Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ashton had always been a fighter.

He was born in 1900 on a ranch in Northern Texas, the only child of Anne and Fletcher Irwin. Ashton’s mother died just hours after the birth but he was strong where Anne had been weak, and he shone bright beneath the timeless sun as the world around him darkened.

Ashton’s turbulent childhood was a snarl of unanswered questions and what he would one day realise was neglect. His father never told Ashton what his job was but he left everyday at eight o’clock with his polished black leather shoes and his charcoal grey fedora, and he never came home until late, bringing with him treats and toys for Ashton so that the little boy never thought to question why he came second to his father’s job.

Fletcher spent every Sunday on the ranch with Ashton, teaching him to read and write, and the basics of his trade: picking locks and arming a gun and lying through his teeth.

When Ashton got older, his father taught him how to steal without getting caught, gave his son pin money for transporting little sachets of white powder when Fletcher couldn't take the risk of doing it himself when he had already been on the police’s radar as a criminal, not just in Texas but in cities like Chicago and New York too.

When Ashton asked what was in the little bags and learnt that it was cocaine, it barely fazed him.

He had been raised in an environment where it was perfectly normal to break the law in order to get what you wanted.

Ashton liked helping out too - it made him feel important in a way that almost nothing else did during those long days when his only company were the birds wheeling in the empty vastness of the sky and the dog-eared novels on the shelf in his father’s bedroom.

Ashton’s favourite part of the day was when Fletcher came home from work late in the evening - sometimes bruised or exhausted but always forcing a smile - and let his son choose a book from the shelf. Ashton always chose Oliver Twist and Fletcher always read the same section aloud:

'Such is the influence which the condition of our own thoughts, exercises, even over the appearance of external objects. Men who look on nature, and their fellow-men, and cry that all is dark and gloomy, are in the right; but the sombre colours are reflections from their own jaundiced eyes and hearts. The real hues are delicate, and need a clearer vision.'

He always flashed Ashton a smile afterwards, dimpled at him and ruffled his son’s curls, and said:

“That’s something you must always remember, little man. Don’t you ever forget it.”

Ashton promised he never would.

The threat of the police loomed closer by the time Ashton was nine years old but, despite the fear of persecution hanging over Fletcher like a shroud, they had enough money for books and toys, and there was always meat to eat with the corn and potatoes they grew in the yard outside - not like the impoverished families Ashton saw on his rare trips into town when his pockets were stuffed full of drugs.

Ashton was so grateful for Fletcher, prayed thanking God every night that he was lucky enough to have a father like him before Fletcher caught him one night and made him stop, crunching his son’s faith beneath the heel of his polished shoe like a bug.

Ashton stood behind Fletcher - dressed in his fedora and shining shoes with his pockets lined with money - and he idolised his father, wanted to be just like him when he was grown-up even though it looked hard sometimes. Ashton never had time to miss his mother when his head was so full of Fletcher.

Ashton took in his father’s gleaming smiles and the way he could charm anybody he spoke to, and he loved him. Ashton worried when Fletcher was away working his mysterious jobs and he did everything he could to make his father’s life easier when he was back at the ranch.

Ashton cared for his father more than he cared for anyone else in the world and he knew his father could do anything he set his mind to.

That was why Ashton felt no panic when the Great War began. The fourteen year old felt no concern at all because, as far as the government were concerned, Ashton and his father didn't exist. The police knew Fletcher's name but had no further information to go on, let alone an address or the knowledge of Ashton’s existence.

That all changed in 1917 when the men in the USA were called to become soldiers and fight in the Great War. Ashton’s father left because he had received a warning from the police - accept conscription or be sent to prison - after his luck finally ran out in a casino in town.

The owner’s son hadn't taken kindly to being hustled and the police - who had gradually become aware of Fletcher’s presence over the years - had given him the no-win options and that had been that, and Ashton’s life had changed irrevocably.

It scared the teenager more than he could put into words, the fact that people knew they lived there now because it meant that anonymity was no longer something that protected them.

Fletcher left to fight in the Great War on Ashton’s seventeenth birthday. The sun was shining bright in the sky - hotter than the day of Ashton’s birth all those years ago - and the lines on Fletcher’s weathered face were striking in the sunlight.

He had no parting words for his only son, no comfort or advice. Instead he flashed Ashton his trademark grin and removed his fedora as he passed through the gate, settling the hat on his only son’s curls and whistling a low tune as he followed the other men enlisting into the town.

Ashton stood at the gate and watched his father among the group of men until they dwindled out of sight, too far away to see now, mere specks on the horizon.

The very moment he was gone, Ashton missed his father. He became aware of a terrible aching in his chest that only grew as the days trickled by without news, festering inside him with each restless toss-and-turn at night when his terrors refused to leave his thoughts.

Fletcher Irwin never returned home from the war but the year leading up to his death was long and hard for Ashton. The teenager stayed living in the ranch on his own, running errands in town when money was low and he was unable to successfully grow enough food to eat, and those twelve months alone made Ashton lean and hungry and clever, and he never took the fedora off.

When Ashton received word that his father had been killed, the pain and fear in the eighteen year old’s heart coalesced to form something wilder, more dangerous.

Ashton spent his father’s meagre savings on alcohol and gambling, and that was when Ashton’s luck began to change because - instead of losing the money - Ashton made big bucks and such a huge name for himself in Texas that he had to leave everything behind. He had no choice but to start over because he craved the security of anonymity; detested having people know who he was because it felt like there were constantly eyes trained on his every movement, scrutinising and criticising and wishing ill.

That didn't mean that Ashton felt entirely comfortable venturing someplace new though.

A piece of Ashton’s heart remained at the ranch when he left it behind.

Chapter Text

Ashton didn't find running away as difficult as some people might have.

He knew that had to do a little with the money he had won from gambling but a lot more of it was thanks to Ashton's less-than-conventional childhood. He had whiled the days away when he was left alone reading books and dreaming of adventures and, although an air of melancholy clouded him the further from Texas he wandered, the wild restless energy crackling in Ashton's veins kept him walking.

He barely slept, kept awake by plaguing thoughts of his father as it sunk in just how little Ashton really knew about the man who had raised him.

Ashton walked for six long months and, despite how much money he had won, it soon ran out and he was left with nothing but the clothes on his back and Fletcher's hat on his head.

Ashton had to scam, con and steal just to stay alive during the autumn of 1918, even though it was dangerous, and an underlying sense of unease settled over his heart as the skies turned pale and the leaves started to fall from the trees. He didn't relish the thought of fighting for his survival out in the countryside come winter.

That was what led Ashton to New York where, once again, his luck changed forever.

The night when the few meagre dollars Ashton had left were stolen from him was a cold one, a whirl of howling winds that bit at exposed skin as the stars glimmered faintly overhead.

Ashton didn't remember much of the attack; only rough bricks scraping his skin and blood filling his mouth as fists pounded into him while his pockets were rifled through.

He remembered his fingernails clawing at the dirt as boots collided with his ribs, remembered his father's hat tumbling from his head to rest on the ground as his lip burst open.

Most of all, Ashton remembered the shame that burnt through him like acid when he realised that he had no idea how to fight, that he was unable to save even himself.

When a well-built man dressed in a suit hurled himself into the alley and knocked the two muggers out with several clean punches and kicks, Ashton felt the same awe bubbling inside him that he had felt so often after looking upon his father as a child.

"You still with us, kid?" the stranger asked, smiling wide in the shadowy recesses of the alley when Ashton raised his bloodied head and accepted the hand that was being offered to him. The stranger helped him to his feet, kneeling fluidly to retrieve Ashton's fedora before he handed it back to him with a wide smile.

"You took quite a beating," the man noted, his accent unlike anything Ashton had heard before. The eighteen year old squinted at his rescuer in the darkness, wincing a little when it made the bruises blooming on his face throb with pain.

"Where're you from?" Ashton asked, struggling to suppress a groan when pain shot through his ribs. The stranger's arm circled Ashton's waist to keep him standing and Ashton's body melted into the contact without his permission.

"I'm from Ireland," the man said, fixing his already-immaculate blond hair and flashing Ashton a warm smile as he looked down at the teenager. "And you're from Texas, am I right?"

When Ashton looked up at him with wide hazel eyes, the Irishman offered a small smile.

"Your accent," he said by way of explanation. "It's easy to recognise."

Ashton relaxed, safe with the knowledge that his name hadn't travelled this far north yet.

He swayed suddenly, like he was drunk almost. Ashton felt terrible but he didn't particularly relish the idea of admitting that to a complete stranger who might have less than honourable intentions.

Ashton tightened his grip on the stranger's arm despite that though, clinging to the man as blood filled his mouth and his head pounded. He felt small and it was a distinctly unpleasant sensation.

"Don't worry, kid," the blond man said softly, tightening his grip around Ashton's waist like he knew how the teenager felt. One of the unconscious men on the floor stirred with a grunt. "Let's get out of here. I'll get you somewhere safe, okay? I promise."

"Thank you," Ashton said softly, twitching a hand up to wipe something away from his mouth. His knuckles came away bloody. "Who are you?"

"I'm Niall Horan," the blond man replied in his strange accent. "Pleased to meet you, kid. I'm here on... business, I guess you could say." And then: "I don't suppose you know your way around this fine city? This place is... relatively new to me."

"I'm new here too," Ashton croaked but his head was pounding worse now and he had to grip Niall's muscled shoulder to stay upright.

"Well then we'll find our way together," the blond man decided as they emerged blinking onto the lamp-lit street. The hour was late enough that there were no people about and the clouds were rolling in as the shadows spread across the ground like ink.

"Why'd you help me?" Ashton whispered and Niall's grip tightened fractionally around him.

"Because I've been where you're standing and someone helped me too," the blond man replied softly as they started to walk down the street together. "The guy's my boss now, actually. Nice guy - strict but fair. I like working for him."

"That's good then," Ashton mumbled, tired and aching. He felt thin in the older man's grip, brittle almost. The last six months had been tough.

Niall was frowning now, clearly trying to figure out his whereabouts as Ashton limped along beside him. After a moment the blond man's face lit up. "Ah, I know where we are! My hotel's this way... I think."

Ashton almost smiled then. Almost.

"What's your name, kid?" Niall asked and, despite the eighteen year old's craving for anonymity, he found himself speaking without really considering why.

"I'm Ashton Irwin," he said quietly and Niall's piercing blue eyes flickered to his face before dancing quickly away again.

"Irwin?" the Irishman repeated slowly, glancing at the hat on Ashton's head and his pained hazel eyes. "And you're from Texas? Say, you wouldn't happen to know -"

Niall broke off when Ashton stumbled, clutching his bruised ribs as pain spiked through him.

"Never mind that now," Niall said quietly, looking cross with himself. "Let's just get you safe. How old are you, kid? Sixteen?"

"Eighteen," Ashton muttered, allowing a little irritation to colour his tone. Niall chuckled.

"You're a man then! Not a kid at all!" His voice became softer. "How long have you been on your own?"

Ashton's eyes didn't burn with tears then.

"Too long," the eighteen year old muttered, adjusting his hat weakly so that his eyes were hidden. "I need to find work. Any work."

His desperation must have been evident in his tone because Niall looked conflicted.

"You don't want people to hear you saying things like that, kid," the Irishman chastised softly, apparently forgetting that the teenager was actually an adult. "It's not safe. You'll end up like I did."

Ashton looked up at Niall, blinking his bleary eyes and shuddering at the blood in his mouth. The blond man looked back at him, took in the gauntness of Ashton's face and the bruises staining his skin.

He seemed to decide that he could trust him.

"I said I'd been where you are and I meant it. My boss found me being beaten to a pulp in an alleyway in Chicago - that's where I'm from nowadays - and he saved me. He taught me to fight, taught me how to get by... He was kind enough to offer me work. Must've seen something in me - I don't know - but I..." Niall looked at Ashton again, took in the hopelessness in his hazel eyes and saw himself in them. "I joined his gang and I never looked back, kid. It's been years - I was the same age as you when he found me and I'm twenty three now. He kept me off the streets, kept me alive, kept food in my stomach and dollars in my pocket, and all I had to do was run errands for him, transport stuff sometimes."

Niall's expression twisted a little and Ashton thought back to his childhood, remembered the little bags of white powder and his father's wary expression as Ashton followed his orders just like he'd always been told.

"I have experience with that," the eighteen year old said quietly and there was something that was almost hope colouring the energy inside him. "I could help." He hesitated, faltering when the cold night air made his head spin. "Who runs your gang?" Ashton asked. "Who's your boss?"

Niall looked equal parts reverent and fearful.

"Liam Payne," he replied, referring to one of the most infamous felons in all of America. Payne was a notorious gangster whose gang the Hornet Mob was involved in criminal activity and owned one of the most renowned Speakeasy establishments in Chicago.

Ashton felt cold but he couldn't deny the excitement bubbling inside him as several things fell into place: his late father's mysterious job and the drugs, the unanswered questions and the conscription, and especially Niall's reaction when he had learnt Ashton's surname.

"Would... would he let me join? Or... or help out?" the eighteen year old asked softly. Niall's grip around him became painfully tight but his face took on a visage of almost forced detachedness as he looked at the hope colouring Ashton's expression.

"He helped me, kid," Niall said softly but there was a quiet sort of sadness in his tone that he was unable to entirely mask. "There's only one way to find out."

Ashton's split lips twitched weakly but his head was spinning worse than ever and, more than anything, he simply wanted to sleep.

"I hope you don't mind sleeping on my hotel room floor," Niall muttered jokingly when the building loomed into sight and a drop of blood rolled down Ashton's chin when he grinned. Niall rolled his eyes fondly but he still looked melancholy when he helped the eighteen year old settle down onto the thin mattress in the room a few minutes later, contradicting his earlier teasing. "We leave first thing in the morning so get some sleep now if you can. If you feel like you're going to be sick, please tell me because I don't like the look of your head."

"Rude," Ashton muttered but his eyes were threatening to slide shut now and the pounding had dulled to a low throb.

Niall snorted with laughter as he pulled the spare pillow off the bed and settled down on the floor.

"I mean it," he reprimanded but there was amusement in his voice now and it set Ashton's frayed nerves at ease. "Now go to sleep, kid. Tomorrow's going to be a long, long day."

In the end, Niall wasn't wrong.

The journey was torturous for Ashton who was hiding in the cramped luggage compartment of the train after Niall had decided that he would prefer not to pay the fare.

The carriage rocked with every change of direction and the corner of a trunk was digging painfully into Ashton's already-bruised ribs. He couldn't quite stifle his excitement though and the childlike joy inside him multiplied tenfold when Niall appeared to help him hurry away before the porters appeared to unload the luggage.

Downtown Chicago was cold and misty, and everything seemed to be made of either grey stone or steel. Ashton was glad for his fedora when the rain began to fall because the drops were the size of bullets as they collided with the cobbles beneath their feet.

"This way, kid," Niall said softly, guiding Ashton by the elbow as they passed several boarded-up shops. Apparently the Great Depression had hit Chicago hard.

The pair turned a corner and Ashton's eyebrows rose when he saw the words: 'WE WANT BEER' scrawled across a brick wall in red paint.

"Speakeasy's just up this way," Niall told him, keeping his voice low so that no one passing by would accidentally overhear him. "Keep quiet when we get there, okay? Speak only if you're spoken to... and just stick with me. I'll look after you."

Ashton bristled a little at the insinuation that he couldn't properly take care of himself but, after he considered the state Niall had found him in the night before, he supposed the older man's worries weren't unfounded.

"It'll be okay, kid," Niall promised, mistaking the expression on Ashton's face for fear. "Just... last chance to back out now, okay? Because, to be honest, you already know too much but I'd be willing to turn a blind eye if you wanted to -"

"No!" Ashton said sharply, in the sort of tone that would have got him hit at home. "No," he said more softly, flinching a little when Niall raised his hand to adjust Ashton's hat for him. "It's okay. I'd die on the streets anyway, probably. This can't be worse. Nothing can."

Niall nodded grimly but the old warehouse that housed the Speakeasy came into sight as they rounded a corner and it spared him the trouble of answering. "It's just back here," the Irishman said softly instead, leading Ashton deeper into the labyrinth of streets that all looked the same.

The eighteen year old would have been hopelessly lost if it wasn't for his new acquaintance.

The Speakeasy was tucked behind a car manufacturer that had been used for building weaponry during the war and an old public library that had seen better days.

The warehouse was a mess when the pair reached it and Niall let out a low whistle.

"What happened here?" Ashton asked quietly, his clever hazel eyes darting around as he took in every detail he could.

"My guess is another raid," the Irishman said quietly but there was concern poorly-hidden on his face now. "Although an unsuccessful one, I should imagine. The guys must have had enough warning that they were able to hide everything."

When he saw Ashton's concern, Niall elaborated carefully: "It'll have been the police or agents from the Bureau again."

When Ashton still looked confused, the Irishman's brows rose.

"Have you been living under a rock?" he joked but his eyes were serious. "I'm talking about the Bureau of Prohibition - those villains who are confiscating anything worth having in this godforsaken world. That's why Speakeasies sprung up, see?" Niall looked a little lost as he took in the way Ashton was processing those facts. "You really hadn't heard about any of this?"

"Not really," Ashton said with a slight shrug that set his bruised shoulder aching again. "I've kind of been off the grid, you know? Keeping up with the news hasn't really been that important for me. Not when I was trying to find drinking water and food..."

Niall had that look on his face again, like he was feeling sad but was doing his best to hide it.

"Well, let's hope you won't have to worry about things like that anymore," he said softly and Ashton's lips tugged up into a crooked little smile that made Niall relax.

"Door's this way," he said in a gentle voice, giving Ashton's elbow a comforting squeeze after the teenager winced in pain when he jarred his ribs again.

"Will they be okay with me being here?" Ashton asked cautiously, taking in a smashed window that had been hastily boarded-up as Niall rapped on the metal door in a curious sequence of knocks.

"I'll look after you," the Irishman repeated and Ashton couldn't help but notice that that wasn't quite the same thing as a yes.

Ashton flinched when a panel in the door slid aside to reveal a man standing behind it.

"Horan," the stranger said in a rough voice, smiling unpleasantly when his watery eyes found Ashton and revealing several missing teeth. "Who's your little friend?"

"That's none of your business, Frank," Niall said sharply, gripping Ashton's shoulder through the ripped cotton shirt he was dressed in. "Now get this damn door open, for the love of God. Mr Payne isn't paying us to stand out here chatting idly and I'm freezing my fucking balls off out here."

The man - Frank - sneered a little at that and hissed something that was probably offensive as the metal door creaked open to grant them passage.

He could still be heard muttering darkly behind them as Niall led Ashton into a long shadowy passageway that seemed to stretch a long way back.

"He seems nice," Ashton mumbled and the Irishman snorted with surprised laughter, giving the eighteen year old's shoulder another squeeze.

"Frank's not so bad really," Niall said after a long moment, although it didn't seem like he completely meant his words. They passed a closed door but there was a small glass panel set in the wood, through which Ashton could see a tired-looking man in a suit working over a stack of papers by the dull light of a lamp. "He's just like the rest of us... Well, he's a bit smellier perhaps but you know what I mean."

Ashton's sore lips twitched weakly but he found himself pressing closer to Niall's side when raised voices sounded from another room.

"Is it... Is it safe here?" Ashton asked cautiously, fighting to keep the unease he was feeling off his tanned face because he was starting to feel trapped and frightened now, but he hoped he was masking it well enough that his words sounded casual instead.

Niall clapped Ashton lightly on the shoulder anyway, like he knew how the teenager felt.

"It's safer than living out there on the streets," the Irishman replied after a moment. The 'just' went unsaid.

With a shudder, Ashton found himself remembering the night before and the injuries on his body gave a phantom ache.

"Well," Ashton said quietly. "I can't disagree with that."

Niall's blue eyes were sad again as he took in the bruises littering Ashton's exhausted face.

"No," the blond man said at last, his expression downcast now as the shadows threatened to swallow them whole. "No, I don't suppose you can."

Chapter Text

Ashton grew restless during those first few weeks.

He stayed with Niall in the Irishman's apartment – he never asked to leave the building and the Irishman never offered it – and Ashton tried to keep his head down and lose himself in the few books Niall had scattered around his messy abode but it was no good. Ashton often had to keep out of sight when men in neatly-tailored suits and polished shoes came round with grave voices, their briefcases full of secret documents that Ashton wasn't allowed to look at. The rain pounded on the glass like bullets outside.

Ashton didn't like the apartment much. There was a lingering smell of damp and he didn't much appreciate hearing the sex either but, deep down, he knew Niall meant well and accepted him, and that was the only thing that allowed Ashton to overlook all of the girls the Irishman brought home with him on an almost daily basis.

Niall saw the distaste on Ashton's face one morning when he wandered out of his room and found the eighteen year old sitting at the kitchen table, carefully averting his gaze from the various items of clothing strewn across the wooden panels covering the floor as he gnawed on a chunk of stale bread.

“Who do those belong to?” Ashton asked quietly, his Texan accent rougher with weariness and worry. Niall's blue eyes softened minutely.

“Those are Maya's,” the older man grinned but he looked almost childlike when he dropped down onto the chair across from Ashton's, taking in the teenager's sleepy eyes and messy curls. “She's still sleeping.” Niall hesitated at the discomfort clear on Ashton's face. "You don't like sex?”

Niall asked it so bluntly that it took Ashton a moment to process the words before he choked on his mouthful of dry bread. Niall's eyes glittered with mirth as Ashton spluttered indignantly at him, staggering away from the table in the direction of the tiny cupboard room Niall had given him that he had to share with a number of Niall’s old suits.

“I'm not answering that!” Ashton said breathlessly as his eyes watered. He knew eating that bread had been a bad idea. So had moving in with Niall. Maybe.

“You're so funny, kid,” Niall said and it sounded like he meant it. Ashton rolled his eyes at the older man through the doorway but he knew it made him look fond and, briefly, Ashton worried about it. He didn't want to grow attached to someone else, only to lose them too. It hurt too much.

“Go and get some clothes on,” Niall said after a moment’s pause and his voice was a little tighter now; more business-like almost. “You're coming to work with me today.”

Ashton's heart seemed to falter in his chest before it restarted at such a fast pace that it stole his breath away. "Really?" the teenager breathed and his eyes were shining, and the slight hint of pain on Niall's face was forgotten as Ashton hurtled into his room with renewed vigour to struggle into his clothes.

“I'm going to wake Maya now so you just stay in there, kid. I'll let you know when we're leaving, okay?”

“Okay,” Ashton agreed, his voice coming out muffled as he struggled into a shirt Niall had given him. Ashton couldn't do much about his trousers though. Those were still ripped from the mugging in the alleyway back in New York.

Ashton didn't feel like the gambler who had had to flee Texas anymore. He didn't even feel like the orphan who had left the only place he ever belonged to gather dust in his absence.

Ashton felt like a kid again, back when he'd still been small enough to ride on his father's shoulders with the fedora balanced precariously on his head.

The hat was Ashton's now though and Fletcher's path was leading his son deeper into exciting new territory.

The rain had almost stopped when Ashton finally followed Niall outside into Chicago. The air was fresh and cold, and the scent of petrichor was heavy in the air. Ashton felt his chest loosening as the pair of them walked through the quiet morning but, in comparison to Ashton’s gradual relaxation, Niall grew tenser and more strained.

“You don’t want me to come with you?” Ashton guessed and Niall went pale beside him. There were dark circles under the older man’s eyes and, somehow, the teenager had a feeling that it had nothing to do with Maya.

“It’s not that,” Niall said quietly but, even when Ashton prompted him further, the Irishman refused to say. He didn’t even speak again until they reached the Speakeasy that was run by the notorious mobster Liam Payne.

“Niall,” Ashton said softly and he resisted the urge to tug on the older man’s jacket sleeve like a child. “Are we going to see Mr Payne?”

Niall looked down at Ashton in silence for a moment, his blue eyes serious and grave. He brushed his knuckles lightly against the teenager’s shoulder and Ashton didn’t even remember to flinch.

“Wouldn’t be able to hide from him, kid.” Niall laughed weakly. “And I don’t think he’d take kindly to finding you lurking in a hallway somewhere trying to keep out of trouble. You’ll have to work if you want to stay here.” Niall sounded guilty, despite Ashton literally asking him if working would be possible on the night they’d met.

