but whatever.

“What was that?” Jake stage whispers to Conor, who grins. “A year ago?”

“Bet it was just as boring then,” Conor agrees.

“You’re all fired,” Niall says, going back to his phone. “I’ll go out there on me own and play the show acoustic. And no puppy, either,” he adds, though so soft probably only he can hear it. He’s just got the strangest email he’s ever had, and he’s had some whoppers. Niall reads it again, then once more just to make sure he’s really seeing what he thinks he’s seeing.

The boys go back to teasing him amongst themselves; Niall overhears Conor’s, “Check out the look on his face, bet that’s him watching the viewers drop ‘cos I’m not onscreen,” before both Jake and John punch him in the leg. Niall taps back a response, careful not to put too much thought into it:

Are you fucking w me? How do I know this is really you?

And sends it off. Niall still gets fanmail to this email address, and sometimes it’s mad entertaining, but this message looked different from the get-go. The subject line read: NIALL IT’S HARRY I NEED YOUR HELP, which was enough to raise several flags.

All the flags, really.

Niall hasn’t seen Harry since...which came first, was it his show or was it the one they were both on the bill for, the one Niall was surprise guest at? He’s done so many shows over the past year that he can’t quite keep them straight anymore, and the itch to start a new spreadsheet gets stronger.

It’s probably just someone fucking with him, he reasons. He gets enough nutters on all platforms to know better, really.

But who could resist a cry for help?

Niall pops his thumbnail into his mouth and starts absolutely wrecking his cuticles. He’s not sure which is more strange: Harry needing help, or Harry needing his help.

While Niall’s busy pondering that, Gerry drops down beside him. “Everything ok?” he checks, cuffing Niall on the back of the head in a friendly way.

“Just got the weirdest email of me life,” Niall admits, forcing his hand down to his lap. Gerry’s eyebrows go up, and Niall’s just wondering whether he ought to explain when Lucy, the showrunner for tonight’s Jingle Ball, knocks twice on the open dressing room door.

“Five minutes to stage, guys!”

The lads all jump up to get ready, equipping themselves with their instruments like a troupe of powerfully unintimidating warriors. Niall reaches for his guitar with no small amount of relief, happy to force everything out of his head except the next five songs. It’s his last live show like this for the next few months, and he’s been looking forward to it and dreading it in equal measure.

‘Course, his problems are still there when he gets offstage. He pauses in the cinderblock hallway backstage while the boys pile into the dressing room for snacks and bottles of water before going to catch the rest of the show or to share a few drinks with the mates they’ve made over the Jingle Ball tour. His email correspondent (allegedly Harry, but Niall’s not yet convinced) has sent back,

It’s me. Followed by, You’ve got a huge crush on Katy Perry, your favorite song is “Desperado,” you’re terrible at cuddling, and I need your help!! I’m really not fucking with you!!

The message is followed by an avalanche of distraught emojis. “Fuck,” Niall says to the empty hallway, just for the sake of hearing himself say it. Then he emails back his phone number. Not but five minutes later does his phone start ringing. Niall swipes to answer and damn near crushes his ear, he claps his phone to his ear so fast. “Hello?”

“Oh, thank God it’s you,” Harry sighs over the line. “I’ve had,” his voice wobbles, “the most awful day, the bath had three showerheads in and there was sushi everywhere -”

Niall very nearly slumps in relief. He’d know that posh drawl anywhere, and he doesn’t sound like he’s dying, so that’s Niall’s worst fears sorted out. He opens the first door he sees for a bit of privacy and finds a cramped utility closet he wouldn’t cram himself into if his life depended on it. He keeps looking, and asks Harry, “And that’s a bad thing?”

“Well, no,” Harry sighs, sounding put out. “It was top. But then I found my phone, and there were all these messages on it from people I didn’t know, and I started getting these angry phone calls from people asking why I’d missed these meetings, and I didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t know who to call, nobody’s number is in service, and...” he sniffs.

Quietly, Niall argues, “Your mum’s number hasn’t changed.”

“I couldn’t tell my mum this! She’d probably have a heart attack, Niall!”

Niall ducks into the loo, darts into a stall, and plops down on the closed toilet lid. He rubs his forehead with his fingertips, too tired and befuddled to know what to think. The faint, euphoric he called me, Niall quashes ruthlessly. “And what exactly is ‘this,’ then?”

“I’m a time-traveller,” Harry says, “obviously.”

***

Together, Niall and Harry arrange for Harry to fly out to LA, where he’ll take a car out to Niall’s place in Laurel Canyon. Meanwhile, Niall will leave from New York tomorrow morning, which puts them both in California with just a few hours’ difference.

“And then we’ll...” Niall draws up short. He’s back in his hotel room with his laptop open on the bed in front of him and his shirt unbuttoned over his chest. He hung up on Harry so he could say goodbye to all his Jingle Ball mates, and then he and the lads had to stop by a local bar for a few celebratory pints before splitting up for the holidays, and now they’re gearing up to do a proper night.

Harry’s silence on the other end is hardly vacant. “We’ll figure something out,” Harry says sleepily. “Hey, Niall?”

Niall gazes at his reflection in the mirror atop the bureau. He’s gone tense all over like he’s expecting a blow, and he has to remind himself that this Harry - if he really is telling the truth, somehow, if he’s not just away in the head - is from 2012, and as far as he knows, Niall’s just one of his good mates. Someone to call in a panic, someone to help him.

“Yeah, Haz.”

“You promise you won’t tell my mum or Robin?” Harry asks. His voice has gone treacle slow with drowsiness, and Niall pops his cuticle into his mouth. “I just don’t want them to worry, or tell me I can’t tour again. Not that she could stop me,” he tacks on, though he doesn’t sound convinced.

“I promise,” Niall says. “I don’t think anybody would believe me anyway.”

His phone buzzes with a message; it’s Tara, forever every evening’s organizer, letting Niall know everybody’s waiting for him in the lobby.

“I gotta go.”

“Okay,” Harry says, and from the sound of his voice Niall knows he’s worrying at his bottom lip. “See you soon.”

“Yeah,” Niall says. “Will do.”

#arwa: we should write together!#me: yeah!#also me: does not work on my big bang #....#time travel au #lmao #fic

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