“Are you really sure about this?” the Irishman murmured but they were approaching the door now and Frank was lurking there again, watching Ashton hungrily with his horrible watery eyes. Niall wrapped his arm around Ashton’s shoulders, standing between the pair of them as Frank grudgingly opened the door for them.

“I am,” Ashton said softly and then they were enveloped in darkness again, making their way down the long corridor towards the door at the end that had remained shut last time after the pair of them had overhead raised voices coming from inside. (Niall had simply gripped Ashton’s elbow and led him hurriedly back the way they came, and the teenager hadn’t argued.)

It was still early enough in the day that all of the side rooms were empty and Ashton’s skin prickled as he followed Niall down the passage. Ashton wasn’t afraid exactly but the significance of the situation was slowly beginning to sink in now and it made the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

Niall looked at Ashton again, watching him carefully as he scrutinised the uncertainty on the teenager’s face.

“You’re gonna be just fine, kid,” Niall murmured before raising his hand to knock on the wooden door. His fist didn’t tremble and Ashton took comfort from that.

“Come in,” a voice called gruffly from inside and, suddenly, Ashton’s throat was narrowing and his heart was racing and his pulse was pounding in his veins and -

Niall’s fingertips were cool as they brushed comfortingly across the back of the teenager’s hand in the moments before the door was opened. Ashton calmed.

“Mr Payne,” Niall said and his voice had taken on a more confident quality now that only thickened his accent. “Good morning to you.”

“Morning, Horan.” Ashton hesitated behind Niall, still nervous enough that his face was pale and, because of where he was standing, the owner of the Speakeasy was still hidden from sight. There was an awkward pause and then: “Where’d the kid come from?”

Ashton managed not to bristle but, for some reason, it annoyed him a lot less when Niall called him that.

“Found him when I was in New York, sir,” the Irishman explained, still standing mostly in front of Ashton so that the eighteen year old couldn’t see Niall’s boss. He could see his office though; it was all dark panelled wood and amber whiskey glinting in crystal bottles on the shelves. He could see tanned fingers drumming on the desktop when Niall lifted his arm, the nails neat and clipped short. Liam’s hands looked soft, like he’d never done any heavy lifting in his life.

“And you just decided to bring him along with you?” The older man didn’t sound amused and Niall was tense now.

“Not at all, sir. I found him being mugged and I helped him out, offered to take him someplace safe but it turns out he didn’t have anywhere to go. He walked all the way from Texas. Took him six months, sir.”

“A runaway, huh? All the way from Texas, you say?” There was something in Liam’s voice that Ashton didn’t like and he reached up to adjust his fedora as nervous energy bubbled inside him. He felt dirty and ragged in his torn trousers, and the bright lamplight in the large office was hurting his eyes after the darkness of the passage outside. Ashton half wished he hadn’t come. “And you said he was being mugged?”

“Yessir,” Niall said and, for some reason Ashton didn’t understand, he heard Liam let out a low bark of laughter.

“History repeating itself, huh, Horan?” Liam’s palm settled flat on the desktop and Ashton flinched. “Funny how that happens.”

“Funny,” Niall echoed weakly but Liam’s hand had curled into a fist now and Ashton forced himself to straighten up, trying to be brave like his father had always taught him… trying to be brave like Oliver was at the end of the book… at the end when Fletcher had already lost interest and Ashton had to read it himself.

“Step aside for me, Horan. I want to see our damsel in distress for myself.”

Ashton was thinking quite a few insulting but imaginative swear words as Niall moved over but they died in Ashton’s throat when Liam’s dark, cold eyes settled on Ashton’s face, taking in his hazel eyes and the fedora on his head as his honey-coloured curls fell around his ears.

“Well I never,” Liam breathed and his dark eyes were gleaming now. “Ashton Irwin. What a pleasure to meet you.”

The atmosphere in the room was taut as a bowstring now, and Ashton glanced over at Niall whose expression was a curious mixture of anticipation and betrayal.

“How… how do you know my name?” Ashton croaked which admittedly wasn’t the first impression he’d been going for.

“You’re the spit of your father, kid,” Liam said and that didn’t make any sense at all because how would Liam Payne know Fletcher? Abruptly, Ashton remembered Niall’s reaction when he heard Ashton’s surname and the way Fletcher had been hiding from the police in his last few years of life, and suddenly things began to make more sense.

Liam watched the realisation dawning on Ashton’s face and tilted his head to the side curiously, watching the eighteen year old with something that looked a lot like greed.

“My father worked for you?” Ashton guessed and Liam smiled a smug smile at that, settling back in his leather seat as he tapped the side of his nose with his fingertip.

“All in good time, kid.” Liam straightened up and Ashton swallowed thickly. The older man was tall and well-muscled, dressed in a dark grey suit that hinted at money with his dark brown hair combed neatly into submission. His teeth flashed white when he smiled. Ashton didn’t trust him.

“You’re younger than I thought you’d be,” Liam noted suddenly. “Smaller too. Look all innocent.”

Ashton pressed his lips together into a thin approximation of a smile and wondered where this new attitude had come from; definitely not home because he would’ve been beaten for it but maybe during the year when his father was gone… maybe when Ashton had made a name for himself and more money than he knew what to do with… maybe when Ashton had left anonymity behind for twelve months and his life had changed forever.

“You know, you’re lucky Horan here found you,” Liam said and there was something wicked twisting his lips now. “Not everyone’s as honourable as old Nialler here,” the older man said and Ashton shuddered as he remembered Frank’s watery eyes locked on him as he opened the door.

“I know,” Ashton said, his hazel eyes flickering towards Niall and softening infinitesimally. He could see by the little crease between Liam’s brows when he looked back that the older man hadn’t missed the exchange. “I’m very grateful to him.”

“And to me?” Liam pressed, slick hair gelled and shining under the lights. He took in Ashton’s torn trousers and the too-big shirt he’d borrowed from Niall. “Would you be grateful to me too if I give you what you want?”

“What I want?” Ashton repeated curiously. Niall’s fingers were biting into the thick muscle of his thighs now but he was still staring straight ahead at the opposite wall. Ashton wondered why Liam kept him here for a moment before he realised that the older man must just be trying to make a point… although what that point was Ashton didn’t know yet.

“Work,” Liam said with a careless shrug, his dark eyes betraying the casualness he was attempting to exude. “You want to join the gang, don’t you?”

And there it was. The crux of the matter. The reason Ashton was even standing here in the presence of such a dangerous man.

“If you’ll have me,” Ashton said but his mind was still racing with what Liam had hinted about Fletcher.

The dark-haired man looked appeased now, leaning back in his chair as he fought down on a smirk that was still visible in his eyes.

“Let’s start this conversation again,” Liam said softly. “Now that you’re not hiding behind your minder.”

A muscle in Niall’s jaw twitched but Ashton was fighting hard to exude the same lazy calmness that was rolling off of Liam in waves.

For a split-second, Ashton had no idea what the older man wanted of him but… Liam seemed to be a traditionalist. Maybe he just wanted to do this properly and, if he was offering work, Ashton wasn’t going to turn it up.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Payne.” The eighteen year old spoke through gritted teeth as a smile spread slowly over Liam’s face. “And it would be an honour to work for you.”

The older man smiled like a shark.

“Mr Irwin, it would be an honour to have you,” Liam said. Ashton didn’t like the sound of that at all but Liam was still smiling now and Niall had relaxed fractionally, and Ashton forced a smile back as the curiosity burnt through his veins like wildfire.

He adjusted his hat on his head as he thanked Liam for the opportunity.

Nobody saw that Ashton’s fingers were crossed behind his back.

“Fantastic,” Liam said in a firm voice that brooked no room for argument. “Now let’s get some things straight, okay? Horan is my right-hand man, kid. I’m not wasting my resources by having him babysit you while you find your feet; is that clear? If you want to work for me, you have to stop hiding behind Horan.”

Ashton nodded silently, trying to keep the irritation off his face because… damnit, this was his chance. He could find out more about Fletcher and… god, maybe he’d finally found his place in the world. He couldn’t afford to screw this up now.

“You’ll start with small tasks first of course, get everyone used to seeing a new face.” Liam’s eyes crinkled suddenly but the smile didn’t look soft at all. “Sometimes they get a bit twitchy around strangers,” he said and Ashton’s pulse quickened when he saw Liam’s hand drift towards where he must have had a revolver holstered out of sight below the desk. “So you’ll be on your best behaviour, obviously."

“Obviously,” Ashton echoed and Liam’s lips twitched like he was fighting another smile at the surprising lack of respect or politeness he had grown to expect.

“You’ll need new clothes too,” Liam said firmly. “You look like a beggar at the moment with those torn ones.” The older man’s eyes finally flickered to Niall and the blond man squared his shoulders, watching his boss attentively. “I’ll cover the cost if you arrange for Malik to take him out to get measured. I don’t want any man in this gang to walk around looking like anything less than a first-class businessman; is that clear?”

“Crystal, sir,” Niall said. “But –” Liam’s eyes flashed angrily but he didn’t interrupt so Niall took that as an opportunity to speak. “Could Harry take him instead? You know Zayn can get a bit…”

Liam’s lips twitched again and Niall relaxed.

“True,” Liam said, watching Ashton calmly again. “Mr Styles will take you out instead. He’ll be able to answer any questions you may have but I trust you’ll be discrete.”

“Of course,” Ashton said. “Thank you.”

Liam nodded once, his fiery eyes still fixed on the teenager as Niall stepped back beside Ashton. All at once, the curiosity on Liam’s face shut off like a hot air balloon and his expression became uninterested.

“That’ll be all,” Liam said. “Good luck, kid – or should that be Mr Irwin now that you’ve turned into your father?” Ashton’s eyes were wide at the implications of that but Liam was looking at Niall again, his brown eyes burning into Niall’s own. “Stop by later with those documents I requested, alright, Horan?”

“Of course, sir,” Niall said, swallowing audibly. “Thank you so much for this, Mr Payne.”

Liam waved his hand through the dusty air carelessly.

“It’s no bother,” he said. “I’ll be seeing you.”

Ashton took that as the dismissal it was, following Niall out of the room at a brisk walk and only relaxing when they were halfway down the dark corridor outside.

“Well that went better than expected,” Ashton said as Frank let them out into the cold air again. His skin crawled at Frank’s eyes raking over him but Ashton barely noticed it as he took in the vaguely stunned look on Niall’s flushed face.

“My god,” the Irishman said with wide eyes as he led Ashton quickly back the way they’d come. “You didn’t call him ‘sir’ once!”

“Can’t help it,” Ashton said, shrugging half-heartedly even as he began to feel uncomfortably like Liam was still watching them. “I didn’t like him.”

Niall shushed Ashton half-heartedly but his blue eyes glittered despite himself.

“Mr Payne’s a force to be reckoned with, that’s for sure,” the blond man said and Ashton grinned, bumping his shoulder lightly into Niall’s.

“I don’t like him as much as you, Nialler,” Ashton said, copying the nickname he’d heard back in Liam’s office.

Niall harrumphed good-naturedly but the relief he was feeling was so tangible that Ashton almost felt dizzy with it.

“Thanks for everything you’ve done for me, Niall,” the eighteen year old said and Niall’s blue eyes crinkled as he smiled crookedly.

“Don’t thank me yet, kid,” Niall said and, beneath his amusement, it was clear he meant it. “You haven’t even had your first day.”

Chapter Text

The next day dawned dark and cold with raindrops drumming against the smeared windows like icy fingers. Ashton woke with a start when he heard a soft knock on his door, raising his head from the nest of blankets he was curled beneath and blinking blearily up at Niall as the older man stood in the doorway.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Niall said sarcastically, rolling his eyes when Ashton made a scoffing sound. “Harry’s going to be here to pick you up in half an hour so get your arse in gear, okay, kid?” Niall’s expression softened fractionally and he leant across the small space to ruffle Ashton’s honey-coloured curls messily. “You’re gonna do great, kid. I just know it. Now, there’s a bacon sandwich on the table but I’m eating it if you’re not dressed in the next ten minutes.”

Ashton rolled out of bed pretty fast after that. He struggled into his ripped trousers and the same oversized shirt from yesterday, and he tugged his fingers through his messy curls with something bordering on frantic until Niall appeared with a slice of bread sticking out of his mouth and combed it down for him.

“There you go,” Niall said with something that was almost pride as he took a big bite of his bread, sprinkling crumbs everywhere. “Once we’ve got you in a suit, you’re going to look perfect, kid.”

Perfect?

Nobody had ever called Ashton perfect before.

He was still dwelling on that ten minutes later when a knock at the door sounded, startling him from his reverie. Niall went off to answer it and Ashton rose shakily from where he’d been sitting at the kitchen table. His heart pounded unevenly in his chest as he took in how the too-long sleeves of Niall’s shirt hung down over his trembling hands and how cold he felt in his ripped trousers.

Ashton knew he needed Harry to like him. After what Liam had said the day before about not wasting his resources by using Niall as a babysitter, Ashton was determined to develop at the very least amicable working relationships with everyone he possibly could. After all, the last thing he wanted was to be left deserted with someone horrible like Frank so if Ashton had other people he could trust, that would go a long way to helping put him at ease.

Ashton didn’t like thinking about Frank now. The older man’s greedy eyes made his flesh crawl and his stomach twisted sickeningly as nerves began to batter in the confines of his stomach.

‘Not everyone’s as honourable as old Nialler here,’ Liam had jeered, and he had been correct. Ashton had been lucky to survive six months on the streets and a bitter taste welled on his tongue as he considered how unfair it would be to have everything torn from him now… now that he was finally on the path to the place he belonged.

Niall appeared back in the doorway then, taking in the tightness of Ashton’s pale face and mistaking it for fear at meeting Harry. The Irishman brushed Ashton’s wrist gently as he passed him but the younger boy could barely process the comfort for what it was because a stranger had just appeared in the doorway.

Harry Styles stood in the messy apartment with a surprisingly mild expression on his face, his hands buried in the pockets of an expensive-looking suit as he shook the rain from his dark curls. His hair was slicked back and his eyes were an unnervingly piercing green. Harry nodded his head at Ashton but didn’t extend a hand for him to shake.

“You must be Ashton,” the older man drawled in what the teenager thought was an English accent. He was tall enough that a wary Ashton had to tip his head back to see his face, adjusting his fedora and straightening his back as he tried to make himself look bigger than he was, squaring his shoulders as he pretended to be brave and strong… like his father.

“I’m Harry,” the older man said. “Harry Styles. I hear a shopping trip is in order?” Despite himself, Ashton relaxed a little and Harry smiled slightly as he saw some of the tension leak out of the teenager’s shoulders. Already, Ashton could tell he liked Harry more than Liam.

“Mr Payne says I need new clothes,” Ashton answered and Niall relaxed behind them, sitting back down at the kitchen table as he pulled a manilla folder towards him from a briefcase he had resting on one of the empty chairs.

“Is that for the meet tonight?” Harry asked and Niall gave him a distracted nod as he leafed through the pages. Harry nodded thoughtfully before he turned his green gaze to Ashton’s face. “You ready to go, Ashton?”

The teenager nodded, hurriedly pulling his peeling boots back on and shooting Niall a nervous smile before he followed Harry to the door of the apartment. The dark-haired man opened it and Ashton grimaced at the rain falling down in sheets outside, painting the world grey and bleak.

“After you,” Harry said with a cat’s smile, extending a hand and gesturing to a shiny black motor car parked outside the apartment building beside the stone steps. Ashton’s heart clenched with excitement and he looked up at Harry with wide hazel eyes, a smile fighting its way across his face without his permission. “You’ve never been in a motor car before?” Harry asked curiously and Ashton shook his head, completely mute as he took in the sleek metal and the polished black paint. “Guess I get to be your first then,” Harry said with a stupid wink and Ashton looked away, biting the inside of his mouth to keep his smile hidden as butterflies battered in his stomach.

Harry opened the door for him and Ashton wriggled in, sitting rigidly on the plush leather upholstery as he gazed at the dashboard with wide eyes. His fedora had mostly kept his curls dry but Ashton was still shivering in his torn clothes and Harry’s expression was almost sympathetic as he climbed into the driving seat.

“We’ll get you sorted out with some new clothes in no time, Ashton,” the older man reassured him before he pulled a face suddenly. “Say, you don’t mind if I call you Ashton do you? Because it would be common practice to refer to you as Mr Irwin but I’ve worked with your father rather a lot so it feels a little forced, especially when he used to talk about you so often.”

“Ashton is fine,” Ashton reassured him but the teenager was watching Harry curiously now as the older man maneuvered the car out onto the road, checking the mirrors for approaching vehicles. “So… you worked with my father? You knew him well?”

“Fairly well,” Harry confirmed as he drove down the dark street, frowning at the raindrops sliding down the glass. The dark-haired man didn’t seem keen to elaborate and Ashton tried not to let his disappointment show as he gripped the door handle tightly, his knuckles whitening. Driving made him feel slightly sick and he tried to concentrate on speaking instead of the rising nausea inside him.

“Someone called Zayn was supposed to collect me today,” Ashton said, slightly breathless as his stomach twisted. Perhaps travelling by car wasn’t for him after all. “But Niall didn’t think it was such a good idea.”

Harry laughed but it was a humourless sound.

“Zayn is… naturally wary,” the older man said slowly. “He can take a little getting used to.” Harry’s lips twisted and his brow creased with a frown. “Zayn doesn’t always trust strangers.”

“And you do?” Ashton asked curiously. Harry shook his head slowly.

“You’re not a stranger, Ashton.” The older man slowed down at a junction and Ashton pressed his lips together hard, swallowing against the saliva in his mouth as he began to break out in a cold sweat. “You know, you ask a lot of questions. It could get you into trouble.”

“I’m good at getting out of trouble,” Ashton said but Harry must have heard something strange in his voice because he looked over with something like alarm, taking in the teenager’s pale complexion and shallow breathing.

“Do you get motion sick, Ashton?” Harry demanded and Ashton shrugged helplessly as his stomach churned, making him whimper softly.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” he whispered and Harry stamped on the brakes, bringing the car to a violent halt.

Ashton barely got the door open in time and the rest of the drive was embarrassingly awkward. Harry drove so slowly that other motorists grew impatient but it was the only way Ashton could keep the water Harry had made him drink down. They had the windows rolled down and Harry kept telling him to relax - told him to close his eyes and stop thinking so much - but it went against every survival instinct Ashton had and he put up with the sickness.

“Where are we actually going?” the teenager asked weakly when Harry turned down a busy high street, slipping into a parking space with ease.

“To visit Benito,” Harry replied.

The dark-haired man led Ashton towards a tailors with a hand resting in the small of his back, partly for reassurance and partly because Ashton was still a little unsteady on his feet after getting sick. Golden light spilt out of the shop windows into the bleak day and a bell chimed over the door when Harry ushered him inside out of the rain.

“Good morning, sir. How may I help you today?” a young woman with a neat chestnut updo asked from where she was standing behind the counter. Harry shot her a winning smile, leaning closer on the desk as he murmured something. Ashton thought he caught Liam’s name and the girl’s flirty expression faded to be replaced with something a lot more serious as she quickly led them behind the counter.

Ashton followed Harry down a dark hallway and into a brightly-lit parlour where a large, olive-skinned man with a thick black beard and a neat velvet waistcoat pulled the Englishman into a hug.

“Harry Styles! It has been far too long!”

“Benito, my friend! It’s so good to see you!”

To hazard a guess, Ashton thought the man might be Italian and he watched the exchange between the pair curiously as he lingered by the doorway. The girl had vanished back into the main shop now and he felt uneasy as he stood there waiting to be paid attention to.

At last, the enormous man - Benito, Ashton’s mind supplied helpfully - turned to face him and the delight that lit up his face put Ashton on edge instantly.

“Well, I never thought I’d see the day!” the large man boomed. “You must be Fletcher Irwin’s son! You’re the spitting image of him - except for those horrible clothes. Are you here to get him measured for new clothes, Harry? Please, tell me you are. It’s a disgrace to walk around dressed like that when you share blood with such a hero.”

“Less of the hero talk,” Harry said but there was something fond in his eyes all the same. “Mr Payne has asked that we keep information to a minimum.” Ashton bristled at that, at the knowledge that they were keeping secrets about Fletcher right in front of him, but he knew by this point that he had nothing to gain by demanding they tell him. He simply stood there quietly instead, attempting to look docile as the wild energy that always resided inside him crackled to life.

“Time to measure him for new suits, yes?” Benito asked hopefully and Harry’s smile was indulgent as he nodded, nudging Ashton gently forwards with a large hand on his shoulder. “I have just the thing,” the large man said, leading the teenager towards a second, darker back room. “Come, little man. Come with me.”

Ashton followed him - because what else was there to do? - but he quickly grew distracted as Benito made him try on suit after suit.

Niall had kept Ashton up late the night before, doing his best to fill in the gaps in Ashton’s knowledge on the important topics - Speakeasies and the Prohibition, and his new line of work - but Ashton’s weariness was catching up with him now and he barely commented as Benito wrestled him into new garments with an excitement which was doubly exhausting.

Ashton had to admit that he had learnt a lot last night though so perhaps the lack of sleep had been worth it.

He now knew that alcohol had been prohibited on a national level in a useless attempt to reduce crime and corruption, to solve social problems - neither Ashton or Niall knew what sort of problems these might be - and to reduce the tax burdens created by prisons and poorhouses. Ashton shuddered at the thought of poorhouses but he kept thinking over what he’d learnt, aware that it was probably the only thing keeping him awake right now.

Ashton had learnt a lot about speakeasies too, sitting at the kitchen table with Niall into the early hours of the morning as the Irishman explained that the establishments - sometimes referred to as blind pigs or tigers, not that Ashton understood why - were gangster-owned replacements for the drinking establishments that had been legal before the ban.

It was interesting but it was also heavy and Ashton was tired just thinking about it. He knew there were Federal agents and police in place to prevent the organised crime from taking place but Ashton had also learnt that the police were often easily bribed so the teenager was determined to figure out the best ways to do this.

He wanted to be good at his job, like his father must have been to earn such respect and mystique.

“Ah, this one is perfect!” Benito declared and Ashton looked up into a mirror partially obscured by a thick blue curtain. He glimpsed a charcoal grey suit that matched his fedora over a crisp navy blue shirt and, with his hat pulled down over his eyes like that, Ashton’s breath caught painfully in his throat.

“You look just like your father, little man,” Benito said softly, his tone almost awed now, and Ashton looked up at him with wide eyes, swallowing in vain past the thickening in his throat. Benito glanced cautiously towards where Harry was waiting in the parlour before he looked back down at Ashton again, winking jovially. “You really are the spitting image of Fletcher,” Benito said slowly.

“Please,” Ashton breathed and his voice was strained with longing now. “Please, what was he like to work with? Can you tell me, sir? I’ll keep it a secret, I swear.”

“You swear do you, little man? Very well then.” Benito winked again and Ashton wondered why nobody ever took him seriously. Maybe it was because there were safety pins holding his jacket in place before Benito could make the finishing touches. “Fletcher Irwin was a good man. Not a kind one. Not a proud one… but a good one, in all the ways that counted.”

Ashton’s vision jarred as he remembered the drugs in their little plastic bags; the joy of sitting on his father’s shoulders and being taught how to clean a gun; the occasional strikes and Fletcher’s soft voice as he read Oliver Twist to his son; the soft tune he whistled as he marched off to war without a backwards glance at his only child.

Ashton didn’t know if he agreed with Benito or not but it meant a lot that the older man trusted him and, no matter what, Ashton was sure he would always love Fletcher.

“Thank you, sir,” the teenager said quietly. “For the suits. For… for this. For everything.”

“Nonsense. Do not thank me yet, little man!” Benito said, back to his usual booming voice now. “First you must help me pick out shirts and shoes for you! And then we will show Harry what we have picked, yes?”

“Sure,” Ashton said, managing a tight smile as he began to daydream about escaping from the shadowy room and running back through the rain to Niall’s apartment… to a place that - unnervingly - was beginning to feel like home now.

“Aha! We are finished!” Benito cried jubilantly some twenty minutes later and Ashton blinked himself out of the stupor he had settled into. “Harry!” the tailor called, raising his voice as he marched out into the brightly-lit parlour with a pile of neatly folded shirts and Ashton’s new polished shoes sitting neatly on top. “Prepare yourself. It is time to meet the new and improved... Mr Ashton Irwin!”

Ashton’s cheeks flamed with embarrassment but he couldn’t deny that there was a part of himself that was ecstatic that he finally had the chance to embrace the man he wanted to be.

It meant so much that he was being given this chance.

“Thank you, sir,” Ashton repeated and, this time, Benito accepted it, bowing his head with an easy grace and settling his hands on his hips as he looked at the teenager approvingly, apparently proud of the suit he would be completing for him.

“That’s perfect!” Harry said, his whole face lighting up. “You look like a real business man now, Ashton! No rag-a-muffins in sight! How do you like the suit?”

Ashton tried not to smile but he couldn’t help it.

“I feel swell,” Ashton said and Benito’s face crinkled into a smile as Harry clapped the teenager on the shoulder.

Ashton glowed.

Chapter Text

When autumn changed to winter that year, Ashton’s life changed irrevocably once more.

As he watched the world grow darker and colder outside, he felt safe living in the cramped apartment with Niall. Fighting for survival on the streets felt like something that had happened to someone else now and Ashton knew he never would have made it on his own.

He refused to let his current situation make him grow lax though; Ashton knew he couldn’t afford to do that. Liam had started to give Ashton small jobs now - acting as lookout and collecting packages with contents he could only guess at - but barely any of the gang members trusted him and Ashton couldn’t let himself appear helpless. That would be almost suicidal here.

He strove to learn from his mistakes instead and, for the most part, Ashton succeeded.

He learnt not to ask questions unless it was absolutely necessary (and to only ask Niall and Harry because they weren’t liable to spit either contemptuously or literally at him). He learnt to avoid Frank at all costs, lest he get pressed up against the wall of another dark corridor again with his heart in his throat and his nails set in the old man’s face.

Most of all though, Ashton learnt to avoid the Speakeasy’s main room where the gang members often congregated during their downtime.

Ashton learnt that one the hard way during his first week working for Liam.

He wandered in at noon, planning vaguely to meet up with Niall and suggest that they headed into downtown Chicago for food when perhaps twenty men of varying ages and races had jerked their heads up to glare at him.

Ashton’s first reaction - after intense embarrassment - was to be astounded that he had somehow managed to pass unnoticed up until that point. Wasn’t idle gossip common here? And how had they managed to avoid being caught by the Bureau if they didn’t even notice a newcomer in their midst? Then, with a sinking feeling in his gut, Ashton realised that they had simply been ignoring him, having apparently decided that he wasn’t worth their time until he stumbled into the space where they let their guard down.

Ashton hated it; hated the forced anonymity with a strength that shocked him as the wild energy that always resided inside him crackled ferociously in his veins. He had never relished being treated like a child - that was something that bothered him more and more as he grew - and the realisation that they had all decided he wasn’t worth their time before even bothering to get to know him cut deep.

Ashton hated that they didn’t think he was worth trusting, especially when they’d supposedly all respected Fletcher Irwin so much. Ashton wasn’t stupid; he knew he would never be as great a man as his father had been - and if that felt uncertain now, he refused to dwell on it - but the teenager had never felt so suffocated by a ghost before… by the shadow of a man who would never step foot here again.

Their staring eyes were still fixed on him; some cold, some curious, and some even angry. Ashton bristled, felt his hackles rising as his hands curled into fists. Niall had half-risen from where he was sitting across the room and even Harry’s expression was strained but, just as Ashton took a jerky step forwards - to snap something defensive, to shoot Niall a pleading look; he hadn’t decided yet - a hand clapped down heavily on his shoulder.

Ashton flinched, vision jarring for a moment as he remembered a childhood of strikes for being careless or rude or clumsy or… or having faith.

‘He was a good man,’ Ashton intoned desperately, squeezing his hazel eyes tightly shut for a moment as he lowered his head beneath the fedora. ‘My father was a good man. He had to be or I’ll have nothing left.’

“Good afternoon, everyone.” Liam’s voice was smooth and his hand remained heavy on Ashton’s narrow shoulder, the action deliberately condescending… although perhaps Ashton was doing him an injustice. “What seems to be the problem here?”

No one spoke for a long moment and Liam’s fingers tightened on Ashton’s shoulder, creasing his suit, before sliding away. The older man buried his hands in the pockets of his suit as he leant back against a mahogany table nearby, and the movement was so deliberately casual that it immediately sent warning bells ringing in Ashton’s head.

“Oh, come on now,” Liam said, the warmth in his tone not reaching his dark shark eyes. “We’re all friends here, aren’t we?”

“Not all of us, sir,” a tall, dark-haired man muttered and Ashton’s shoulders rose defensively when he felt the stranger’s wary eyes fixed on him. Liam sighed quietly.

“Mr Malik,” he said slowly, his tone almost… weary. “Must we repeat this every time a new member joins us?” A few titters broke out and the man - Zayn - glared fiercely at Ashton. “First with Niall and now with young Ashton here…” The teenager squared his jaw at the word ‘young’ but he remained silent. “The kid belongs here, as much as any of you do. Perhaps more so.”

Ashton fixed his gaze on the wooden panels beneath his feet as whispers broke out around the room; none of them sounded friendly. Ashton wondered if Liam realised he was potentially making things worse… and then he wondered if Liam even cared.

“With all due respect, I’m not sure that’s true, sir.” Ashton spoke without thinking, tacking on the respectful term at the last second to avoid potentially having someone throw a punch at him. “These fine gentlemen have been working with you for a very long time and I’ve only just got here. I’ve yet to prove myself to them. I don’t blame them for being… appropriately cautious.”

Ashton glanced up beneath the rim of his hat, catching Niall’s blue gaze with something like desperation and relaxing fractionally when he saw the Irishman nod almost imperceptibly. Ashton glanced around, took in the tension leaking out of some of the strangers although Zayn stayed looking unfriendly and cold.

Ashton forced a weak smile onto his face, opening his hands in what was hopefully a reassuring gesture that would put them at ease. When he chanced a glance sideways, Ashton saw Liam suppressing an almost triumphant smile with apparent difficulty.

“Well said, Ashton,” Liam said and the teenager wondered why he wasn’t addressed as ‘Mr Irwin’ in the same way that the rest of the men were spoken to. His tone was almost kind though and some of the strangers who had previously looked uncertain seemed almost grudgingly respectful now. “However, I think that’s enough idle chatter for today, don’t you?” Liam smiled for a moment but his expression hardened as he clapped his hands together firmly. “Now back to work.”

Ashton left the room sharpish, his leather shoes squeaking on the panels covering the floor as he hurried back towards the cramped room Niall used as an office. The Irishman had cleared some of the desk for Ashton to sit at and the teenager was grateful for it now; he needed somewhere to hide away from the unfriendly eyes following him.

Niall wasn’t inside when Ashton reached it but he let himself in gratefully, pushing the door shut and wriggling through the piles of files and boxes of documents so that he could sink down into the uncomfortable wooden chair Harry had sourced for him a few days before.

Ashton thought again of what had just occurred in the other room and the anxiety ignited in him like wildfire as he remembered the anger twisting their faces and the poisonous glare that Zayn had levelled at him. The teenager’s heart was already beating too fast but he felt sick when he realised there hadn’t just been anger and curiosity in the gang members’ eyes when they’d stared at him; there had been fear too.

A pile of battered old books rested nearby and Ashton watched them morosely as he sat there; he'd been leafing through them a lot recently while he waited for someone to find him something to do and he was growing restless.

The door handle suddenly turned and Ashton looked up sharply, hazel eyes widening as he remembered the furious, wary expressions of the gang members in the main room… as he remembered Frank and felt his blood run cold in his veins.

“Kid?” a soft voice asked and Ashton’s relief made him boneless as he slumped down onto the chair. “Kid, are you in here?”

Niall closed the door softly behind him and Ashton straightened up from where he’d sank down beneath the pile of books. The Irishman’s expression softened but there was something regretful in his face as he closed the distance between them, raising Ashton’s chin carefully with his thumb.

“Hey, Niall,” Ashton said weakly, his slight smile bleeding away quickly. Niall worried his bottom lip between his teeth.

“You okay?” he asked softly, leaning heavily against the edge of the desk. When Ashton nodded before giving a half-hearted shrug, the Irishman’s expression grew troubled. “I’m sorry they reacted like that, kid. I… I didn’t realise so many of them would listen to Zayn, y’know? I mean, Louis will listen to almost anything he says but… I don’t know. I guess I just expected more from the others.”

Ashton shrugged again, reaching to fix his fedora where it was slipping down over his eyes. It made him feel about five years old and he hated it; hated the restless energy coiling through him that put him so on edge.

“You dealt with them very well though,” Niall tacked on as an afterthought, his blue eyes gentle enough that Ashton felt himself relaxing fractionally. “I think you’ll be fine in the end. It just might take them a little while.”

“Thank you, Nialler,” Ashton said, his tone slightly teasing as he knew Niall didn’t exactly adore the nickname. “You have a meeting this afternoon, right?”

“Sure,” Niall said but he still looked faintly troubled. “Can’t really talk about it with you right now though, kid. I’m sorry. The others will have my guts for garters if I do.”

Ashton smiled humourlessly, deciding in that moment that he would earn the gang members’ respect. He didn’t care how long it took.

“I understand,” he said. “You want me to stay here in case any other work comes up or…?”

“I spoke to Mr Payne and he agreed that maybe it would be wise to… give everyone some space this afternoon,” Niall said uncomfortably. “Now he’s trusting you to take home some important documents, okay? I don’t want you to look at them - plausible deniability just in case, right? - but if you could leave them in my room then you can have the rest of the day for yourself,” the Irishman said. The story sounded weak to Niall’s own ears but Liam had asked him to say this and the blond man wasn’t going to ignore his orders.

Ashton chewed on his lip uneasily, considering this before he gave Niall a wan smile.

“Thanks,” the teenager said hesitantly. “I think that sounds like a good idea.” He glanced towards the dark corridor outside and his face fell somewhat. “You wanna walk me out?” Ashton asked, winking because he didn’t want Niall to realise he was scared to walk past Frank again.

Niall rolled his eyes fondly but his hand was warm on Ashton’s shoulder.

“Course I will, kid,” the Irishman said with a wry smile. “These are the documents here. You just lead the way.”

Ashton headed out of the door ahead of him and Niall watched him go protectively. The briefcase containing the documents was dangling from Ashton’s hand and Niall fought down on his unease as he followed the teenager out into the dark corridor.

The documents related to a meet that would be taking place next month with another gang and Liam had given them to Niall on purpose, wanting them to be passed onto Ashton so he could see how the teenager would carry out this duty. Liam was apparently planning on inviting Ashton to help out with the meet anyway - hopefully only acting as a lookout again although Niall wasn’t certain - and the mobster wanted to see if Ashton would read them despite being told not to.

He seemed to think he’d be able to tell even without any of his men being present and the thought unnerved Niall more than he would have thought possible. He didn’t like thinking of Liam’s dark eyes roving over the apartment; it felt unsafe and it didn’t sit well with him.

“C’mon, kid,” Niall said when Ashton hesitated. “You can start supper when you get home too if you run out of things to do. I don’t fancy another night of beef stew.”

Ashton smirked, bumping his elbow against Niall’s ribs as they headed out into the bright sunlight together.

“But I thought that was your speciality.”

Ashton continued teasing Niall until they were well past Frank and round the corner - and if he felt the old man’s eyes fixed on his back then Ashton pointedly didn’t let himself shudder - but he fell quiet when he started the long walk home alone, angling his fedora down so that his hazel eyes were hidden. Ashton went straight back to the apartment and left the briefcase on Niall’s bed just like he’d promised, and he got all the way into his own room and slumped down on his bed before he realised the restlessness in his veins was curiosity.

The documents weren’t very exciting when Ashton finally plucked up the courage to read them. They just detailed a meet that would be happening the next month where a lot of prohibited alcohol would be exchanged for cash and Ashton frowned down at the paper with something like disappointment. Was this the sort of document Fletcher had read when he’d been too busy to spend time with Ashton back on the ranch?

It stung that Ashton had been cast aside for this and being in a gang definitely wasn’t going the way the teenager had expected. Still, he was willing to fight for it and perhaps that was all that mattered. His attitude certainly seemed to help anyway and, a few weeks later, things were beginning to change again, although - this time - it was for the better.

The other members’ initial suspicion had mostly worn off now, with the exception of Zayn Malik and Louis Tomlinson. Ashton didn’t much like them and they definitely didn’t like him - or, more accurately, his father (at least from what the teenager could gather) - but Ashton was willing to do whatever it took to make them respect him. He just wanted to feel like he belonged there.

Work got harder but Ashton was grateful for that. It meant Liam was trusting him more deeply and the teenager was determined not to mess things up.

He’d learnt not to even ask Niall and Harry for help during certain tasks because the other members took offense to it the first few times, insisting that he was asking far too many questions which had ignited spiteful whispers that Ashton was a spy, sent from the Bureau or a rival gang to cause them trouble. This probably wasn't helped by the fact that Ashton was never afraid to help with the more blatantly illegal aspects of their operations but, after a childhood spent with Fletcher, the teenager never batted an eye.

Ashton supposed he should be flattered. At least that meant he was doing a worryingly good job at working well.

Niall didn’t seem to share Ashton’s sentiments. Every day he looked a little more anxious than he had done the day before and the teenager felt terrible that he was causing the Irishman so much stress. Ashton thought he might know why it was though: Niall had joined the gang in much the same position as Ashton but, while the teenager had been actively interested in joining (and was still determined to make it work), Niall had never seemed to really enjoy it.

Thinking back to that day in the office with Liam, Niall had seemed frightened and… and Ashton wished he knew why because, sure, maybe Liam could be condescending and sometimes downright furious but… but he was fair, wasn’t he?

Ashton was starting to think so now. Liam treated him well enough and he trusted the teenager more than Ashton probably had any right to expect, and some of the gang members (besides Niall and Harry) almost treated him with respect now, especially after Liam had let it slip to them one day that Ashton was the famous gambler they’d heard so much about. That - combined with him being Fletcher’s son - meant that they finally stopped watching him with so much coldness, waiting for him to mess up. Ashton didn’t know why they’d changed their minds.

All he did know was that it only encouraged him to work harder. He wanted to feel needed; important. He felt like something was missing and maybe this was it.

He thought it might have a lot to do with his father too. With every cryptic comment about Fletcher that reached Ashton’s curious ears, he became more and more aware of the huge tangled past he had in Chicago that Ashton knew next to nothing about.

Despite all of the uncertainty, Ashton quite liked it there. People weren’t treated badly because of their race or religion; he just wished the same could be said for sexuality but that had never been the case before and, unfortunately, maybe it never would be. It was the same for gender too and Ashton witnessed that all the time.

Liam was in a messed up relationship with a lady called Sophia who Ashton had seen around the Speakeasy a few times now and he only had to look at the poorly-masked frustration on her face to see how much the sexist environment was grinding her down. A tiny part of him wanted to tell her that he understood; that he’d heard the gang members making crude homophobic jokes and that it had made something wither unpleasantly inside him but, mostly, Ashton just wanted to work hard and keep his head down.

He didn’t want to think about the possibility of him potentially liking men in the way he should have liked girls. It was easier to bury his head in the sand and pretend he couldn’t hear Niall with whoever he’d managed to bring home every Friday night.

Luckily, Ashton was too tired to dwell on his feelings now, despite them building inside him until they were almost impossible to keep locked away anymore. Two months had passed since that awkward lunch time in the Speakeasy and Ashton’s role continued to expand which made him happy.

He arranged meets and safe points for the gang members to collect illegal alcohol without police or agents finding out, and Ashton was proving to be very, very good at being discreet. Niall joked that Ashton would be overseeing the trades soon but Liam seemed to agree with him and Ashton thought it might be worth the stress if it made him feel like he belonged.

Liam had given Ashton other tasks too; the teenager got to meet with contacts and gather information from them, and Ashton was so desperate to prove himself and finally find somewhere that he fit in that he was willing to do anything to prove it.

By the end of those few months as winter rolled icily across Chicago, Ashton had almost forgotten how much he had disliked Liam and what his first impression of the older man had been back in the beginning; that he was dangerous and not to be trusted.

Ashton wanted Liam to be proud of him like Niall was.

*

“Kid? Are you home?” Niall called as he unlocked the front door. He heard an answering mumble coming from deeper in the apartment and Niall’s lips twitched faintly as he took his shoes off in the hallway, lining them up beside Ashton’s on dusty wooden panels that badly needed to be cleaned.

Niall shed his overcoat and jacket, and dropped his hat onto a low table in the hallway, loosening his tie as he followed the sound of the teenager into the doorway of the small bedroom he had made his own. There were peeling newspaper articles pinned to the walls and the floor was a mess of crumpled shirts which Ashton definitely needed to tidy up while he could still glimpse the wooden panels beneath.

“Good evening?” Niall asked curiously, leaning heavily against the doorframe as he stood there in his socks. Ashton looked up with a tired smile from where he’d been lying on his bed with a book; he was wearing one of the Irishman’s old, oversized plaid shirts as night clothes and it made him look small almost… easily breakable.

Niall felt guilt twist in his stomach as he looked at Ashton lying curled up there like a little cat.

The Irishman was growing undeniably fond of the teenager now but it was made bitter because, when he looked at Ashton, Niall saw a younger version of himself and he didn’t want the teenager to feel the same way he did now: Scared. Lonely. Trapped.

Watching an uncertain Ashton slowly being accepted by the gang members reminded Niall too much of what had happened to him back in the beginning and he knew that wasn’t something he wanted for Ashton… but it just so happened that they were in too late to back out now.

Niall should have put his foot down and said no outright when he’d had the chance.

He shouldn’t have given Liam this hold over him and spun Ashton stories like this when Niall knew better than that.

He shouldn’t have been such a coward.

“I need to smoke,” Niall said gruffly and Ashton’s face fell fractionally when the Irishman pushed away from the doorway, disappearing into the kitchen. He pushed the stiff window open with an audible creak as he searched in his pockets for a cigarette, lighting it with mild difficulty.

Ashton appeared behind Niall as he exhaled shakily out into the darkness of an early evening, padding across the cold tiles in his bare feet with the book he’d been reading cradled to his chest. The teenager came to a hesitant stop beside him and, when Niall did nothing more than grunt his acknowledgement, Ashton let his head fall to rest lightly against the older man’s broad shoulder in the crisp shirt he was wearing.

Niall let out a shuddering breath and Ashton felt slightly alarmed when he glanced to the side in time to see tears welling in the older man’s eyes. Ashton pressed his lips together hard, simply leaning a little closer and breathing in the comforting smell of Niall’s cologne as the blond man finished his cigarette, stubbing it out with shaking fingers.

Seeing Niall so vulnerable made him look breakable almost and it scared Ashton more than he could say as he stood beside the Irishman in the cool wintery air gusting into the room, wondering why everything around them felt so fragile.

“What book were you reading?” Niall asked softly, his voice thick with the tears that Ashton was kind enough not to draw attention to. The teenager let out a quiet sigh, holding the battered book tighter.

“Oliver Twist,” Ashton replied softly, his thumb rubbing lightly across the dog-eared corners like it was a comfort blanket of sorts. “It’s my favourite.”

“Why?” Niall asked and Ashton blinked in surprise as he gazed out into the black night sky, trying to gather his thoughts. He was growing cold now but Niall showed no signs of moving and Ashton didn’t want to leave him here alone.

“Every time I read it... I learn something new,” Ashton said slowly. “I find a new quote or… or something that makes me feel a certain way that it never managed before. It’s like talking to an old friend.”

Niall smiled but his blue eyes looked wet again.

“Tell me a quote,” he said quietly, his voice hoarse now. “Tell me something that makes you feel.”

Ashton glanced up at the older man in surprise before a tiny smile curved hesitantly across his lips as he leafed through the pages, searching for a particular quote he had in mind.

“This one is pretty good,” Ashton said after a few moments of silent searching, still trying for a smile that didn’t quite touch his eyes. “‘There are books of which the backs and covers are by far the best parts'. Remind you of anyone?”

Niall rolled his twinkling eyes, giving a fake sounding cough as he mumbled something that sounded quite a lot like Liam’s name. Ashton pretended not to hear him as he repeated it and, although Niall shushed him reprovingly, the Irishman’s lips quirked into a small smile which almost looked real until Ashton admitted that he was only joking.

When Niall looked down and saw the grudging respect in Ashton’s eyes, his stomach twisted with nausea and he swallowed thickly against the lump rising in his throat. He could see the hope unfolding in the teenager’s face now that Niall knew to look for it and it hurt because… Niall had been like that too once… back before he felt so faded.

Niall could feel his concern growing on his face as he watched Ashton padding back towards his bedroom with a muffled yawn. The teenager was a good five years younger than him and Niall was starting to look on the Texan as a little brother almost and… god, Niall just didn’t want to see him get hurt.

Ashton glanced back over his shoulder as he left the room, taking in the worry marring Niall’s pale face as he wrung his hands together, and Ashton could feel his heart aching in his chest a little as the distance between them grew.

It didn’t matter what Ashton’s intentions had been when he’d first met Niall. It didn’t even matter that Ashton had been unwilling to let Niall get close to him because, somewhere along the way, Niall had become his rock in Ashton’s otherwise tempestuous life.

Niall had got close to him and Ashton couldn’t push him away now… but he couldn’t lose him either; especially when he caught the Irishman’s gaze and saw Niall watching him with that same melancholy mixture of concerned fondness which hinted that maybe he felt the same way.

Ashton hated to let himself rely on someone else now but… but he’d hate to lose Niall even more probably.

Especially after he’d already lost Fletcher.

Ashton didn’t think he could survive losing someone he cared about again.

Chapter Text

Ashton hated the storage room below the Speakeasy with a passion.

It was cold and damp, and the single light bulb swaying overhead in the icy draught did nothing to permeate the blackness. Ashton was on his knees counting their stock and the grim expression on his exhausted face refused to fade.

He and Harry had been out late the night before on a trade job that had gone south. It should have been simple – all they needed to do was meet up with a rival gang like they’d done a hundred times before and hand over the money in exchange for liquor – but the other gang had betrayed them in exchange for the release of some of their members from prison.

The Bureau agents who had been sent to capture the pair of them melted out of the darkness to surround them and Ashton had reacted instinctively, tearing the flick knife Harry had given him from his pocket and launching himself at the closest agent who was drawing a pistol from his holster.

Ashton hadn’t killed him – Harry had taken care of that with his own gun before the teenager had to make that awful decision – but it still sat badly in the teenager’s stomach. He knew it had been necessary – neutralise or be taken – but that hadn’t stopped the lump rising in his throat as he covered Harry’s back while the older man made quick work of the agents.

Harry pursed his lips unhappily when the last agent fell but he didn’t bother to make any excuses; he felt his actions had been justified. If he’d left any of them alive, they might have followed the pair of them back to the Speakeasy and confirmed the rumours but all Ashton could think was that, somehow, seeing the blood speckling Harry’s crisp white shirt as he swiftly holstered his gun made everything seem so much more real.

When Ashton finally made it back home to Niall hours later – groaning with nausea from the short car ride and splattered with someone else’s blood – the Irishman couldn’t drag Ashton into his arms fast enough. The teenager didn’t realise his hazel eyes were swimming with tears until Niall drew back to look at him and the choked sound that escaped the blond man forced a sob out of Ashton’s throat.

“Is he hurt?” Niall asked Harry in a low voice, never taking his eyes from Ashton as the dark-haired man stepped hesitantly closer, shutting the door behind them securely. “Is this his blood? Harry, answer me! What the fuck happened out there?!”

“He’s fine,” the Englishman said smoothly, one hand coming to settle on Ashton’s shoulder although the teenager shied away, unable to forget the calm expression on Harry’s face as he shot people. “He’s not hurt. That blood was pumping through a Bureau agent not so long ago.”

Niall’s face paled at that and he led Ashton into the kitchen, his expression unhappy as he realised the teenager was rapidly going into shock. Harry began making tea of his own accord and Niall felt a little of the tension bleed away as he sat down heavily at the table, keeping one of Ashton’s trembling hands held firmly between his own.

“I…” Ashton’s voice was little more than a whisper and he was shaking badly now as he folded one of his arms on the table, burying his face in it. The fedora fell from his head but he didn’t make any move to right it. “I didn’t kill him but I… I had to...”

“I know,” Niall whispered, one hand settling in the teenager’s soft curls as Ashton struggled to get his breath back. “You did what you had to do. I’m glad you’re safe.” He didn’t make any comments about how he hadn’t wanted Ashton to carry a weapon in the first place; Ashton looked absolutely bone-tired now and Niall could see it wouldn’t help anything.

“Someone betrayed us,” Harry said as he set a mug down in front of Ashton, wrapping his hand around it for him. “Drink up; it’ll help,” the Englishman added, his voice kinder. For a moment, Ashton remembered that day at Benito’s tailors and the way Harry had done everything he could to set him at ease. Then he remembered the sound of the shots ringing in his ears and he wasn’t so sure anymore.

“You need to go to Mr Payne with this,” Niall said and there was poorly-concealed urgency in his voice now although his blue eyes – still concerned – became harder. His fist slammed into the table and Ashton flinched. Chagrined, Niall forced himself to appear calmer than he was. “The pair of you could have been arrested or killed,” he said with poorly-suppressed anger. “If we’ve been betrayed by Collins’ damn gang then –”

“I know,” Harry said. “I’ll take care of it; don’t worry.” His green eyes flickered to where a wide-eyed Ashton was carefully taking a sip of the sugary tea and his expression softened fractionally. “Hey, Ash,” Harry prompted gently and the teenager looked up at him slowly, his eyelashes sticky with tears although a faint trace of his usual determination was colouring his tanned face again.

“Yeah, Harry?” he breathed. The Englishman smiled and Niall let out a quiet sigh of relief.

“You did so good tonight,” Harry said softly. “You didn’t panic and you took out two of them on your own, and we couldn’t be prouder of you, okay?”

“Okay,” Ashton murmured, a tiny smile touching his lips. “Thank you.” His dimples creased his cheeks faintly despite himself and he tried for a weak grin that almost touched his eyes.

“You’ll feel better in no time, kid,” the Irishman said reassuringly but, when Ashton looked over at him with just a trace of fading uncertainty in his hazel eyes, Niall realised that that was just what he was afraid of.

He had got used to this sort of bloody work once and now it didn’t bother him anymore. He barely had nightmares and killing someone meant little if it would secure his own safety or the safety of the people he cared about.

Niall didn’t want that to happen to the teenager.

He didn’t want Ashton to grow so cold.

“Well, I better be off if I’m going to catch Mr Payne before dawn,” Harry said suddenly, stirring Niall from his thoughts. The Englishman ruffled Ashton’s curls as he pushed away from the counter and his green eyes were glittering in the soft light. “You were a force to be reckoned with tonight, Ash,” Harry reminded him as he headed for the doorway. “I’m gonna make sure Mr Payne hears about this.”

That was quite possibly the reason Ashton wasn’t more surprised when Liam’s girlfriend Sophia appeared in the doorway of the storage room Ashton was crouched in.

He had been busily scribbling down calculations on how much longer their stock would last before another trade was necessary – the bitterness he felt at the betrayal only grew with every empty liquor crate he found – and Ashton was shivering with the cold by the time he welcomed Sophia’s arrival for the distraction it was.

“Miss Sophia,” the teenager said with mild surprise. “Can I help with you something?” She rolled her dark eyes fondly at the title but the usual anger that made her face tighten was gone now; she’d had a soft spot for the Texan ever since he’d made some barbed comment to one of the more sexist gang members at the risk of losing the little respect he had been able to gain.

She found him amusing and honest, and his self-deprecating humour reminded her shockingly of Fletcher although she hadn’t mentioned this to the teenager. She had a feeling it might not have been very well received.

“Less of the Miss,” she sighed, just like always. “How are you doing, Irwin? I hear you had an exciting time last night.” Her voice twisted a little around the words and she knew she hadn’t imagined the delicate wince as Ashton looked at her wearily.

“It was interesting; I’ll give you that.” His hand fell to where the flick knife was tucked away safely in his pocket and he tried not to look as hollow as he felt. “Has Harry been regaling everyone with my astounding feats of bravery?” The sarcasm in his tone was almost unnoticeable but Sophia’s eyes flashed as she smiled, the warmth of it taking the teenager by surprise.

“He has actually,” she confessed. “It’s been annoying Malik and Tomlinson no end which is always amusing.” She leant back against the doorframe, crossing her arms over the silk blouse she was wearing as her dark hair tumbled around her shoulders. “He said you were fearless when you were ambushed. Was he lying?”

“Slightly,” Ashton admitted although a little tension was settling in his shoulders now as he began to realise that perhaps Sophia wasn’t asking these questions out of idle curiosity; it seemed more than likely that Liam had asked her to. “I was scared. I just… didn’t think it was a helpful emotion at the time… so I decided to deal with it later instead.”

His hands began to shake faintly as he spoke but Ashton buried them quickly in the pockets of his suit trousers, crumpling the small notebook in his fist as he rose.

“I’m about done here,” he said. “Mr Payne asked me to report back to him with my findings so…”

“That works out well then,” the older woman said, waving an arm towards the light spilling in from the doorway as Ashton headed towards her. “Liam sent me down to collect you. He’d like to talk to you in his office.” The teenager’s heart rate quickened a little upon hearing that but Sophia’s face softened suddenly as she gave his arm a quick squeeze. “I’m glad you’re safe, Irwin. Now go upstairs to see Liam and mind your tongue, okay? He’s not having a good day today.”

Ashton headed back upstairs quickly with her warning ringing in his ears and his heart sank in his chest when he saw Frank lingering in the darkness by the Speakeasy’s main entrance. Ashton’s hand curled around the flick knife and his expression must have been more aggressive than he’d intended because the old man slunk back into the shadows, leaving the teenager free to walk unhindered.

Ashton knocked on the door at the end of the long corridor and he opened it hesitantly when Liam called for him to enter. The bright light of the office was blinding after the darkness of the corridor (as Ashton was sure Liam had intended it to be) and it took Ashton a moment for his eyes to adjust.

When they did, his heart sank in his chest.

“Good morning, sir,” Ashton said through gritted teeth. “Mr Malik. Mr Tomlinson.”

Louis grunted his reply. Zayn didn’t say anything at all. The leader of the gang raised his eyebrow wryly.

“So nice to see that we’re all in such good cheer this morning!” Liam said jovially and Ashton barely stopped himself from snorting in amusement. The older man’s dark eyes found his face and, when Liam winked at him companionably, Ashton felt himself visibly relaxing. He didn’t care how much Zayn and Louis hated him; they couldn’t very well do anything to him now and especially not when Liam was here.

“I suppose you must be wondering why I’ve called you all here today,” he said, palms falling to settle open on the dark panelled wood of his desk. His revolver lay polished and gleaming on the surface, and the amber whiskey in its crystal bottles sent shards of light glinting across its surface.

“First of all, I wanted to congratulate Ashton on a job well done last night. He coped very well and I would like to make it known that he has more than proved himself to be a loyal member.” Liam’s eyes flashed at that and the two men standing across from him shifted guiltily as Ashton’s cheeks heated at the praise.

“Secondly –” Liam’s voice grew noticeably colder and Ashton was glad the older man’s glare hadn’t settled on him. “I’ve seen that you two seem to have… let’s say an ‘issue’ with Ashton here.” Liam let the two men stew for a moment before he leant forwards, his hands curling into fists. “Do either of you want to tell me what the problem is?”

His voice stayed calm and almost gentle but, somehow, that only made him more sinister.

“Well…” Zayn looked like he was floundering and Ashton took no small amount of satisfaction from that although he was careful to keep it from his face, simply gazing on ahead as Liam glanced at him with something like approval. “The kid’s a stranger and –”

“Wrong,” Liam said sharply. Louis flinched back and Zayn flickered a quick, furious glance at Ashton before looking back sullenly at Liam again. “We’ve been over this, Malik. He’s Fletcher’s son. He’s been here for months and, to top it all off, he’s working harder than any of us and – Oh, don’t look at him like that! You know it’s the truth! The kid’s been working harder than any of us and you two acting like he’s about to turn you into the Bureau is getting on my last damn nerve. You think you can work properly if you’re just pouting and sulking? Because I damn well don’t!”

The gun was in his hand now and, although he was making a show of polishing it as he took a deep breath to calm his breathing, all three of their eyes were locked on the weapon. Liam picking it up had undoubtedly been a calculated movement and the threat in his dark eyes was palpable.

Ashton struggled to keep the shock off his face as he processed Liam’s words but there was something fiercely proud burning in his chest all the same. Liam Payne was one of the most infamous, notorious gangsters in all of America and here he was defending Ashton from two of his most long-lasting members.

“You’re… you’re right, sir,” Louis murmured at last, earning a betrayed look from Zayn as the blue-eyed man frowned down at the floor. “We’re sorry.”

Liam didn’t tell them that it wasn’t him they should be apologising to; after all, their work ethic had gone out the window and he was sure their profits would have suffered for it. Liam wasn’t yet appeased though, despite the obvious air of discomfort Ashton was exuding as he stood between them.

Zayn’s jaw was set, his cheeks flushed with poorly-suppressed anger, presumably at being forced to stand beside Ashton. Louis looked much the same although his blue eyes constantly flickered to Zayn, almost like he was making his next moves based on whatever the younger man did. Liam’s eyes missed nothing and he filed that away for a later date as his gaze drifted down to Ashton.

The teenager looked small between them, barely more than a boy as he stood there with a calm look on his face. His fedora was slipping down a little but his suit was pristine and Liam could see the outline of the flick knife Harry had given him tucked away in his pocket within easy reach.

“Apologise to Irwin,” Liam said once the silence had reached breaking point. “Next month will be terribly awkward if you don’t.” At the three blank looks he received, Liam’s lip curled into the smallest hint of a smirk. “Well, I decided that the best way for the three of you to learn to get along was to go out on a meet together.”

Zayn spluttered and Louis sighed like he should have seen this coming a mile away. Ashton just smiled grimly down at his shoes, aware that this was what Liam had had in mind all along. The gun was still cradled firmly in Liam’s hand and, as he twitched it up slightly in the direction of the two men, Ashton saw them both cringe back involuntarily.

Apparently, trusting Liam could be difficult at times.

“Get back to work,” the dark-haired man sighed before he looked up to find the teenager watching him curiously. “Ashton, stay behind please. We need to discuss your inventory of the remaining stock.”

The two men were almost out of the door when Liam quietly asked: “Aren’t you two forgetting something?”

His voice was soft and the two men looked at him blankly before the realisation dawned on their faces. Ashton forced himself to meet their gazes, chin jutting slightly although he struggled to keep the belligerence from his face.

“Sorry, Irwin,” Louis said uneasily and Ashton nodded wordlessly. Louis gave an awkward little shrug and left, leaving Zayn to linger in the doorway as he watched Ashton with dark fiery eyes.

“Sorry,” the older man said simply but that one word promised something painful if Ashton ever brought this up again.

The door shut behind them and Ashton let out a quiet sigh as Liam set the revolver back down on the desk with a satisfied expression on his face.

“You don’t think the gun was overkill?” Ashton asked without thinking, remembering too late what Sophia had said about minding his tongue. Luckily though, Liam just smiled thinly.

“Not at all,” the older man said as he holstered the revolver carefully beneath his jacket. “Sometimes fear works just as well as respect, Ashton. You should remember that.”

*

Slowly but surely, the mobsters began to warm to Ashton.

It wasn’t that the rest of the gang had decided they liked him now – far from it in some instances – but they were more placid now; more accepting of Fletcher Irwin’s son in their midst as Liam gave Ashton more and more responsibilities.

Harry insisted that it was because Ashton was doing such a good job; it was hard not to feel kindly to someone who was only trying to win their approval. Ashton felt their gradual acceptance blooming like sunlight on his skin and he knew he wasn’t imagining it when he looked into the Irishman’s face; Niall’s expression had become a perfect mixture of pain and pride when he looked at Ashton now, and it was so far from how Fletcher had treated Ashton growing up that the teenager didn’t know how to cope with feeling so appreciated.

Zayn and Louis were still cold with him, and it didn’t seem to matter how many times Liam made veiled threats or Harry enthusiastically told anyone who listened how impressive Ashton had been on the night their meet had gone south. The pair seemed unwilling to be anything more than grudgingly civil to Ashton and the teenager supposed he would just have to learn to accept that.

The meet Liam had arranged for the three of them came and went.

It was less awkward than Ashton had expected. When it actually came down to it, the three of them had put their differences aside and taken it in stride, and Ashton knew they’d done a good job. It was why Liam was already planning on sending the three of them out together again.

He had plans for Ashton too. Big plans.

The teenager was proving to be even more resourceful and level-headed than Liam had hoped for, and there were so many ways he could make it work in his favour. Ashton still had a look of wide-eyed innocence about him – like he was dressing up in someone else’s clothes almost, except when his father’s temper flared behind his eyes and set him alight from the inside out.

Liam knew his relationship with Ashton bothered Niall too and he liked that; liked keeping the Irishman on edge. Liam had always been controlling and possessive. He liked having all of his things where he could see them and keep them where they should be, and showing Niall that Ashton wasn’t his – that he belonged to Liam – had been on the mobster’s To Do list ever since he’d first set eyes on the kid.

Ashton thought he could sense it sometimes as he became aware of Liam’s iron will forcing Niall’s to weaken; like he was prying the Irishman’s fingers free and letting him fall into nothingness almost… but Ashton wasn’t going to let that happen. He’d already decided that Niall was too important to lose (and, with hindsight, he was sure Liam knew he felt this way).

That was the only reason Ashton blurted out: “I’ll do it!” when Liam came into Niall’s office where the pair of them had been sitting and explained that he needed to locate someone who owed him money. It turned out that a potential informant came from the same area where Liam had found Niall being mugged years before and, even as the mobster had been speaking, Ashton watched the quickly-suppressed fear ripple across Niall’s face at the memories.

Ashton didn’t blame him; he felt sick himself when he remembered how vulnerable he’d felt on the night it had happened to him… how ashamed and small and useless. Ashton hadn’t wanted Niall to feel like that and, no sooner had he considered this, the offer had escaped him and the two men were watching him, Liam curious and Niall nothing short of frightened.

“I’ll do it,” Ashton repeated as his pulse thundered in his ears. “I can find him for you. I’ll tell you where he is.”

Those were the events that had led Ashton to his current whereabouts.

The wild energy crackling in Ashton’s veins – growing steadily calmer as the weeks slipped past – had returned with a vengeance tonight, burning through his veins like adrenaline-spiked blood.

Ashton knew it was just because this was the first job he’d been sent on alone but that didn’t make him feel any better. He couldn’t believe he felt more anxious about this than he did when he had to hide prohibited items during a raid from Bureau agents but it made sense. While less might arguably have been riding on the successful completion of this job, Ashton didn’t let that distract him.

This was Liam’s money they were talking about and Ashton couldn’t let him down. Not if he wanted his current job to be permanent.

Now he was standing in the shadowy corner of a shabby-looking Speakeasy on the other side of Chicago, tuning out the clink of glasses and the raucous sound of raised drunken voices as his hazel eyes scanned the crowded room, searching for the man who Liam believed had information that might help them find who they were looking for.

Ashton's hazel eyes alighted on him after a few moments. The man – whose name was Brian Dales – was sitting nursing a pint at the bar, his tired eyes downcast as he took a sip of his drink. The stool beside his was empty and Ashton pushed himself away from the wall, straightening his jacket and hat as he wove through the crowd towards the older man.

Ashton didn’t know much about him – just that he was a fairly elusive man with a lot of useful connections – and he approached the situation warily because of it. The man was smaller than average, dressed in an untidy grey suit with fingerless gloves covering his twitching hands.

Ashton settled down into the seat beside him, uncaring that the barman was currently serving someone else at the far end of the bar. The older man glanced up at him uninterestedly when the teenager sat down but he tensed up visibly when he saw that Ashton seemed content to watch him.

“You’re Mr Dales?” the teenager asked and the older man shrugged uncomfortably.

“Who’s asking?” Brian demanded. “What do you want with me, kid?”

Ashton opened his hands in a placating gesture, hoping that this was going to be a simple matter of bribing the man to tell him what he needed to know, even as anger unfurled inside him at being referred to as a kid again.

“You have information on someone who owes my boss money,” Ashton said, pitching his voice so that it was just quiet enough that Brian had to lean closer to hear. “I’m willing to pay for the information,” he added, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket to show a wad of money. “Will you tell me where I can find John Feldmann?”

Brian snorted, turning away and taking a gulp of his beer. It was a childish futile gesture; if he thought Ashton was going to leave just because he was trying to ignore him, he had another thing coming.

Liam had prepared Ashton for this; had said that blackmailing and threats often worked better with cowards like Brian. Ashton had watched Liam threaten enough people during his time in the gang that it felt almost easy to mirror the mobster’s actions now; he had to put them at ease and then strike like a snake, and Ashton thought he knew just how to do it.

“Don’t ignore me, Brian.” He made his voice as warm as possible and the older man glanced towards him uneasily at the sound of his first name. “Now this is the 1920s, my friend!” Ashton said, flashing the older man an easy smile as his hazel eyes danced in his tanned face, sparkling in the shadow his fedora cast. “The Great War’s over and we all survived to tell the tale!” His smile faded suddenly, iced over and became hard, just like Liam had taught him. “So tell me where I can find Feldmann.”

Brian’s jaw dropped at the sudden iciness flooding Ashton’s voice but he still didn’t speak, apparently too surprised that someone he had just referred to as a ‘kid’ was threatening him. Ashton sighed, aware that he wasn’t getting anywhere because the man wasn’t taking him seriously.

Rolling his eyes, Ashton took the flick knife from his pocket and stabbed it down hard into the leather bar stool the older man was sitting on, just centimetres from the irritating man’s thigh.

“Look here!” Brian exclaimed, panicking badly now as Ashton wrenched the knife free and tucked it out of sight before anyone could see it. “I don’t want no trouble!”

Ashton smiled thinly.

“Next time that’s your leg,” he promised and there was nothing but determination blazing in his eyes. “Now tell me where he is.”

The threat worked.

The words began to spill out of Brian and Ashton made a mental note of all of them. Ashton flicked the knife open casually and knew Brian had noticed by the frightened squeak that escaped him.

“Now tell me again,” Ashton said softly, twisting the knife slightly so that it caught the light. “Only try and do it without lying this time, okay? Or I’ll gut you.”

Ashton had to try so hard not to smirk at that. He had no intention of disembowelling the pathetic snivelling man in front of him but it was funny to watch his reaction all the same. Ashton was so sick of people not taking him seriously; he’d had enough.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Brian whined. “He’s over near Oakland Park so he’s still in Chicago honestly! I’m sorry I lied to you! I can give you his address, I promise!” The older man reached shakily into his inside pocket for a scrap of paper and he flinched when Ashton passed him a pen wordlessly but the letters were just about legible, and the teenager knew he’d got what he’d come for now.

“Much better,” Ashton said coldly but, when Brian’s hand twitched reflexively towards the wad of money Ashton had shown him earlier, he suddenly found the tip of the knife digging into his stomach, not hard enough to draw blood although that might change if he made any sudden movements. The weapon was hidden in the fold of his jacket and Ashton smiled again, the expression almost gentle as he pressed the knife in just a tiny bit harder.

“Try that again,” Ashton said quietly, his hazel eyes hard as stone. “I dare you.”

Unsurprisingly, Brian decided he didn’t want to finish his beer anymore and looked up at Ashton pleadingly. The teenager sighed contemptuously, flicking the knife away with a look of disgust on his face.

“Dales,” he snapped when the older man immediately got to his feet, apparently prepared to hurry away. Brian looked back at him fearfully and Ashton sighed bitterly, tossing the wad of cash into the older man’s trembling hands. “Don’t tell Feldmann anything, okay?”

“Yes, boss,” the older man said shakily, staggering away and almost running for the door as Ashton watched him go with a pitying expression on his face. The teenager glanced down at the place the knife had bit into the stool with something like regret on his face but he left quickly too, disappearing out into the night before anyone could call him out on what had just happened.

At least he’d got the information they needed though. At least now Liam would be happy with him.

Ashton turned the collar of his coat up and double-checked that the piece of paper containing Feldmann’s address was still tucked safely in his pocket. His fingers curled around the knife’s handle and Ashton adjusted his fedora as he walked along in the darkness.

He felt calmer now; more confident maybe. He refused to be seen as a child when he was perfectly capable of getting what he wanted.

For just a brief moment, Ashton wondered if his father would be proud of him –

And then Ashton wondered if he even cared at all.

Chapter Text

As the months slipped like water through his fingers, Ashton’s prominence within the gang grew.

Although it still happened occasionally, he rarely caught the other mobsters shooting him fearful or angry glances anymore; there was only curiosity and a surprising trust that bordered on solidarity. Ashton finally felt as though he had been accepted.

He was sent on many different jobs alone now, the latest of which was an inspection of a clandestine brewery that Liam was considering taking on as a new moonshine supplier. Everything seemed above board - or as above board as it was possible for an illegal distillery to be - and the burly man running the joint had been just fearful enough of Ashton that he realised his reputation preceded him. That had been satisfying; it meant that Ashton - and by extension Liam - were a lot less likely to be double-crossed which could only ever be a good thing.

Treachery was not treated kindly by Liam Payne.

That had always been the way of things but it was especially true these days. Liam’s girlfriend Sophia was pregnant out of wedlock and Ashton saw the reality of it eating away at the older woman’s face sometimes, when she thought no one could see the dull horror warring with the love growing in her eyes.

A strange tension crept through the long, dark hallways of the Speakeasy, insidious as a shadow. It put everyone on edge and it didn’t take long for the mobsters to realise that it radiated from an incredibly possessive Liam.

Suddenly, everything became about protecting his unborn child and - when Sophia was kidnapped by a rival gang led by the disreputable Mitchy Collins (the very same mobster who had tried to betray Ashton and Harry that night) - all hell broke loose as the ever-present spark of madness in Liam’s eyes ignited.

Sophia was returned a week later, her body bloodied and her face exhausted as she cradled the growing bump beneath her torn dress. It was a painfully clear warning to Liam to stop meddling in Collins’ jobs - that much was evident to anyone with half a brain cell - and Ashton thought only of Sophia’s frightened, hollow eyes as Liam’s fury at what had happened finally overcame him.

His mobsters were lined up in the Speakeasy’s main room in two rows, the wooden floor polished to a shine beneath Liam’s stalking feet as he paced between them like a caged lion. His words were deafening in the quiet room as he shouted about treachery and all of the sickening things he wanted to do to Collins, and Ashton smelt the whiskey on the older man’s breath as it wafted from him like smoke.

The mob boss was utterly intoxicated, drunk on fear and rage.

“With all due respect, sir,” one of the older mobsters began, his blue eyes flashing with wariness beneath black, slicked back hair. Ashton had only seen him round a few times - he thought his name was Andy or Andrew, maybe - but the man hadn’t seemed reckless before so Ashton wondered why he was behaving so rashly now. “Why are you yelling at us like it was us who swiped your darling? Wouldn’t we be better getting out there after Collins and his men? What’s yelling gonna solve, boss?”

Liam stood very still, his nostrils flaring as he breathed steadily, his expression surprisingly calm as he processed this. The worried-looking man was just beginning to relax when Liam took a measured step closer, smashing him over the head with the butt of his revolver.

The man went down like a sack of potatoes and Ashton flinched, one hand flying halfway to his mouth in shock before he caught Niall’s eyes where the Irishman was standing across from him. The blond man shook his head infinitesimally and Ashton froze, his fear warring with his instincts of self-preservation as he shakily resumed his previous position, shoulders back and hands clasped neatly in front of him.

“Anyone else got anything they’d like to say?” Liam asked, breathing a little heavier than usual but otherwise unruffled. When no one spoke, he lit a cigar from a tin in his pocket and inhaled deeply, his dark eyes passing over everyone who remained standing. Ashton wondered if he had imagined it when Liam’s gaze lingered on him for just a few seconds too long to be chance.

For a moment, Ashton wondered what his father would think if he could see his son now, trembling in the presence of one of the most notorious felons in America, wearing Fletcher’s own fedora as his hands trembled with adrenaline and the nervous energy inside threatened to burn him up.

Ashton knew he'd never get an answer to that question but it didn't stop him from tormenting himself over it.

Maybe nothing ever would.

“No?” Liam continued, his cold eyes flashing as he finally stopped his pacing, standing over the man lying on the ground. Somehow, the stillness was more unnerving. “The gangs are at war now,” Liam said, casual as anything. He flicked the ash from his cigar carelessly onto the bleeding man and Ashton watched as his semi-conscious body jerked at the sudden burning pain.

“They’ve already tried to take the Speakeasy but now it’s personal,” Liam said, looking towards his office where Sophia was waiting for him inside. The madness in his eyes did not falter and Ashton wondered how he’d never noticed it before. “We’re going to destroy every last fucking one of them.”

He stormed out of the room and, as the heavy door swung shut behind him, the silence in his wake was deafening.

No one moved to help the weakly-groaning man lying bleeding on the ground because they weren’t sure what would happen to them if they did. The bruise swelling on his forehead was already a sickening reddish-purple and, against the man’s pale skin, the injury looked nothing short of alarming.

Ashton resisted the urge to back away because that was what a kid would do… and he wasn’t a kid anymore. He wasn’t, even if everyone always treated him like it.

Even despite his stubborn determination, Ashton couldn’t quite stop himself from wondering if maybe he would have been safer back alone on the ranch after all. Sure, there was always the risk of starving to death but at least no one there would have pistol whipped him if they caught him looking at them in the wrong way.

As he held Niall’s anxious gaze across the silent room, the spell holding the mobsters in place finally broke when a pale-faced man named Michael Clifford knelt at the injured mobster's side.

“Come on, Biersack,” he murmured, shaking the man's shoulder gently. “Come on, Andy, you gotta open your eyes for me, yeah?” Another door slammed somewhere deeper in the building – clearly, Liam was still working through his temper – and, although Michael stiffened, he didn’t leave Andy’s side. “There we go,” Michael said softly, helping the injured man into a sitting position. “Good man.”

“Clifford?” Andy croaked and Michael hummed, slipping an arm around the older man’s waist as he helped him to his feet. Michael’s tan suit was a little crumpled but his green eyes were relieved as he helped Andy in the direction of his own office, presumably to help clean him up.

“What are you staring at, Irwin? Move,” Michael barked and Ashton stepped back sharpish, suddenly aware that he had simply been gawping at the surprisingly tender display in front of him. Niall appeared nearby, his fingers tightening around Ashton’s elbow as he began to guide him swiftly out of the room.

Murmurs rose as they headed for the exit but Ashton glanced back as the pair of them disappeared through the door, his hands curling into fists when he saw Michael levelling him with a very unfriendly look.

Maybe it was because he hadn't stayed to help… or maybe Michael had just taken a disliking to him. Ashton wanted to care but after what he'd just seen, earning the trivial affections of admittedly-attractive men who were close to strangers meant very little to him in that moment.

Niall didn't release the younger man's arm or allow them to slow their frantic pace until they were already outside, far beyond Frank’s greedy clutches. Ashton’s fedora was the only thing protecting him from the rainy weather but Niall didn’t seem to care. He let the raindrops muss his blond hair without a second thought and it made him look a lot more human just then. It reminded Ashton of that night when Niall had cried by the window, more fragile than the younger man had ever seen him.

Only when the Speakeasy was out of sight and Niall had dug a cigarette out of his pocket did he allow them to relax.

“Ah, damn,” the Irishman breathed, his expression extremely unhappy as he leant back heavily against a rough brick wall. The painted 'WE WANT BEER' was faded behind him and Niall looked years older than he had done that morning as he ran his fingers through his damp blond hair, leaving it sticking up untidily in several directions.

The older man was still trembling visibly beside him and Ashton frowned as he processed this, wondering why Niall was so much warier these days. He hoped it wasn't the added stress of having to take care of Ashton on top of everything else; that would make the younger man feel terrible.

“I’m sorry your birthday hasn’t exactly got off to a great start,” Niall said suddenly, taking Ashton by surprise.

The younger man reeled back, his hazel eyes widening as he blurted out: “Wait, you remembered?”

“Of course I did, kid,” Niall said with a frown, his expression turning that strange mixture of sad and fond that he had worn so much back when they first met. “What kind of a question is that?”

Ashton hesitated, his arms wrapping around himself seemingly of their own accord. The discomfort welled inside him like acid as he recalled quite a few occasions during his childhood when Fletcher hadn’t remembered his son’s birthday until too late… when Fletcher hadn’t even bothered to come home for it.

Niall – who had always seemed to know Ashton better than he knew himself – stubbed his cigarette out on the wall and drew the younger man into a tight hug, uncaring that they were out on the street in broad daylight, just a few minutes’ walk from the Speakeasy.

“You’re twenty today, Ash,” Niall said softly and the use of Ashton’s name over calling him ‘kid’ sent the younger man’s eyes prickling with tears. “You’re an adult and you made it this far on your own, and I’m so fucking proud of you, okay? I don’t think you get told that enough… but I mean it. I’m so glad I found you that night.”

Ashton rubbed his eyes hard with his sleeve, embarrassed but also glowing with how much the words meant to him.

“You just made me cry in public,” he choked out, because it was silly and light-hearted, and the only thing he could think of that wouldn’t make him break down. Niall smiled at him, clapping the younger man fondly on the shoulder.

“That’s ‘cause you’re a sissy,” the Irishman teased and Ashton tried to smile but it slipped from his face like the raindrops because… well, Niall had hit the nail on the head there, hadn’t he? Ashton might have been closer to the blond man than probably anyone else in the world but he was still too scared to tell him his secret because… damn, who knew how he’d react?

What if Ashton lost Niall – not because of an injury or a job gone south – but because of the simple reason that Niall didn’t want to be anywhere near him if he found out that Ashton was queer?

“You’ve gone all quiet,” the Irishman noticed softly, his blue eyes turned sad again. He brushed Ashton’s shoulder lightly with his knuckles and a weak smile tugged at the younger man’s lips. “What’s wrong, kid?”

“Just worried about Sophia and Andy,” Ashton muttered and it was only half a lie. “Need to take my mind off it I think. Too much nervous energy. Maybe I’ll read when we get home or…”

His words trailed away as a truly wicked smile spread across Niall’s face.

“I think we should go out tonight, kid. Really celebrate your birthday,” the Irishman decided, his excited grin contagious. “Might be just what we need to distract us.” He threw Ashton a silly wink then, making the younger man snort. “Plus, I’m sure you can find someone to help you burn all that energy away, huh? I can think of something that’d help…”

“You letch!” Ashton exclaimed but his cheeks had heated at Niall’s crude comment and the blond man looked proud of himself for distracting his friend.

“Am not!” the Irishman declared, rolling his eyes fondly. “Now c’mon, kid. Let’s get out of this rain. We’ve gotta have you looking pretty for all those ladies tonight. They’ll think you’re the bee’s knees.”

Ashton scoffed as he followed Niall but a tiny smile grew on his face all the same.

Maybe a night out with the Irishman was just what he needed.

Ashton liked the Speakeasy that Niall had taken him to.

It was on the other side of Chicago which had been quite a long walk but something about the coolness of the evening air and their traded banter had made the journey pass quickly. The atmosphere in the subterranean bar was a lot more pleasant than at Liam Payne’s Speakeasy. The music was softer, the laughter less raucous, the glasses cleaner.

Ashton hoped that no one from the gang knew they were here. It wasn’t exactly breaking the rules to visit the establishment of a rival gang but it was definitely frowned upon, especially after Liam’s talk of gang war earlier in the day.

Ashton sighed as he sat alone at the little table he’d picked, gazing out over the room that was filled to bursting with patrons. The jazz was just loud enough to be heard over the clink of glasses and the giggles of the women at the next table. The correct term for them was ‘flappers’, Ashton was fairly certain. With their bobbed hair, short skirts, and absolute disdain for the way society was treating them, they were a sight to behold.

Ashton found them formidable.

Niall gazed at them with so much admiration on his face that he almost slopped the next round of drinks down the front of his suit when he finally sat back down but he didn’t even seem to notice Ashton’s incredulous laugh. The Irishman simply lit a cigarette, taking a sip of whiskey and visibly relaxing back into the comfortable chairs. His cheeks were flushed with excitement and alcohol, and Ashton found himself smiling without permission as he tasted his own drink.

“Happy birthday, kid,” Niall said, grinning when the younger man winced a little at the burn of the whiskey. “That’ll grow some hairs on your chest in no time. By the time I was twenty, I had –”

“- just as much peach fuzz as you do now?” Ashton asked innocently, smirking when Niall spluttered into his drink.

Their laughter caught the attention of one of the girls sitting nearby and Ashton glanced over at the sounds of their murmuring, his cheeks heating when he caught the gaze of a pretty blonde girl over the rim of her glass.

Niall followed his friend’s eyes, his lips quirking with approval when the girl looked away, blushing sweetly.

“You should go talk to her,” the blond man said and Ashton paled, looking up at his friend like a startled rabbit caught in the headlights.

“No!” he gasped. “I couldn’t. No way.”

“I’m not gonna force you, kid!” Niall said, his tone soothing as he gently nudged Ashton’s glass back into his unresisting hands. He looked almost apologetic now and, mollified, Ashton tried to paste a smile over his face with only minor success. “I was just teasing, yeah? I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“It’s fine. Let’s just talk about something else.”

“Okay,” Niall said, smiling easily enough. He thought for a moment before his face lit up. “Let’s talk about Chicago, kid. Let’s talk about the fact that you’ve been living here for over a year and a half now!”

“I hadn’t realised it was that long,” Ashton frowned, staring down into the swirling amber filling his glass as he mulled that over. “I could have sworn I only left the ranch a few months ago but… I guess not.” He shook his head, teeth worrying at his lip. “Y’know… I don’t think about dad so much anymore,” he added suddenly, his voice so soft beneath the music that Niall had to lean closer to hear it. “As a kid, he was literally my whole world… but… things have changed now.”

Ashton fell quiet as he suddenly identified that strange restless energy filling him. It had worsened when he’d stopped wandering; when he’d finally tried to settle down somewhere and live… and maybe that was the way it was meant to be. Maybe Ashton was destined never to linger in one place for too long.

Even as a child, he had always been walking beside Fletcher, his father’s hat falling over his eyes to shield his face from the hot sun… but things were different now. Ashton had adapted – he’d had to in order to survive – and now that he was no longer wandering, a fiery energy burnt inside that even the rain and his own fear couldn’t extinguish.

He slowly became aware that Niall was watching him, his glass empty and a frown creasing his pale brow.

“You look like you just figured something out,” the Irishman said and Ashton smiled thinly, raising his own glass and draining the contents in one gulp.

“I did,” he said breathlessly as he reached for Niall’s empty glass too, clinking them together as he lifted them with one long-fingered hand. “I realised I’m going to get very, very drunk tonight.”

Niall crowed delightedly, clapping his hands in excitement as Ashton headed for the bar.

“That’s my friend!” the blond man yelled, loud enough for the entire Speakeasy to hear probably. Apparently Niall was drunker than the younger man had realised. “It’s his birthday!”

By the time Ashton reached the bar, his cheeks were flaming and he was fairly certain he’d have to get drunk solely to forget the embarrassment he was feeling after several patrons had let out a celebratory cheer for him.

“Good evening,” the barman said as Ashton leant against the polished wood, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. “What can I get you on such a special evening?”

Ashton groaned and the man behind the bar grinned, dimples creasing his tanned cheeks as his eyes crinkled under dark curls.

“Sorry, it was just too hard to resist,” the barman teased, his expression softening. He had a nice smile, Ashton decided; it made him look warm and friendly. “Now what can I get you?”

Ashton gave his order and the dark-haired man got to work, whistling softly to himself in time with the jazz music as he served him. Ashton reached inside his suit for his wallet but the man shook his head firmly, putting his hands behind his back in an admittedly endearing gesture of refusal.

“These will cost you nothing,” the man said firmly. “It’s your birthday, right? So they’re on the house. My treat.” Ashton looked at him in surprise, his hazel eyes softening at the genuine kindness on the barman’s handsome face.

“Thank you,” Ashton said, extending a hand for the man to shake and blushing when their fingers remained entwined for just a moment too long. “My name’s Ashton.”

“Calum,” the dark-haired man replied, his full lips curving into another of those beautiful smiles. “But you can call me Cal if you like.”

“I would.” Ashton’s cheeks heated further when he realised their fingertips were still brushing on the bar and he withdrew his hand unwillingly, gesturing towards where Niall was probably alone at their little table. “Well, I better get back to my friend. I’m sure he’ll be missing me.”

“Can’t say I blame him, birthday boy,” Calum grinned, winking in a way that set butterflies filling Ashton’s stomach. “Enjoy the drinks, Ashton. Until next time.” 

“Ash!” Niall called excitedly. “You’re back!”

“And you’re a lightweight apparently,” Ashton replied dryly as he slid back into his seat, passing the older man his new drink. There was a sudden lack of free seats at the table and Ashton swallowed, his mouth going dry. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your new friends, Ni?”

The nickname rolled off his tongue as easy as breathing and the older man grinned as he turned to gesture grandly to the flappers who had joined him in Ashton’s absence.

“These lovely ladies are Hailee, Ellie, Taylor, and Bryana,” Niall said, introducing them all as though he’d known them for years and not just the time it took for Ashton to flirt awkwardly with the barman. “Hailee here has just started college,” Niall added which was noteworthy enough that Ashton shot the dark-haired girl a surprised smile. “What did you say you were studying again?”

Ashton zoned out as the conversation continued, nodding and smiling at all the right times as he drained his drink. Another was pushed into his hand fairly quickly and – suddenly glad that the older man had announced his birthday to the entire bar – Ashton threw that one back too, doing his utmost to lose himself in the buzz of alcohol.

At some point during the evening, Niall had swapped seats so that he could sit beside Hailee. The pretty blonde girl from earlier - whose name was Bryana, Ashton was fairly certain - seemed delighted with the new seating arrangements.

Her big dark eyes were framed with long lashes that fluttered whenever she caught Ashton watching her and she kept laying a small hand on his arm whenever he cracked an awkward joke, laughing far more than the situation warranted.

Eventually, Niall’s chair scraped back across the polished floor as Hailee hung on his arm. She whispered something, her hand slipping inside Niall’s jacket to rest against the open collar of his shirt and the Irishman smirked, his lips brushing her cheekbone in such an effortless way that Ashton felt a pang in his chest for a moment.

“Hailee has some Mary Jane she wants to share,” Niall said by way of explanation when he saw the questioning look his friend was shooting him. Ashton’s sudden panic threatened to envelope him when he realised that Ellie and Taylor had already left to dance, and he didn’t want to be alone with Bryana. “Won’t be long, Ash. Probably.”

The pair of them disappeared outside with a snicker, leaving a red-faced Ashton to try and hide his dismay, lest he offend Bryana.

“Did… did you want to dance?” she asked quietly, a lot more timid now that her friends were gone. Her fingers shook a little as she lit a cigarette to calm her nerves and Ashton watched her, wishing he actually wanted her more than he could put into words. She certainly wanted him. He could see it in her eyes.

“Not good at dancing,” he said, shrugging apologetically but making no move to get up. “But you should go dance with your friends if you’re bored. They’ll be more fun than this old wet blanket.” He gestured to himself self-deprecatingly and Bryana’s lips turned down sadly.

“It’s okay,” she said softly, patting his hand awkwardly as she inhaled the smoke. “I don’t mind if we just sit for a while… unless you’d rather do something more fun?”

“I really don’t want to dance with you,” Ashton said firmly, rubbing the bridge of his nose as a headache threatened to bloom behind his eyes. Maybe he was drunker than he’d realised too.

“I didn’t mean dancing,” the blonde girl retorted and she looked a little impatient now, and somehow it only made her more beautiful. Her hand settled just above his knee and Ashton swallowed, catching her gaze with wide-eyed shock. Her hand crept a little higher and, tensing as he seriously considered making a run for it, his knight in shining armour appeared to save him.

Calum was tidying the tables nearby, collecting empty glasses and wiping down the surfaces, and it was his whistling that had distracted Bryana from her conquest. The barman smiled at them both cheerfully as he collected some of their glasses but he didn’t interrupt. The only sign that he had noticed their current predicament at all was a slight narrowing of his eyes although the frown smoothed when he caught Ashton looking at him.

Calum smiled tightly, his expression equal parts jealous and approving, and Ashton pressed his lips together hard as he took in the barman’s muscles shifting under his shirt and the way the soft lighting cast his cheekbones into sharp relief. When Calum leant over to wipe some spilt beer from their table, Ashton struggled to tear his hungry gaze away from where Calum’s trousers clung to his thighs. It was just so difficult to concentrate, at least until Bryana pointedly cleared her throat when she caught Ashton watching Calum’s slow amble back to the bar, shooting her drinking partner a funny look.

“Are you queer?” she asked flatly, thankfully waiting until the barman was out of earshot which was more than Ashton could have hoped for. “Is that why you don’t want to sleep with me?”

“Of course not!” Ashton lied instinctively, fighting down his panic. “I do want to sleep with you. You’re beautiful.”

“You think I’m beautiful?” she whispered, her cheeks heating as she looked down, her long eyelashes brushing her cheeks. A blonde curl tumbled free and Ashton’s fingers trembled as he tucked it gently behind her ear again, wishing more than anything that this was what he wanted.

“Sure I do,” he said softly. He wondered where Niall and Hailee had disappeared to for a moment; wished he could be as happy-go-lucky as the Irishman seemed to be most of the time. Ashton saw the doubt in Bryana’s eyes fading to be replaced with want and he swallowed hard, trying to convince himself that there was no reason to feel as though he was up against the sinister Mitchy Collins himself.

“Let’s get out of here then,” Bryana suggested, smiling even as she swayed drunkenly upon staggering to her feet. She tangled their fingers tightly together and Ashton grudgingly allowed himself to be pulled along, his heart pounding too hard in his chest as they crossed the mostly-empty dance floor.

It must have been very late for the Speakeasy to be so quiet and Ashton knew his birthday was probably already over now. He was officially twenty years old and already he didn’t like it. What a frightening way to begin this new chapter of his life.

“C’mon,” she murmured, her breath tickling his cheek as she leant against him, drawing his arm firmly around her waist. “I don’t live far from here. It’s only the next block.”

Ashton saw Niall and Hailee outside, pressed back against the wall in the shadows as they kissed, fingers tangling in hair as searching hands slipped beneath clothes. Niall gave another drunken cheer when he spotted Ashton slipping into the night with Bryana and the blonde girl giggled again, her cheeks flaming as she hid her face in Ashton’s neck.

He bristled, glancing back into the Speakeasy just as the door began to swing shut. Calum was standing behind the bar, utterly impassive as he watched them leaving. Ashton wondered if he’d imagined the sympathetic look growing on the man’s handsome face in the second before he was hidden from sight.

“This way, birthday boy,” Bryana whispered and it was nothing like when Calum had called him it. Nothing at all. Ashton finally gave up fighting, tightening his fingers around hers as she led him towards an apartment building nearby. It was shabbier than Niall’s but not by much and he glanced around curiously as she let him into her rooms, scattered with candles and perfume bottles, and a surprising number of peculiarly large leather jackets and boots.

Uncaring, Ashton followed her into the bedroom, drying his sweaty palms on his suit trousers as he tried to shake off the feeling that someone was watching him. Bryana removed his fedora with something like reverence, settling it carefully on the nightstand nearby.

Ashton felt naked without it and her face softened as she drew him into a gentle kiss, coaxing his lips apart with her own. He caught a glimpse of her dark eyes through his closing lids and it made him think of Calum’s warm gaze for a moment, and the way he melted under her then as she pushed him down onto the bed could not have been a coincidence.

Their clothes tumbled onto the floor as the temperature in the room rose and Ashton still didn’t want this but he wished he did, and that was almost enough… except for how it wasn’t.

He found himself picturing Calum as they moved together, skin growing damp with sweat as her teeth sank into his shoulder. He thought of those dark eyes and his chiselled jawline, and the way those strong arms would feel pinning him down as he rocked into her, and the thought of finally allowing himself to be so close to another man was Ashton’s undoing.

He pulled out clumsily, shuddering against the sheets with eyes squeezed so tightly shut that he could see little suns bursting behind his lids; so real that he could feel them warming his skin.

Ashton passed out like that, with one arm flung carelessly over the blonde woman’s waist, his face buried in the pillows so that he could keep the fantasy alive, just for a few moments longer.

When Ashton slept that night, he dreamt of Calum’s mouth on his skin.  

The twenty year old felt dreadful the next morning. His head ached from the alcohol the night before, his mouth felt as though it was full of sawdust, and there was an unpleasant tenderness in his chest that made breathing feel difficult, and which Ashton slowly identified as shame.

He should never have slept with Bryana like that. She had been an experiment doomed to fail before he’d even begun but… but she’d also been the first person Ashton had ever been physically intimate with and perhaps a tiny part of him had hoped that she might be enough to ‘cure’ him.

He lay there without moving for as long as he could, staring up at the ceiling and praying that maybe his tumultuous emotions would stop threatening to tear him apart if he just stayed still enough.

The day was dawning bright and warm outside but Ashton felt cold. His clothes were crumpled on the ground and, at some point during the night, his fedora had tumbled out of sight too. He pushed himself into a sitting position slowly, his stomach roiling with the alcohol and the knowledge of what he’d done.

Ashton swallowed thickly past the lump rising in his throat, his eyes prickling as he struggled into his shirt and trousers. He bundled his braces and tie into his pockets, folding his suit jacket over his arm. His curls were in disarray and he badly wanted to go home so that he could clean up, preferably before Niall caught him looking this terrible.

Ashton never wanted to think about last night again.

He was halfway out the door when he heard a soft sigh behind him that froze him where he stood.

Glancing over his shoulder warily, he saw Bryana sitting up in bed with tears rolling down her cheeks. She was clutching the blankets to her bare chest, her blonde curls flat on one side from the way she’d been lying all night. There was a crease on the cheek from her pillow and the redness of her eyes made Ashton ache a little more sharply.

“You forgot your hat,” she whispered, pointing shakily towards where it was lying on the floor nearby. “You can’t leave anything here.”

He picked it up silently and she let out a little sob, one small hand rising to cover her mouth, smeared with lipstick and things Ashton would rather not remember.

“My fiancé…” Her voice broke off with another tearful whimper and she buried her head in her hands, uncaring of the blankets falling to pool around her waist. “Nicholas is going to kill me,” she wept. “He’ll kill me if he finds out.”

“Then don’t tell him,” Ashton said, his voice coming out a lot more bluntly than he’d intended. Her lower lip wobbled as more tears escaped and Ashton sighed, leaning against the doorframe as he weakened under the weight of her anguish.

“But what if you -?”

“Don’t break your romance over me,” he muttered, angling the hat so that the dampness of his eyes was hidden from sight. “I’m not worth it.”

He left quickly after that, hurrying along beneath the vast blue sky as the emptiness inside threatened to swallow him whole. His eyes were stinging with tears and he had to stop twice on the way home to be sick, his stomach twisting so violently that he was almost doubled-over by the time he finally got the door to the apartment unlocked.

Niall was waiting for him in the kitchen and the hopeful smile on the older man’s face slipped away instantly when he saw the state of his friend.

“Oh, Ash,” he breathed, taking in the greyness of the younger man’s face and the shaking of his hands. Ashton sank down into a seat at the kitchen table and Niall reached over to squeeze his hand gently. “What happened, kid? She didn’t want to sleep with you? Or...”

“She did,” he croaked as the tears finally boiled over. “We did.”

He hated himself for being so weak; for letting Niall down like this.

“You didn’t like sex?” the Irishman asked and it felt nothing like the joke he’d made before when Maya had spent the night. There was nothing but gentleness in Niall’s face now and that somehow only made Ashton want to cry harder.

“I’m queer, Ni,” the younger man choked out, burying his face in his hands as his shame overwhelmed him. “I tried not to be but… but I can’t fight it anymore. I’m sorry.”

He didn’t know which part he was apologising for but it proved unnecessary in the end because, after a stunned silence and the sound of padding footsteps, a pair of familiar muscled arms wrapped warmly around him.

Ashton melted into the unexpected hug with a surprised sob, his tears boiling down his cheeks when Niall pressed a chaste kiss to his messy curls.

“It’s okay, Ash,” Niall murmured, gathering the younger man closer and simply holding him there, almost as though he was keeping his friend from falling apart. “You’ll be okay.”

Another piece of Ashton’s heart broke away then.

Sometimes he wondered if the pain would ever stop.

Chapter Text

Ashton felt closer to Niall after his tearful confession in the kitchen.

The Irishman had been more accepting than Ashton had had any right to expect and the relentless kindness of his closest friend caused the younger man to dissolve into tears more than once in the privacy of his tiny cupboard bedroom. It felt strange to cry because of relief and not sadness; to feel faith instead of dread.

Niall had given Ashton a greater gift than the younger man could ever have hoped for.

The inescapable energy always swirling in his bones felt like sunlight now and the gentle glow of it warmed Ashton from the inside out as he navigated the long hallway towards Liam’s office. He was a little wary at having been called in – especially since Andy had mysteriously vanished from the Speakeasy following the confrontation earlier in the week – but Ashton knew better than to keep the mob boss waiting; that was a sure-fire way to cause suffering the likes of which he would rather not consider if avoidable.

The heavy door opened up ahead and Ashton hesitated despite himself, his tensed shoulders slumping with relief when he saw that it was Harry ambling towards him. His dark hair was slicked back as neatly as ever but there was a smile playing on his lips as he raised his hand in greeting.

“Morning, Ashton,” Harry said brightly, grinning teeth flashing white in the shadows. “Hope you had fun celebrating your birthday the other night!”

Ashton tried to keep the smile pasted on his face but he felt it tighten even despite his best efforts. So much for being a legendary gambler. Clearly his skills of deception had grown rusty after months of neglect.

“It was okay,” he said dismissively, biting the inside of his mouth hard in an effort to distract himself. “Niall told you when my birthday was?”

“No, I haven’t seen him the last few days,” Harry replied, shaking his head as a faint frown coloured his face. “You forget I used to work with Fletcher? He talked about you all the time, Ashton. Of course your birthday came up in conversation.”

“Right…” Ashton nodded doubtfully, watching Harry uncertainly now because that didn’t add up with his own experiences at all. “Harry, can… can I ask you a question? It’s kind of personal…” The older man simply tilted his head to one side curiously and Ashton’s cheeks heated. “How old are you?” he blurted out. “Because I thought you were about Niall’s age but you can’t only be twenty five, can you? Not if you worked with my dad.”

Harry huffed out a breath of laughter, his gaze dropping for a moment as he smoothed his already-immaculate hair.

“If I worked with Fletcher, I’m sure you can figure that out on your own,” he said with a firmness that Ashton hadn’t heard before. Maybe he didn’t like talking about the late mobster. “Mr Payne isn’t in the habit of employing children after all. Not usually anyway.”

Ashton knew Harry was only joking about his own young age but the smirk that accompanied those words agitated him just enough that he threw caution to the wind for a moment, asking in a slightly demanding tone: “So how old are you then?”

Harry’s green eyes flashed in the darkness.

“If I told you that, I’d have to kill you,” he said, striding off into the inky blackness. He paused at the end of the corridor, his smile widening when he saw Ashton still lingering there, simply gawping at him in surprise. “I’m thirty five, Ashton. Thirty six next February. Now I’d get a move on if I were you, eh? Wouldn’t be good to keep Mr Payne waiting.”

“Come in.”

Liam was standing when Ashton entered his office, dressed in a sleek black suit with a cigar held gracefully between two soft fingers. His shoes were polished to a shine and his hair was slick in the lamplight. For just a moment, the madness that had threatened to consume him when Sophia was taken did not seem to have a place on his face.

Liam looked every inch the boss of the Hornet Mob, one of the most infamous organised crime gangs in all of America.

Liam looked like he could burn Chicago to the ground with nothing but his stare.

“Good morning, Ashton,” he said calmly and even his voice sounded smoother, like whiskey or velvet. He hadn’t yet touched any alcohol today; that much was apparent. “You’re a little late, aren’t you?” Liam raised his pocket watch as a frown deepened on his tanned brow. “Frank didn’t give you any bother, did he?”

Ashton paled, his hazel eyes widening with shock. He had no idea how Liam knew about that – even Niall had only gathered the barest details of the continuous groping and jeering Ashton had to endure – but there was no way he was going to tell the older man the truth. Ashton was no snitch and it wouldn’t do to talk badly of another member of the gang now, even if it was a snivelling worm like Frank.

“It was my fault,” Ashton said quietly, deciding at the last moment that maybe he should be a little more polite, especially given the state of Liam’s increasingly fragile temper. “I bumped into Harry outside, sir. I got distracted. I’m sorry if I kept you waiting.”

“Well, you’ve been rather busy from what I’ve heard,” Liam said with a smile that almost touched his eyes. He rounded the desk, stepping closer. “I’m sure no one can resent you a little distraction, especially given you had cause for celebration recently.” Liam clapped Ashton on the shoulder in an uncharacteristically friendly gesture, his fingers pressing down directly over the bruise that Bryana had sucked into his skin.

Ashton shuddered, his hands balling into fists behind his back as Liam flayed him with nothing but his eyes.

“Thank you, sir,” the younger man breathed, forcing himself to relax in the mob boss’ grip. “I appreciate your understanding.”

With another flat smile, Liam returned to his chair, reclining in the smooth leather as he fixed Fletcher’s son with a stern look that pinned him in place.

“You’re aware that Sophia was snatched by Mitchy Collins’ gang,” the mob boss said suddenly, his tone indicating that this was not a question. Ashton pressed his lips tightly together, nodding grimly as Liam continued to watch him, his dark eyes burning with cold fire. “The whole situation has made me think about how easy it is for my enemies to hurt me… and that got me thinking about you, Ashton.”

“Me?” the younger man asked warily, his face paling further. “Why -?”

“Because you have joined my gang, Ashton,” Liam said in a sharper tone. “Because you are one of my Hornets and you have not yet proved to me that you truly belong here. Not in any way that counts.”

“But… but, sir, I’ve done everything you’ve asked!” Ashton argued weakly, his hands trembling a little now because he might be afraid but… god, Liam wasn’t going to send him back home, was he? Ashton couldn’t survive on the ranch now; he couldn’t… not when he was on the brink of finally learning the truth about his father and this way of life.

“I need you to prove it to me in the only way that matters now,” Liam said in a softer voice, so quiet that Ashton had to learn closer from where he had been standing frozen in front of the desk. “I said we were at war and I meant it.” Liam flattened his palms on the desktop as he scrutinised the younger man’s face carefully for any traces of doubt. “I need you to kill someone for me, Ashton. To truly prove your mettle and your loyalty... your loyalty most of all.”

Ashton felt like the ground was caving in beneath his feet.

He didn’t want to do it but… maybe he had no choice. Ashton was sure Liam wouldn’t ask it of him if it wasn’t necessary; if this future fatality hadn’t done something truly horrendous… and besides, the mob boss had mentioned the gang war, hadn’t he? This must have been someone who was involved in hurting Sophia.

Ashton fought against the fear rising inside him, swaying a little as he realised that he was on the cusp of something terrible now; something dark and dangerous, and irredeemable. This was the point of no return… but it was also the world his father’s path had led him to.

This was where Ashton was supposed to be.

“Alright,” he said and his voice was steady. “I’ll do it.”

The job with Niall was a simple one.

All they needed to do was drive to a secret location in a probably-stolen motor car – which admittedly still caused a problem for Ashton, what with his motion sickness and general anxiety around the vehicles – and meet an informant who would provide them with details of an upcoming discussion taking place between Collins’ gang and the Bureau.

All they had to do was get the details and leave before they drew attention to themselves.

Ashton wasn’t even sure why Liam had asked him to accompany Niall on such a simple job. All he could think was that maybe the mob boss had meant what he said. Maybe he really didn’t trust Ashton anymore. Maybe killing whoever Liam had chosen was the only way Ashton could redeem himself and truly be welcomed into the Hornet Mob with open arms.

“You’re so quiet,” Niall said worriedly as they sat together in silence, the motor car thankfully still now where the blond man had parked it in a litter-filled alleyway as they waited for their contact to arrive. The moon was already beginning to rise in the sky outside and Ashton’s palms grew sweaty as his panic threatened to overwhelm him.

Liam wanted him to do it tonight. He hadn’t told him the details; just that two as-yet-undisclosed members of the gang would be along to collect him from the apartment.

“Is it what you told me the other day?” Niall continued, his blue eyes fixed on the street ahead as he ascertained that nothing was amiss. “Because I meant what I said, kid. It’s not something you have to feel bad about. You just… need to keep it quiet maybe… so you stay safe.”

“It’s not that,” Ashton whispered, his eyelashes growing prickly with tears as he stared unseeingly ahead of them. The world was blurring into blue sky and bright smears of light from the lamps, and it made everything feel softer as he stared at it through a haze of tears. It made him feel like maybe this was all just a bad dream.

“Liam has a job for me to do tonight,” Ashton whispered and something in his tone made Niall reach silently for his hand as the tension in the car became undeniable. “He… he wants me to kill someone, Ni, and…” Ashton shook his head wordlessly as the tears finally boiled over and he was utterly powerless to stop them. “I know I’ve done a lot of bad things but… I don’t think I can live with myself if I have to do this. It’s too much for me. Too much for anyone.”

The reassurances that Ashton had been hoping for never came.

Niall shifted uncomfortably instead, gazing out blankly into the night. The only sign that he was distressed at all was his suddenly bone-white complexion and the way his knuckles had tightened almost imperceptibly around the steering wheel.

Niall was a better actor than Ashton had given him credit for but it amounted to the same thing: confirmation of something the younger man had never had cause to question before.

Here was just one more fragment of the truth that Ashton wished he’d never uncovered.

He could hardly believe that Niall – sweet, funny, kind Niall – had killed before.

It was unfathomable to Ashton.

“We’ve all had to do unforgiveable things to survive in this world,” the Irishman said quietly, apparently unable to look the younger man in the eye anymore as his hand slipped free. “If Mr Payne has asked you to do this then… it must be for the right reason, kid. If you meant what you said about wanting to be a part of this gang, this day was always coming for you. It was just a matter of when.”

His voice was unusually flat, his body growing limp now, almost like the fight was seeping out of him.

“Tell yourself it’s for the greater good,” Niall suggested weakly, closing his eyes to reveal delicate lavender-coloured lids. Noticing them seemed at odds with the older man’s forcibly flippant words but Ashton could see how much his friend was hurting and he hated it more than he could comprehend.

“This is war, remember?” the blond man continued with difficulty, pinching the bridge of his nose hard as a shaky sigh escaped him. Neither of them commented when a tear ran down Niall’s cheek. “It’s always been war where the gangs are concerned… and sometimes there’s collateral damage. That’s the nature of the work we do.”

Ashton pursed his lips, hating the gnawing ache in his chest as he realised that his father must undoubtedly have ended someone’s life too… and then he remembered that Fletcher had gone away to fight in the Great War and realised that this was almost a certainty.

“I don’t want to do this,” Ashton confessed. He rubbed the back of his neck anxiously, hating that even now – hidden away in an alley with his only true friend – he still felt like someone was watching him.

Ashton wondered if he was going mad… if working for Liam had truly made him as paranoid as the mob boss himself… or maybe it was an entire childhood of neglect. That probably hadn’t helped either.

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice, kid,” Niall said heavily, his shoulders slumping as he buried his face in his hands for a moment. There were bruise-like circles staining the pale skin under his exhausted blue eyes and Ashton wanted to wipe the pain from the older man’s face but he didn’t even know where to start.

“You’re a Hornet ‘til you die, Ash,” Niall said softly, looking more serious than the younger man had ever seen him. He was watching the younger man intently now, one trembling hand rising to catch Ashton’s chin so that he could hold his gaze. Another tear slipped down Niall’s cheek as they looked at each other, like he realised on some level that after tonight, any remaining innocence on Ashton’s face would have been washed away.

“The only way we’re leaving this place is in a coffin, Ash… and I’m sorry it has to be this way. I’m sorry I didn’t try harder to warn you.” Niall’s shoulders slumped as his guilt overwhelmed him and the sob that clawed its way out of his chest made it sound as though he’d been kicked. “I’m so, so sorry, kid.”

Ashton pulled Niall into an awkward hug in the cramped confines of the car, his thumb rubbing against the older man’s neck comfortingly as he breathed in the familiar scent of cologne and cigarette smoke clinging to Niall’s warm skin.

“You did warn me,” Ashton said softly, swallowing with difficulty past the lump rising in his throat. He closed his eyes tight against the impending darkness. “I just didn’t listen.”

A soft rapping on the apartment door that night was the harbinger of doom.

Ashton opened his eyes from where he’d been lying on his bed, still fully dressed in a dark suit and burgundy shirt as the fedora rested on his chest. He heard Niall rising from his own bed in the other room but Ashton clambered up first, not wanting the blond man to be any more involved in this than he already was.

This was Ashton’s job after all. Nobody else’s.

He set his fedora upon his head and turned the key, bitterness welling on his tongue when he saw who was waiting for him on the other side. Both of the Hornets were standing in the dimly lit hallway with their hats held to their chests and their tan coats buttoned to their throats, the very picture of gangsters.

“Mr Malik. Mr Tomlinson.” Ashton nodded to them both politely, silently cursing Liam for this. The mob boss knew how Ashton felt about Louis and Zayn, and yet he’d still chosen them as back-up… just to make it a little more stressful.

Niall appeared in his bedroom doorway at the sounds of their gruffly returned greetings, dressed only in his untucked white shirt and black slacks. His blond hair was rumpled and soft, and there was a gentleness in his remorseful tear-wet eyes that could almost have been love.

“You don’t need to bring your key,” Niall said in lieu of saying goodbye. “I’ll wait up until you get back.”

His voice was thicker than usual although he did an admirable job of hiding his tears in front of Zayn and Louis. Ashton nodded at him gratefully, unable to put into words how much Niall meant to him.

“I’ll be back later,” he said as he took his coat from the hook by the door, shrugging into it. “See you when I see you, Ni.”

The two men by the door looked equal parts impatient and curious as they watched the exchange but Ashton paid it little mind, simply pushing between them and heading for the stairs that would lead down onto the street below. “Ready when you two are,” he said as nonchalantly as he could manage. “Where are we even going?”

“You’ll see,” Zayn said, sounding more tired than ill-mannered tonight, indicating that he’d probably had a long day.

“It’s not a long drive,” Louis added, smirking a tiny bit. “You probably won’t even have time to get sick in the car again… so I guess we should be thankful for small mercies, huh?”

“I thought I told you two not to bring that up again after last time,” Ashton muttered, grimacing as he remembered the first job the three of them had ever been sent on together. It had gone very well on the whole but the drive back had been unpleasant and Zayn had been incredibly unhappy at the state of his seats afterwards.

“If you two are done flirting,” Zayn said sulkily, making Louis scoff at the ridiculous insinuation. Ashton looked between the two of them with renewed understanding, suddenly feeling as though a beam of light was illuminating the pair. He wondered how he’d never spotted it before.

“As if, Z,” Louis was saying quietly as the pair of them walked on ahead, leading the way to the car. “Now stop talking like that in front of Irwin. It might be two against one but I’d rather he didn’t go round loud-mouthing to everyone just because you can’t keep your damn mouth shut about us, alright?”

“You realise I can still hear you both, right?” Ashton asked pointedly, his heart clenching painfully in his chest as he recalled every interaction he’d seen them share in a new light. “But I won’t tell. I promise.”

“Oh yeah?” Zayn demanded, his face darkening as he grabbed a handful of Ashton’s collar and pinned him back against the wall. The younger man didn’t fight it. Now that he knew to look for it, he could see the fear clawing Zayn up and he couldn’t resent him for it… not when, most of the time at least, he felt exactly the same way. “How do I know you’re not lying?”

“Because I’m queer too,” Ashton whispered, taking a wild leap of faith that he hadn’t got the wrong end of the stick which would probably result in him being beaten up outside the apartment building.

“Oh,” Louis murmured, his blue eyes widening with surprise. “That… that actually makes a lot of sense.” He didn’t elaborate and Ashton panicked briefly, wondering if he had been walking around with a metaphorical sign on his back, screaming his sexuality to the world. Louis looked even more curious now. “So… are you and Niall…?”

“No!” Ashton said quickly, his cheeks flaming scarlet. “No way. Niall is like a brother to me. I’d never…”

“Fair enough,” Louis said, eyes twinkling now. He glanced at Zayn, his lips curving into a softer smile, and Ashton felt a jolt in his chest when he realised that he’d never seen the older man look so happy before. His joy didn’t make any sense when the job they were about to do was taken into account but then again, maybe love didn’t have to make sense. Maybe that was the whole point of it.

“C’mon, you two,” Louis said as Zayn finally loosened his grip on Ashton’s collar. “We’re wasting the night. We need to get this done before dawn.”

Zayn relaxed, his dark eyes flickering to Ashton’s face threateningly although he’d lost all the fire inside him now.

“You’d damn well better keep this a secret,” the older man said sharply but his face softened when Louis’ fingers curled tenderly around his wrist. “Now get in the damn car, Irwin, and don’t vomit in it this time. You have a job to do, remember?”

The warehouse was further away than Louis had indicated but Ashton was fairly certain that the nausea he felt had very little to do with the drive and everything to do with what waited for him through the metal doors ahead.

“Once we get inside, everything’s already set up,” Louis explained as Zayn manoeuvred the car carefully through the gloomy streets, heading towards the docks. “Mr Payne doesn’t want you to have your own gun yet so he’s asked that you borrow Z’s. The guy’s already tied up, just waiting for us. We’ll get rid of the body for you afterwards. Mr Payne just wants proof that it was you who killed him.”

“Right,” Ashton agreed as the blood drained rapidly from his face. “Okay then.”

“Being a Hornet was never going to be easy, Irwin,” Louis pointed out when he saw the dull horror growing in Ashton’s eyes. “But you wanted in, right? You wanted Mr Payne to give you the chance to prove yourself.”

“That’s what this is,” Zayn agreed as he parked the car in the shadow of the decrepit warehouse. “An opportunity.”

Ashton tried to keep this in mind as he followed them through the shadows, his stomach churning as the water lapped at the wooden dock nearby. The sky was clear up above, the stars tiny pinpricks of perfect white light that were lost from sight when Ashton was ushered into the cavernous darkness.

The hallway was lined with empty wooden crates and rusting cages, and there was a lingering gunpowder scent that made Ashton wonder if perhaps the space had been used for storing ammunition during the war. It belonged to Liam now though; just one more fragment of the hive that was slowly threatening to consume the entire city.

The metal sheeting that made up the roof was damaged and shards of moonlight forced their way through, weaving between the abandoned remains to illuminate unsuspecting patches of floor far below.

In one of these impromptu pools of moonlight, a man sat in a rickety-looking chair. His hands were bound behind his back with rough rope, his ankles fastened to the wooden legs tightly enough that the delicate skin had been rubbed raw. He was gagged and blindfolded but his head turned wildly at the sound of their approach, and Ashton felt like ice was trickling down his spine as the reality of what he was about to do slowly sank in.

Louis and Zayn walked a few steps behind him, hovering just out of sight like the Hornets they were when Ashton finally came to a standstill. He stood there in silence for a long moment, too afraid to break it as he memorised the scene in front of him. He would need it for his nightmares later.

“Here,” Zayn said eventually, passing his revolver to Ashton in an effort to snap him from his reverie, and the man in the chair flinched when he realised how close they were. His blindfold was growing wet with tears and sweat, his wrists dripping blood from the bite of the rope.

‘Please be a bad person,’ Ashton prayed when the man let out a terrified sob. ‘Please deserve this.’

But maybe that was the problem. Maybe no one did.

The revolver was heavy in his hand and Zayn’s fingers didn’t loosen around Ashton’s until he was sure the younger man had a proper grip on the weapon. Ashton knew it was already loaded – he’d seen Zayn empting the box of bullets earlier – and, for just a moment, all Ashton could think of was Fletcher fighting in the war, maybe holding a gun just like this one as he fought to do what was necessary… but fighting to hurt other people had never been a problem for Fletcher at all, had it?

Maybe Ashton was less like his father than he’d imagined.

“Do it,” Louis breathed, his fingertips brushing the younger man’s shoulder fleetingly and jolting him from his thoughts. “Now.”

Ashton shuddered as he raised the gun, angling it clumsily at the man’s forehead as he began to twist in his restraints, trying uselessly to escape. It was no good though; whoever had tied him up had done a horribly efficient job of it.

A wisp of cloud passed over the moon outside and the light in the room flickered, the shadows creeping like monsters over the walls.

Heart clenching painfully in his chest, Ashton inhaled shakily and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened; just a jarring sensation in his hand as the weapon gave an unpleasant clanking sound. Ashton looked up at the two older men helplessly, so frightened and panicked that he couldn’t even put his request for help into words.

Louis was looking at him doubtfully now, his lips pursed unhappily as he took in how young Ashton appeared as he trembled. For once, Zayn was more helpful. He walked closer, carefully angling the gun back towards the man in the chair before he flicked a switch on the underside of the barrel.

“You didn’t take the safety off,” Zayn said but his voice was softer than Ashton had ever heard it and his gentle eyes were saturated with sympathy. “Come on, Irwin. You have to do this. The sooner it’s done, the sooner you’ll finally be one of us, yeah? Just like you wanted.”

“Yeah,” Ashton repeated mechanically as the shivers tearing through him slowed. “Just like I wanted.”

The man in front of them was crying now, shaking his head helplessly as he broke down in tears. There was something pitiful about the sound of his weak sobs that Ashton couldn’t bear to listen to anymore and it was that which finally leant him the toughness he needed to finish this.

He couldn’t stand to hear the man crying.

The revolver fired with a sound like an explosion, sending droplets of blood splattering through the silvery moonlight, shining like black ink.

The force of the gun’s recoil cracked Ashton straight in the face and his knees folded beneath him as his nose broke. His fedora tumbled from his head as the unexpected agony overwhelmed him and the weapon clattered to the floor through his limp fingers, Zayn dragging Louis out of harm’s way in case the gun misfired.

Ashton knelt there beside the growing pool of blood until, finally, the two gangsters took it upon themselves to lead him gently back towards the car. Ashton put up no resistance; he simply pressed his clammy cheek to the cool glass and closed his eyes, wishing he was back with Niall… back home on the ranch… maybe even wishing that he’d never been born at all.

The man inside the warehouse was dead now, his heart no longer beating in his chest.

As Zayn slowly drove them back to the apartment, Ashton thought he knew how that felt.

Chapter Text

Niall woke to complete darkness. The apartment was silent aside from the gentle ticking of the clock out in the hallway and he frowned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He had no idea what had woken him up but something didn’t feel right and the niggling worry inside set his nerves on edge.

He worried for a moment that he’d been woken by burglars and briefly considered searching for his revolver where it was stashed in the wardrobe but he didn’t want to rely on that, especially after what Ashton had been forced to do a few nights previously.

Apprehension washed over Niall like the moonlight outside as he realised exactly what had woken him.

It wasn’t someone trying to break in at all; not drunkards singing outside or the police raiding an underground distillery nearby.

It was another of Ashton’s nightmares.

Niall’s heart sank as he climbed out of bed, wrapping one of the woollen blankets tightly around his shoulders as he crept out into the hallway. He was dressed only in long johns beneath the knitted material and he shivered a little as he hesitantly let himself into the younger man’s bedroom.

Ashton was tossing and turning in the tiny space, his limbs growing tangled in the sheets as a choked sob tore out of him. He looked so unbearably young like that, lying there with his curls in disarray and his cheeks streaked with tears. It was devastating to watch but Niall wasn’t sure if it was best to wake him or not, at least until Ashton’s hand flew out wildly and smacked into the wall, a low crunching sound making Niall wince.

That was it. He refused to stand here and watch his best friend unconsciously injuring himself.

“Alright, kid,” Niall said gently, jostling the younger man lightly as he clambered onto the bed behind him. Ashton whimpered, his eyes still stubbornly shut, and the Irishman’s heart ached in his chest as he wrapped his arms around the younger man’s waist, drawing him back into the warmth of his bare chest.

“There now,” Niall breathed when Ashton gasped out another sob, twisting clumsily to tuck his face under the blond man’s chin. He looked ashamed now but he was still trembling, his overheated cheeks sticky with tears as he wept. Niall carded his fingers lightly through the younger man’s curls, brushing a chaste kiss to his sweaty forehead. “There now, kid. I’ve got you.”

“I’m sorry,” Ashton choked out as Niall cuddled him closer. “I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologise to me, kid,” the blond man murmured, his heart panging in his chest as he thumbed Ashton’s tears away. The younger man was still crying but the shivers ripping through him were less violent now and his hands were smoothing comfortingly down the warm skin of Niall’s ribs as Ashton struggled to calm himself.

The Irishman hummed contentedly, reaching to draw another blanket over the pair of them as he shifted to make them both as comfortable as possible in the narrow single bed. They could share Niall’s tomorrow, if this looked to be a persistent problem.

“See?” the blond man said suddenly, dropping another kiss onto his friend’s forehead to get his attention. “It’s like my legs are hugging you too.”

A burst of pride filled Niall when Ashton gave a little snort of laughter and the watery smile touching his lips felt like a blessing. The Irishman held him closer and Ashton yawned, exhausted now as his arms wrapped loosely around the older man’s neck.

“I’ve got you, kid. Just try to sleep now, yeah?” Niall kissed his nose and Ashton scrunched his face up, giggling sleepily into the older man’s neck. “I’ll keep you safe. I swear it.”

They both went to sleep like that, lying tangled in each other’s arms.

*

Niall had popped out the next morning before Ashton was even awake to pick up some fresh lemon cakes from the bakery on the next block. They had been the younger man’s favourite from the moment he arrived in Chicago and the sweetness of the gesture made a lump rise in Ashton’s throat when he finally entered the kitchen to see Niall busily making coffee, the plate of confections sitting innocently on the table nearby.

“You got me lemon cakes?” Ashton asked, a smile creasing his tired face as he dropped down wearily into the chair. “That was kind of you, Ni. Thank you.”

“Least I could do after last night,” Niall said with a shrug, carrying the hot drinks over to join his friend. “Anyway, I know today isn’t going to be easy for you. Liam will probably want to talk about the warehouse job since you haven’t been debriefed yet and...” The Irishman’s voice trailed away as he gave Ashton a wistful smile, reaching out to squeeze the younger man’s hand gently. “I just really wanted to make you happy, kid. You’ve been sad for too long now.”

“This is how you win all the ladies over, isn’t it?” Ashton teased, mostly to deflect from the fact that his eyes were full of tears again. “You’re all charming and thoughtful. It’s quite impressive actually. You’ll have to teach me your ways.”

“I’m glad at least you appreciate me – no one else wants to stay with me for more than one night!” Niall grinned weakly, taking a sip of his coffee before he reached into his jacket pocket for his first cigarette of the day. His eyes flickered towards the clock and the cheerful expression on his face clouded over. “We better get moving now though, kid. You slept in and I didn’t want to wake you. How about you grab some of those lemon cakes and we can eat as we walk, yeah?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Ashton said, unwilling to ruin the perfect calm of the morning by disagreeing. He picked up the coffee Niall had made him, downing it in several gulps and wincing at the sting of the burning liquid. He vaguely considered making a silly joke about the amount of cakes Niall was gleefully wrapping in a handkerchief but the misery welled inside him abruptly, taking his breath away with the strength of it.

“Let’s go, Ni,” Ashton said softly, setting the fedora on his honey-coloured curls. “I don’t want to make you late.”

They started the walk in silence, both of them more focused on the sweetness of the lemon cakes than in making conversation.

The sun seemed to rise slowly that morning, still lurking behind the dilapidated buildings of downtown Chicago. The hubbub of the market sellers setting up for the day grew to a low buzz around them as the pair of them walked through the chaos, looking at the fresh produce and the salted meats.

The economy was slowly improving after the Great War but Ashton knew there was a long way to go yet. He could see it in the gauntness of the beggars already lingering between the stalls, their eyes furtive as their hands snatched out from under tattered clothing, their grasping fingers clutching at anything that would keep them alive for another day.

There was something gristly and morbid about seeing the underbelly of such a famous city.

On morning likes these, he missed the quiet peace of Texas, even if that had been achingly lonely at times. He missed the flat landscape with its sparse undergrowth and sun-cracked earth; the white picket fences and the endless blue of the heavens stretching out over the ranch he’d grown up in.

The Hornet Mob’s Speakeasy was just a few minutes away when Ashton hesitated, his feet beginning to drag on the paving stones. Niall shot him a questioning glance when a low sigh escaped the younger man.

“Isn’t there another way in?” Ashton asked awkwardly. “I… I really hate going through the front entrance.” He was too tired to consider the implication of his words until he saw Niall giving him an unhappy look as he stubbed his cigarette out on a brick wall nearby.

“Has Frank been giving you trouble or something?” the Irishman demanded and the knowing in his troubled blue eyes made Ashton shudder.

“A little bit,” he admitted, his shoulders tensing as he remembered the horrible feeling of being pressed up against the wall by the disgusting man. He didn’t feel the same qualms about telling the truth to Niall as he did with Liam; the Irishman meant too much to him and didn’t deserve to be lied to.

“I know what that’s like,” Niall admitted with a heavy sigh, his face flushing with long-forgotten anger as he scuffed his polished shoe against the wall. “Got him to stop though… in the end.” When Ashton simply looked at him hopelessly, Niall managed a weak smile. “Why’d you think his nose is so crooked, kid? I head-butted him in the face one night when I was leaving.”

Ashton wanted to laugh at that – at the sudden pride blazing on his closest friend’s face as he recalled this twisted moment of glory - but somehow the words had only succeeded in reminding him of that night in the warehouse. His fingers drifted towards the colourful bruising still staining his face and his broken nose gave a phantom throb at the memories.

“That’ll heal up fine, kid,” Niall murmured, correctly guessing the reason for Ashton’s sudden preoccupation before he quickly tried to distract him. “And to answer your earlier question, yes. There is another way in but we usually only use it when the booze is being dropped off. It’s not common knowledge, yeah? But… I trust you… and I reckon Liam will after what you did for him.” Niall bit his lip, seeming to weigh up his options before he gave a little shrug. “I’ll show you the other way in,” he decided at last. “Just don’t tell anyone else, okay?”

Ashton nodded, his pulse speeding up a little in anticipation as he followed Niall down an alleyway nearby, the buildings on either side pressing in claustrophobically as the Irishman weaved his way through the brickwork labyrinth.

The path twisted and turned but Ashton had always been good at memorising things, and he made careful note of any landmarks that would help him remember this journey – a tangle of ivy clinging to the masonry, a gouge mark scored into the thick wood of a long-ago-sealed trapdoor, the low rattling of machinery inside a warehouse they were passing, the scent of rubber and engine oil which indicated they were passing the car manufacturer, and something else… something that reminded Ashton inexplicably of the Hornet Mob: gunpowder and floor polish, and the whiff of moonshine underlying everything else.

The path had widened around them and they had reached an intersection of sorts; at least three other cobbled lanes merged here and the area was littered with rubble, litter, and even an old dumpster.

“We’re here?” Ashton guessed and Niall shot him a surprised look before smiling proudly.

“We sure are,” he agreed. “Nothing gets past you, does it, kid?”

The Irishman led him towards the dumpster, glancing around cautiously before he eased behind it and crouched down to fiddle with something. Ashton heard a clunking sound as a rusty metal bolt turned and then the blond man straightened up again, gesturing grandly towards a gaping black chasm in the ground.

“After you,” Ashton said dryly and Niall grinned, loping forwards and easily descending a rickety wooden staircase that the younger man hadn’t been able to see in the shadows. Ashton followed him trustingly, freezing only when Niall eased the trapdoor shut above them, plunging the pair into darkness.

“This is why we don’t use it much,” the Irishman said softly as he reached for Ashton’s hand, entwining their fingers tightly. “But you’ll be okay, kid. There’s twenty five steps but the seventeenth is wobbly. If you remember that, you won’t fall.” Ashton could almost hear Niall’s sudden smirk. “Just imagine trying to climb down here with a crate of booze too. Then you’ll realise why we try to avoid using this entrance whenever possible.”

Ashton held Niall’s hand tighter, counting the steps silently until they finally reached the dusty ground below. It was deadly silent down there; the only sounds the faraway dripping of water and their own breathing. The sounds of traffic and a city slowly waking up above them were gone now and, for just a moment, Ashton felt like he and Niall were the only two left on the planet.

There was a gradual lightening as Ashton was led down a long, straight corridor. The air tasted damp and old, the mustiness settling in his hair and clothing, and he was sure it would linger with him all day. Their footsteps crunched thanks to the grittiness of the stony floor and, distantly, the scratching of a small rodent skittering through the darkness reached their ears.

“There’s another flight of stairs here,” Niall said, holding out an arm to stop Ashton from falling. “Normally you’d only be walking down here with other people and someone would usually have a light – even during a raid – but it’s good to be prepared. That hallway was about two hundred steps by the way, just in case.”

Ashton felt cold as he listened to this, wondering vaguely how many times Niall had had to make a break for it in the pitch darkness. He knew that as Liam’s right-hand man the Irishman must have been exposed to a lot more risk than Ashton was but it was easy to forget that. Hearing the reality of it – just like coming to the heart-stopping realisation that Niall had been ordered to commit murder too – never felt any easier to stomach.

“Up these stairs, we’ll arrive in the back of the storage room you love so much,” the blond man explained, a tiny smile in his voice that Ashton mirrored unconsciously. “And after that, you know your way back up to the surface, don’t you?”

Ashton nodded stupidly before realising that Niall couldn’t see him in the darkness.

“You’re alright, kid,” Niall promised, chuckling softly as he guessed what the younger man had done. “I know this is all so much to take in but… you’re doing great. I mean it. I’m very proud of you.”

A lump rose in Ashton’s throat as he followed the blond man up the last flight of stairs silently, hoping that his eyes weren’t too red by the time they returned to the light although he supposed he could always blame it on the dust.

Niall pulled him into a tight hug when they finally made it to the storage room, knocking Ashton’s hat askew as he ruffled the younger man’s curls jovially.

“Good luck today,” he said softly and Ashton sighed, stretching up on his tiptoes to wrap his arms around Niall’s shoulders. They lingered there for a moment, basking in the other’s warmth before the door creaked open behind them, startling them apart. Their cheeks heated beneath the curious stares of two familiar figures.

“Malik, Tomlinson,” Niall greeted them roughly, his red face giving away the fact that he was embarrassed. “What are you two doing down here?”

Louis shot Ashton a knowing look that made the younger man vaguely want to descend the stairs into the shadowy depths of the building, never to be seen again. Zayn just rolled his dark eyes, cool as ever.

“Ask no questions and I’ll tell you no lies, Horan,” he said dispassionately but the chilliness of his words was lost when Louis caught Ashton’s gaze, tapping the side of his nose cheekily and making the younger man snort out a painful laugh, his broken nose sorely protesting this. Louis’ silliness caused the irritation on Zayn’s face to melt into grudging amusement and, although Niall looked confused by the sudden friendliness between Ashton and the two Hornets, his frown faded with relief all the same.

Zayn’s gaze flickered towards the young Texan, taking in the bruising on his face and the blood still heating his cheeks. “How are you holding up, Irwin?” he asked and the gentleness that had entered his voice that night in the warehouse was still present now. It seemed that Ashton had finally earned Zayn’s grudging acceptance.

His amusement wavered as he gave an uneasy shrug.

“I’m doing okay,” he said hesitantly, carefully avoiding Niall’s gaze. “Thanks for taking care of me the other night. I’m sorry I made that more difficult than it needed to be.”

“We didn’t mind, did we, Z?” Louis said firmly before he put his hands on his hips, shooting the pair of them a pointed look. “Now, don’t you two have somewhere you need to be? Pretty sure Mr Payne isn’t paying you to loiter in the storage room all morning.”

“Real subtle, Lou,” Zayn could be heard muttering as a weakly smiling Ashton tugged Niall swiftly out of the room, to spare his delicate sensibilities if nothing else. “If you keep this up then everyone is going to –”

Ashton pulled the door shut quickly before the pair could say anything else incriminating but it was too late.

“Are those two…?” Niall’s voice trailed away suggestively and Ashton glanced at him, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth that he didn’t even try to suppress.

“I couldn’t possibly say,” he replied but, by the glint in the Irishman’s eyes, Niall already knew the answer. 

*

“Ashton, can you spare a minute?”

The Texan winced as he froze in place, halfway to the safety of Niall’s office. Liam’s door had opened behind him without him noticing and he silently cursed the fact that he hadn’t been able to delay his debrief further.

“Of course, sir,” Ashton said, pasting a smile across his face with difficulty as he turned towards the mob boss. Liam was standing in the doorway, his hair as slick as ever, his eyes burning dark in their sockets. The older man tilted his head to one side curiously and something in his expression made the hairs on the back of Ashton’s neck rise.

“You’re not trying to avoid me, are you?” Liam asked mildly as his eyes traced the younger man’s tired form. Ashton paled, straightening up instinctively under the older man’s stare.

“Not at all, sir,” he said. “You just seemed very busy and I didn’t want to bother you with trivialities.”

Liam gave him an appraising look at that, making a small clucking sound with his tongue that might have seemed sympathetic if Ashton hadn’t known him so well.

“I don’t say this to offend but you look terrible, Ashton.” Liam pursed his lips as he held the door open wider, gesturing for the younger man to step into his office. “Come and sit down. I think this conversation is long overdue.”

Ashton sank into the chair across from Liam’s desk meekly, his fingers twisting nervously in his lap for a moment before he got himself under control. There was no reason to let all of the skills he’d gained during his time as a gambler go rusty. If Ashton wanted to be able to deceive people and remain enigmatic, he would need to hone these techniques once more.

Liam was scrutinising the younger man’s face carefully as he sat down across from him, presumably taking in the significant bruising where the gun had caught Ashton in the face. The force had been such that the skin had split across the bridge of his nose and the cut was only just beginning to heal, a constant reminder of what he’d done whenever Ashton glimpsed his reflection.

“Did you see the newspaper today?” Liam asked out of nowhere and it was such a peculiar question that the younger man simply shook his head blankly. The mob boss smirked a little as he reached beneath his desk, raising The Chicago Daily Tribune so that Ashton could see the headlines.

There was an article plastered across the page detailing the suspicious case of a man who had gone missing from his home in the Lincoln Park neighbourhood. At first, Ashton had no idea why he was being shown the article. He didn’t recognise the face in the tiny picture or any of the details of the case… so why was the mob boss smirking like that?

“Congratulations, Ashton,” Liam said as he let the newspaper flutter back down onto the desk. “You made the front page.”

As realisation dawned on Ashton, the dread swelled inside him slowly, filling his lungs until it felt as though it would be impossible for him to draw in breath.

“You… you mean that’s… that’s the guy who…”

“You shot in the head, yes,” Liam supplied mildly. “His body’s currently lying at the bottom of the Chicago River, weighed down with rocks.” He seemed to take great delight in watching Ashton’s face turn a delicate shade of green. “I’m sure Mr Malik and Mr Tomlinson did their usual efficient work in disposing of the body but I expect we’ll find out in a day or two if the corpse has resurfaced.”

Liam was watching Ashton intently now, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the polished wood of his desk. It was the only sound besides the younger man’s rapidly laboured breathing. Ashton closed his eyes for a moment, fighting down the nausea he could feel roiling violently inside him.

“I heard your handling of firearms could do with some improvement too,” the mob boss continued, looking a little disappointed now. “Mr Malik said you didn’t take the safety off first -” Liam hesitated now, his tone turning delicate. “- and Mr Tomlinson said your aim was terrible. It took the guy over twenty minutes to die. That’s not how I wanted this job done… but you’ll do better next time, won’t you, Ashton? You won’t let me down again.”

“I won’t let you down again,” Ashton repeated faintly. His stomach was clenching now and he badly wished he hadn’t eaten those lemon cakes on the walk in. “Sir, can… can you tell me who the man was?”

Liam frowned, simply tapping the newspaper with his fingertip, but Ashton shook his head unthinkingly.

“No, I… I meant why you chose him,” the younger man clarified, his voice shaking. “He… he was involved in hurting Sophia, right? That’s why he had to die?”

When Liam laughed suddenly in surprise, Ashton felt like his stomach had dropped right down to his feet.

“Where on earth did you get that idea?” the older man demanded, his eyes sparkling with mirth now as Ashton leant back heavily in the chair, his sweating hands gripping the edge of the desk tightly. “The guy was in Collins’ gang, sure, but he was a new recruit. He didn't touch Sophia; he had nothing to do with it. His death just served as a warning to them. We are at war, Ashton, or have you forgotten that? You killed that man because I needed to make a threat. That’s all.”

The room was swirling around Ashton now, his breaths tearing out of him in broken gasps as his head spun sickeningly. He hadn’t felt this panicked in years and the horrible clenching pain of it caused him to crumple, his arms wrapping tightly around himself as he broke out in a cold sweat.

“Snap out of it, Ashton,” Liam said harshly. “If you want to be a Hornet, it’s past time you started acting like one.” He rose, circling the desk to lean against the polished wood nearby. The tears were leaking down Ashton’s clammy cheeks now and he whimpered when Liam’s hand clapped down firmly on his shoulder, even as he leant desperately into the contact.

He’d always craved being close to others when he was panicking. Maybe that was never going to change.

“You need to pull yourself together,” Liam said in a quieter voice, like he was talking to a small child. “I know Mr Horan thinks highly of you and I owe Fletcher for everything he did for the Hornet Mob. Those are the reasons I’m going to give you a second chance after this little display today, okay? You’ve done great things but I just don’t think you’re strong enough to do what needs to be done.”

“I am,” Ashton disagreed weakly. “I have.” But it didn’t feel like enough.

The tears were drying sticky on his bruised face now but he squared his jaw, fighting to control the sobs that wanted to rip their way through the gristle of his ribcage.

“No one said this life was pretty,” Liam said softly, his hand still resting comfortingly on Ashton’s shoulder. “This world isn’t about beauty - it’s about power... and being a Hornet will give you that.” Liam held the younger man’s gaze, his dark eyes flat as something burnt far below the surface. “Do I have your word that you’ll do everything required for the gang? That you’ll put its collective needs before your own, no matter the cost?”

Ashton thought about what Liam was asking; thought of the Speakeasy with its clinking glasses and cigarette smoke hanging cloying in the air; thought of Niall, Harry, Zayn, and Louis; thought of the excitement and the adrenaline, and the satisfaction of a job well done.

Ashton inhaled shakily, reaching out to shake Liam’s hand as the steely resolve settled in his stomach.

“I will,” the Texan promised and Liam smiled his shark smile, his fingers tightening around Ashton’s.

“Welcome to the Hornet Mob, Mr Irwin.”

Chapter Text

The room was probably too dark for this to be a good idea but Ashton hadn’t wanted to seem a coward. Michael already disliked him – he had done ever since that day when Sophia had been returned by Collins – and for Ashton to question Michael’s judgements while he was tattooing him might be a little too reckless, even for him.

“So… this is your job in the Hornet Mob then? You’re the tattooist?” Ashton asked doubtfully. Tattooing the newly initiated gang members didn’t seem like a full time occupation to him but he supposed he couldn’t really know that for sure; who knew how far-reaching Liam’s criminal empire stretched? Maybe Ashton was surrounded by Hornets all the time and he just never knew it.

It wouldn’t have surprised him either. He’d never noticed Niall’s or his father’s tattoos before so who was to say he would have spotted the tattoos on a neighbour or a shopkeeper?

Maybe the tattoos were kept private, just like the rest of the gangsters’ lives. Maybe the Hornet Mob only functioned on secrets.

“Of course that’s not my job,” Michael scoffed harshly, rolling his eyes at the ridiculous question. “I just got lumbered with the tattoos because I have the steadiest hand and more artistic talent than all of the thugs here put together.” He kept his head bowed as he spoke, his tongue poking between cherry-red lips as he focused on finishing the outline of the tattoo. The stinging was more of a mild discomfort than actual pain but it still wasn’t pleasant and Ashton wouldn’t be in a rush to get more ink anytime soon.

“What do you actually do then?” the younger man asked curiously, trying to inject a little bit of enthusiasm into his voice so that maybe Michael would stop hating him quite so much.

“I fix people up when they get hurt,” the older man said bluntly, still focused on the needle as he began to methodically fill the tiny outline with black ink. Ashton frowned at Michael as he processed that, remembering the day he’d helped Andy when Liam had pistol-whipped him after the black-haired man had spoken out of turn.

“Does that get quite busy then?” Ashton asked uncertainly as his arm gave an involuntary twitch under the sting of the needle. Michael sighed audibly at the continued questions. “I don’t see you around much but I kind of figured you were just hidden in an office somewhere. Surely there wouldn’t be enough work for that to be viable.”

Michael bristled visibly, pausing in his tattooing for a moment as he raised his head to glare at the younger man.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Irwin.”

Clearly, Ashton had hit a nerve.

“Then tell me,” the younger man said, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip. Michael’s eyes flickered down to follow the movement and something hot melted in Ashton’s stomach that fluttered like nervous butterflies.

“I trained at Chaddock School of Medicine. I was going to be a doctor,” Michael said angrily before some of the colour seeped from his cheeks. “And then I got involved in drugs and fighting, and Mr Payne was the only one who was willing to give me a chance at redemption… and I owe him. That’s the only reason I’m still here now. The only reason.”

He was breathing hard, his green eyes no longer spiteful but deeply sad instead.

“How can you even ask if there’s enough work for me here?” Michael asked in a softer voice, his face paling as he focused on the needle again, his hands remaining as steady as ever. “Don’t you realise how many people are involved in keeping this damned circus running?”

His eyes drifted nervously towards the dark hallway but there was no one about to hear his dangerous words.

“Don’t you know about the prostitution ring that Styles runs? The cage fighting that Sheeran’s been handling? They all work under Payne, Irwin, and all of those people need fixing up sometimes.” Michael took a deep breath, blinking rapidly to clear any dampness from his eyes. “That’s my job, Irwin. That’s what I signed up for. Not tattooing stupid little kids who should have stayed back in Texas on their daddy’s ranch.”

The sudden rage that burnt inside Ashton was so strong that he wanted to wrench his arm away but Michael kept a firm grip on his wrist, gritting his teeth angrily when the younger man continued to struggle.

“Feel free to keep moving if you want this to look ridiculous,” Michael said sharply and, finally, some sense returned to Ashton. He stiffened, his shoulders tense with hurt and insult as the needle continued on another long, stinging glide.

“What did I ever do to you, Clifford?" Ashton demanded, his face flushing with confused anger. “Why do you hate me so much?”

Ashton’s voice broke but Michael was kind enough not to call him out on it.

“Because you should have left well enough alone, Irwin,” the older man said bitterly, each word snapping shut like a bear trap. “Because I saw the things your heroic father did to innocent people and I still have nightmares!” He quietened abruptly, taking a shaky breath as his expression darkened. “Because if you don’t watch out, Irwin, you’ll end up just like him.”

Michael allowed that to sink in for a moment before he gestured to the younger man’s new tattoo with his fingertip.

“This means you’ve killed someone already, doesn’t it?”

Ashton nodded mutely and the older man sighed, a slow seeping sound like everything good was leaking out of him.

“Then it’s only a matter of time,” he said softly. “You’re already lost.”

Michael wiped the blood away from Ashton’s arm gently with a cloth as he examined the younger man with his sad green eyes.

“You want to know why I don’t try to make friends here?” Michael asked and there was a vulnerability in his voice that Ashton had never been privileged enough to hear before. He nodded silently and Michael’s full lips gave a humourless twitch. “Because eventually – one way or another – every single one of you will all get involved in something too dangerous and you’ll come back to my office. You’ll lie on that bed right there in the corner and you’ll be hurt so badly that I won’t be able to save you… and that will be on my conscience forever. I’ll have to live with that for the rest of my life.”

Michael’s tear-wet gaze reflected the lamplight like he was burning apart from the inside out.

“It’s happened before and it will happen again. It always does.” He sighed quietly, hanging his head to hide where the tears were beginning to leak out. “Now leave me alone, Irwin, and don’t pick that tattoo, okay? You’ll only get it infected.”

Ashton drifted out of the room numbly, his head spinning with every accusation and gentle admonishment that Michael had thrown at him as he let the door click shut quietly behind him.

His tattoo gave a painful throb when Ashton began to roll his sleeve down to cover it and he hesitated, gazing at the hornet which now adorned the inside of his wrist.

That would be there until the day he died.

On some abstract level, Ashton wondered how long that would be.  

The day only got worse from that point on.

Liam had been in a foul mood all morning and the atmosphere throughout the Hornet Mob’s base was undeniably strained as the sound of doors slamming echoed through the empty corridors. Ashton took shelter in Niall’s office, lurking behind the boxes and crates as he skim-read a manila folder of documents for a meet taking place in a week’s time.

The text was admittedly interesting, collected during various scouting missions led by Niall into Collins’ side of Chicago a few months back. Ashton was trying to familiarise himself with the boundaries between their territories and the locations of the few safe houses he was privy to, lest he ever need to go into hiding.

The war between the gangs was reaching boiling point now and Ashton refused to be caught in the crossfire without adequately preparing himself first.

The door opened and the younger man ducked his head warily behind the closest crate, sliding the file silently back onto the desk so that he had his hands free. He heard a quiet sigh from the doorway; the click of a lighter as a waft of cigarette smoke drifted over the room. Niall sank down into the desk chair with his eyes shut, relaxing for a moment before he let out a surprised yelp upon realising that he was not alone.

“Damnit, kid,” Niall groaned, one hand coming to rest over his presumably-racing heart. “Way to scare a guy!”

“Sorry,” Ashton said with a half-shrug. “Didn’t want to loudly proclaim I was alone in here in case Frank came prowling.” Niall shuddered but the Texan was more focused on where his tattoo had begun to itch beneath his shirt. He was vaguely considering scratching it before he remembered Michael’s warning and, as the failed doctor’s words washed over him, Ashton became aware of a bitterness wallowing inside him like a stone.

“Did you get your ink?” the Irishman asked suddenly and Ashton waved his arm vaguely in the older man’s direction. Niall’s tired smile faded a little.

“You’re angry,” he realised, his voice delicate as he dropped his cigarette into the ashtray. The smoke coiled up towards the ceiling like a ghost. “Why are you angry, kid?”

“I’m not a kid,” Ashton snapped and the sudden heat that saturated those words should never have been aimed at Niall; not when Ashton was still angry at Michael for putting his own fears into words.

Niall’s lips were pressed together flatly now, his nostrils flaring a little although he seemed to be trying to calm himself. The blond man never approached a confrontation with anything but a clear head and it was something Ashton had always admired about him. Right now though, it was just cause for further frustration.

“If you have something you need to say to me, Ashton, then now’s the time,” Niall said in a carefully measured voice, his blue eyes tracing the younger man’s face in confusion. “C’mon. Just get whatever’s worrying you off your chest.”

Dimly, Ashton realised that his hands were shaking but it wasn’t with anxiety this time; it was anger although directed at whom, he wasn’t sure.

“Liam told me once that you’re his right-hand man,” Ashton began uncomfortably. “Is that true?”

Niall’s lips parted in surprise as they sat there watching each other, his pale brow creasing as he scowled at his cluttered desk in confusion.

“Yeah,” he said at last, his answer grudging as his teeth sank unhappily into his bottom lip. Ashton saw the apprehensiveness on the older man’s face and, in his distress, he perceived it as guilt.

"You must know almost everything that goes on in the Hornet Mob, right?" the younger man asked. “Liam tells you what he’s planning, doesn’t he? Things he doesn’t tell the rest of us. About the cage fighting and the prostitution. None of that is a surprise to you, is it?”

Ashton flattened his palms on the polished wood, leaning forwards angrily while Niall simply watched him, his shoulders slumping like a great weight was settling over him. The blond man’s face had gone pale now.

“How do you know about those things? They’re secret,” Niall said helplessly. “Need to know only. Who have you spoken to?” He seemed to realise the answer to his own question though and an unpleasant flatness rolled across his stormy emotions, hiding them from view in a way that reminded Ashton unnervingly of Liam.

“Maybe I need to have a word with Clifford about holding his tongue,” Niall said coldly. “If he’s not careful, he’ll get somebody into trouble.” The Irishman’s expression flickered and, suddenly, the pain was back again, burning hotter than before. “He’ll get you in trouble if you go around talking about these things. You don’t understand, Ash! You can’t understand. Not now. Not yet.”

“I’m not a child!” Ashton repeated, his voice louder now. He felt as though he was being watched but there was no time to dwell on his paranoia when he could see Niall shaking his head exhaustedly.

“Liam trusts you,” Ashton said like an accusation. He didn’t know where the anger inside him had come from; all he knew was that the awful energy searing his bones had finally found a release and he was powerless to stop it.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Ashton asked, his voice getting softer as the betrayal seeped through him. “You knew I’d have to kill if I wanted to stay here.”

"What are you getting at, Ash?” Niall asked but there was a warning note in his voice now and his complexion was flushed with colour. Anger was an ugly alien expression on Niall’s usually-handsome face and something about the appalling wrongness of it reminded Ashton of his father for a moment; reminded him of a childhood of erratic punishment and manipulative blame.

“Did you know that the man I killed was innocent?” he asked, his voice shaking as his eyes welled up with infuriating tears. Niall reeled back like Ashton had punched him, the shock and pain rippling across his face too jarring to be anything but genuine.

"What kind of question is that?!" the Irishman gasped, his accent thickening in his distress. He looked more upset than Ashton had expected. “Of course I didn’t! You really think I wouldn’t have warned you? Tried to put a stop to it?”

“I don’t know,” Ashton said honestly and that one confession leeched the anger from both of them. “How can I trust you? How can I trust anyone? This whole place is built on lies and secrets.” He thought of the long silences whenever he timidly mentioned Fletcher, so desperate for the answers he had been searching for all his life; the only Hornet who had spoken freely of Ashton’s father was Michael. “I don’t think anyone’s been completely honest here since the day I arrived.”

“I’ve never lied to you, Ashton,” Niall argued weakly, his eyes overflowing with tears now. “I might not always be allowed to tell you the whole truth but I respect you too much to lie. I thought you knew that.”

“I don’t,” Ashton whispered. His anger was crumbling around him now, making room for the great aching sadness he could feel stretching out beneath it, and Ashton clutched at his fading rage like a comfort blanket, too afraid to let go. “I don’t even know why you joined the gang. Not really.”

“But I told you,” Niall said desperately. “I was getting mugged and Liam saved me. He –”

“Not enough,” Ashton said, shaking his head grimly. “Tell me the truth, Ni. That’s all I’m asking.”

“Fine. Fine. I’ll tell you.” The blond man raked a hand through his hair, his blue eyes exhausted and unhappy as he gazed pleadingly at Ashton, the shame clear on his face. “I joined the Hornet Mob because I wanted excitement, okay? My family were starving in Ireland and I was just one more mouth to feed. I didn’t want to stay with them anyway; they weren’t good people and I knew I’d never find what I needed back home. I wanted adrenaline. I wanted to be a part of something greater than myself… so I stowed away. I arrived at the harbour in Boston and I walked for months just like you did, and I made it. Liam found me and everything fell into place.”

“And being a Hornet is everything you wanted?” Ashton asked dubiously, his hazel eyes locked uncertainly on the older man. “It’s everything you dreamt of? The killing and the fighting? The near-constant fear?”

Niall lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug, a heavy sigh escaping him as he stared up at the ceiling, his eyes more tired than Ashton had ever seen them. He reached for his cigarette again, taking one long drag before he stubbed it out in the ashtray.

“It’s the price I paid for escaping my old life,” Niall said, putting one of his feet on the chair and drawing his folded leg up to his chest. It was a distinctly childlike gesture and, as the older man’s thumb rubbed at a spot through his slacks, Ashton wondered for the first time if that’s where his tattoo was, inked into his pale ankle.

“I didn’t set out to hurt people, kid,” Niall said hopelessly. “It was just the natural progression of things and I was too weak to fight it but… but that’s just the way things go here, okay? Liam calls the shots. I just had to learn to live with it. You will too, if you’re going to survive this life. There’s no way out, kid. It’s sink or swim.”

Ashton hated the way Niall was speaking now, so slowly and sadly, like he’d already given up. “There’s always a way out, Ni,” Ashton disagreed. “Nothing’s ever completely black or white.” His cheeks were still heated though, his hands still trembling with the dregs of his anger. “You shouldn’t just stop fighting; not if you’re not happy like this… and the more awful things you do, the worse you’ll feel. Why can’t you see that? Why don’t you care?”

The Irishman sighed angrily, his blue eyes flashing.

“You don’t get to play the innocent card here,” he said sharply. “You have no right to be so high and mighty now. You’re one of us, kid, or did you forget that?” Niall’s fingers wrapped loosely around Ashton’s wrist where the tattoo was inked into his skin and, although it was a gentle enough touch that the younger man could easily break away, Ashton’s eyes still widened with panic.

“You’re no better than the rest of us,” Niall said sullenly as he finally let the younger man go. “If you were, you wouldn’t have come here.”

In that moment, he didn’t look much older than Ashton after all. He had just been suffering for a long time and Ashton felt like he’d been kicked in the stomach; felt as though he was seeing his hero unmasked in front of him. It hurt in unexpected ways, to be confronted so harshly with reality now and he wished he could look into Niall’s face properly now that the mask was gone but the tears were blurring his vision.

“Now it’s your turn to be honest to me,” the blond man said quietly, his own eyes growing wet as he watched the younger man intently. “Tell me what you think of me, kid. Now that you know the truth.”

A tear slipped down Ashton’s cheek as he squared his jaw against the sob that wanted to escape him.

“I hate you,” he whispered as he crumpled at the grief rippling across Niall’s face. Ashton cried like he'd been beaten; like he'd just watched someone he loved die in front of him.

“Do you?” Niall asked brokenly and the Texan wanted to reach for his hand but he wasn't sure he was allowed anymore.

“No,” he admitted tearfully. “I don't think it's possible for me to hate you, Ni. I care too much.”

The silence in the tiny office rose around them like a wave and Ashton felt as though he was about to be swept away in it.

“And me?” he whispered after a long moment, his hazel eyes fixed imploringly on Niall's tear-streaked face. “How do you feel about me now, after all of that?”

“Honestly?” the Irishman asked softly, his eyes glimmering with sadness and affection. “I love you, kid. You’re like my little brother. My best friend. I’d do anything for you.”

The earth felt as though it was fracturing beneath Ashton’s feet as he rose on unsteady legs. One arm shot out clumsily to steady himself and sent a pile of folders crashing to the floor. His knees felt weak beneath him.

Niall loved him. He loved him.

Nobody had ever told Ashton that before.

Never.

“Ash?” Niall asked softly but the younger man couldn’t bear to look at him anymore; not when he’d caused his friend so much pain… not when Niall loved him.

“I… I have to go,” Ashton said weakly, his eyes too wide as he reached blindly for the door. Another pile of folders fell to the floor but he barely noticed them now. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I... I’m sorry, Ni.”

He backed out into the dark hallway, so frightened without being able to understand why. A piece of his heart tore cleanly away when he saw Niall bury his face in his hands as the door swung shut and, quite suddenly, Ashton couldn’t get far enough away from him.

He bit his knuckle to keep silent as he staggered away, his free hand sliding along the panelled wood as he searched for the door that would lead him down towards the storage room. He wanted to leave but he was too frightened to walk past Frank now, especially when his anger and sadness had leached so much of his energy from him.

Ashton just about made it to the storage room in one piece, sustaining only mild grazes to his palms as he stumbled down the stairs in the semi-darkness, but it was no good in the end. His eyes were too full of tears to find the secret door Niall had shown him the day before and Ashton crumpled with a broken sob, his fists slamming into the dusty ground.

The self-hatred that rose up inside him in that moment was as strong as it was unexpected. The force of it took his breath away and he curled in on himself in an effort to escape it, his back hitting one of the shelves as he drew his knees to his chest. He felt like a child again, back on those first nights he remembered Fletcher leaving him all alone, back when he’d still been terrified of monsters stealing him in the darkness… but Ashton was one of those twisted monsters now.

Maybe he’d never be whole again.

He slammed his palm uselessly into one of the boxes nearby and, as the sound of the glass bottles rattling inside reached his ears, a dark anticipation washed through him as the angry tears continued to spill down his cheeks.

He reached for the closest bottle, squinting at it in the darkness before he shrugged and took a swig. It was whiskey and the strength of it punched a cough out of him, his eyes watering as it burnt through him.

The alcohol seared his insides but he kept drinking.

Ashton just wanted to forget.  

His friend needed to be alone.

That was what Niall tried to tell himself from the moment the office door swung shut.

Ashton needed space; needed a chance to organise his thoughts and wrestle his emotions back under control… but god, Niall couldn’t forget the desperation on the younger man’s face. He’d hated seeing Ashton that upset - hated it more than he could put into words - but he was trying to give the Texan the solitude he needed.

Niall hoped the younger man had made it home safely but something niggled inside that wouldn’t let him rest. It wasn’t quite anxiety - not yet anyway - but he still didn’t feel comfortable, sitting there chain smoking cigarettes while Ashton was out there somewhere, alone and probably hurting… and damn, with a father like Fletcher, hadn’t he been alone for long enough?

Niall managed to hold off for an hour before he finally went in search of Ashton, his hands shaking a little as he fastened the buttons of his coat. He was halfway down the corridor towards the main entrance when he realised that there was no way Ashton would choose to walk past Frank… not alone anyway… not without Niall.

His heart began to race as he hurtled off in the other direction, passing a curious-looking Harry as he rushed towards the staircase that would lead him down into the depths of the building. He was sure Ashton would be lost somewhere in the darkness of the tunnels under the Speakeasy but, before Niall’s panic could truly overwhelm him, he hurtled into the shadowy storage room and tripped over… a body?

A low groaning sound broke the silence and Niall felt like icy water was dripping down his spine as he reached for the limp figure on the floor. His hand encountered an empty bottle and the scent of whiskey wafted towards him as dread seeped through Niall.

“Oh no, kid,” the blond man breathed, his eyes stinging with tears again. “What have you done to yourself?”

Ashton murmured something when Niall’s fingertips gently brushed his clammy cheek, his speech so slurred that barely any words were discernible, apart from perhaps: “I’m sorry”.

Niall’s heart ached in his chest as he helped Ashton into a sitting position, the younger man hanging limply in his friend’s arms as his irregular breaths rasped in the Irishman’s ear. His skin felt cold against Niall’s and the blond man rubbed his back soothingly, his worry growing when Ashton let out a choking sound and vomited, his body jerking in Niall’s arms.

“Ni?” the younger man croaked, his eyes overflowing with tears as his hand reached clumsily for Niall’s face, his fingers sliding over the blond man’s cheekbone. “Ni... don’t feel good. ‘m sorry. ‘m so sorry.” His words were so garbled that it took the blond man a moment to even process what the younger man was saying but, when he did, it was all he could do to keep himself from crying again…. but there would be time for that later, after they were both safe.

“You can’t stay here like this,” Niall said softly, cradling Ashton’s cheek gently in his palm as the younger man struggled to focus on his friend’s face, his hazel eyes rolling. The scent of whiskey was almost overpowering now and Niall tightened his hold around Ashton’s waist, adjusting his grip before he lifted the Texan up into his arms.

“Hornet or not, Liam doesn’t like people stealing from him,” Niall cautioned gently when he glimpsed the confusion in Ashton’s pained eyes before he tucked his face away into the older man’s broad shoulder. “C’mon, kid. We need to get you out of here, right now... before anyone finds us.”

He would come to clean up later, once he was sure his friend was out of the woods. Right now though, he was more focused on the dead weight of the Texan in his arms as Ashton clung to him. He was heavy like this but Niall kept his feet moving as he carefully descended the stairs, trusting muscle memory as the darkness rose up to swallow them whole.

It took almost two hours for them to get back home, walking through Chicago as the offices turned out for the day and the market sellers began to pack up their wares. They attracted a dangerous amount of attention but Niall barely paid the staring strangers any mind as his sweat soaked through his shirt, his limbs exhausted under the weight of his friend as he struggled through the streets.

“Almost there now,” Niall murmured, his lips brushing Ashton’s forehead beneath the dusty fedora. “Not long now.”

The Irishman got the door unlocked without dropping his friend somehow but the trek up the stairs was something Niall hoped never to repeat again in similar circumstances.

It was at moments like this when Niall wondered if maybe he understood why alcohol had been prohibited after all.

“Ni?” Ashton whimpered when the Irishman settled him down on the bed, his hazel eyes half-shut as his dizziness overwhelmed him. “Where am I?”

“My room,” Niall replied as he carefully eased the younger man’s shoes off before helping him out of his coat. “Bed’s bigger in here and I’m not leaving you to sleep alone like this.” Ashton murmured quiet affirmation, his eyes sliding shut for a moment as Niall finally took a step back, chewing his bottom lip anxiously as he tried to work out what he could do to help.

The fedora had fallen onto the floor nearby and the blond man stepped over it as he darted quickly into the kitchen to get a cup of water. Ashton’s face looked grey when Niall returned and his worry only grew as he helped his friend take a few sips, hoping he’d be able to keep it down.

“You need anything else?” Niall asked softly and Ashton looked at him blearily, his eyes red-rimmed, his lashes spiky with tears.

“Cold,” he whispered but his pained expression didn’t falter when the blond man carefully draped a few blankets over him. “Want you,” Ashton croaked and Niall’s heart ached as he climbed onto the bed beside his friend, his arm sliding around the younger man’s shoulder as he stroked his curls back gently.

He knew his friend would feel awful in the morning but, for now at least, Ashton was safe in his arms.

That was all that mattered.

“I’ll stay with you,” Niall promised as Ashton closed his eyes again, turning his face away into the older man’s neck. “We can talk about this later. For now, just try to sleep it off, kid.”

“‘m not a kid,” Ashton mumbled and Niall hummed, pressing a chaste kiss to his best friend’s forehead.

“You’re my kid… or as good as,” he whispered, wondering if these words would even be remembered in the morning.

Ashton let out a contented sigh, his fingers twisting securely in the older man’s shirt.

He fell asleep curled against Niall’s chest.  

The Hornet Mob’s Speakeasy was fuller than it had been in a long time, the laughter and clinking of glasses rising and falling beneath the tuneful crooning of Louis Armstrong swelling from the gramophone. Ashton let it all wash over him as he leant against the wooden panelled wall, his arms folded loosely over his chest, the white shirt clinging to his muscular shoulders as the unhappiness soured inside him.

He still felt ashamed whenever he remembered the state he’d got himself into a few weeks previously, the night when Niall had literally had to stop him from choking to death on his own sick. It was awful and disgusting, and he was fairly certain he was never going to drink again because damn, if he wanted Niall to be proud of him and actually feel that he deserved it, drinking himself into a stupor and being unable to put one foot in front of the other was definitely not the way to go about it.

“You still beating yourself up?” Niall chided as he appeared nearby, one hand settling on Ashton’s shoulder for a brief moment in their shadowy corner. His palm quickly slipped away though; being surrounded by other Hornets like this didn’t exactly encourage open displays of affection. “You gotta ease up, kid. You’ll burn yourself out with all this hating.”

It was more the fact that Niall had called him ‘kid’ than his admittedly-sensible words that finally eased the tension in Ashton’s shoulders. He was so glad he hadn’t forgotten the things Niall had said to him that night when he’d carried him home.

‘You’re my kid… or as good as.’

It meant more than Ashton would ever be able to put into words.

They stood together in companionable silence for a while, just basking in the atmosphere of the room as they watched the patrons dancing and drinking. Ashton could see Louis and Zayn leaning side by side against the bar from his vantage point in the darkness behind the booths edging the large room. The two older men were incredibly blatant in their obvious warmth for each other and the Texan could only hope that the other gangsters in the room were too focused on acting as security to notice the pair lingering together.

A tiny vulnerable part of Ashton wondered if he would ever be happy with someone like that. He’d never been in love before and he wasn’t completely certain it was something he was actually capable of. Love was never something discussed during his childhood and he’d been left with the very lasting impression that it was simply something other people felt but, over the last two years, he’d begun to wonder if perhaps he understood it better than he’d realised after all.

Maybe he didn’t need to fall for someone to feel love. Maybe it was just something he woke up to every morning, like a routine too comfortable to break.

Niall smiled at him when he caught Ashton glancing over shyly and the younger man’s lips curved up unconsciously.

There was the man who was as good as a brother to him.

There was the only man Ashton had ever loved.

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind, than the door to the Speakeasy slammed open. Masked figures streamed into the room, all of them wielding automatic rifles. The barrels had been sawn down, the jagged metal sharp as knives as the bullets sprayed out like a deadly swarm of wasps.

“Collins,” Niall spat, his blue glare locked on the figure of a man standing in the doorway. The only part of the rival gang leader Ashton could see was his dark eyes, narrowed with satisfaction as he watched his mobsters fire indiscriminately into the screaming crowd.

For just a moment, Ashton wondered if Calum was one of the masked men up there. He worked in Collins’ Speakeasy after all but… but Ashton couldn’t think about that. Not now. Not when he needed to focus on staying alive.

Gangsters and patrons alike crumpled to the polished ground, and the scent of gunpowder filled Ashton’s nostrils as a window shattered above them, the glass raining down into the shadows beneath which seemed to be the only thing keeping him alive right now.

The sound of the gunshots dragged him straight back to that night at the warehouse for a moment; the explosive bang and the fountain of blood. Ashton felt cold as he stood there, his jaw slack with horror, and it was only when he realised that he had been staring into the carnage in terrified silence that he slowly processed that Niall was no longer standing beside him.

The blond man had rushed out into the open space, the floor slippery with blood as he raised his revolver and fired at Collins’ men. Ashton’s heart felt like it had stopped in his chest when he saw Niall throw himself at an innocent bystander who had chosen the wrong moment to run for cover. The Irishman grabbed the man around the waist, dragging him to safety behind a fallen table nearby as the bullets tore into the wall, just inches from where they’d previously been standing.

Ashton’s hazel eyes settled on Harry where he was crouched behind the bar across the room, ducking warily behind the scorched surface before he methodically fired at the rival gang members. They were running low on ammunition now and didn’t seem to have anticipated the sheer intensity of return fire, especially when they’d had the element of surprise.

The rival gangsters were congregating by the doors to the Speakeasy now, seemingly determined to make one final stand before disappearing back into the night. Clearly they hadn’t anticipated the Hornets having automatic weapons to hand and Ashton was suddenly overwhelmingly grateful for Liam’s paranoia. Despite the obvious danger in joining the Hornet Mob, being outgunned was never going to be a risk, especially not when the mob boss had his heart set on carving Collins’ gang clean out of Chicago.

This had been coming for a long time, Ashton knew. Liam and Collins had been butting heads for years by the sound of it and, although it was common knowledge that both men wanted to seize the other’s territory, nobody had believed Collins would be bold enough to do this: to invade the Hornet Mob’s Speakeasy and gun down their patronage… but then, this was the man who had ordered the kidnapping of pregnant Sophia, wasn’t it? He would stop at nothing to intimidate them.

Ashton’s skin felt too tight for his body, his heart racing painfully in his chest as his eyes searched the room desperately for signs of life. There was still movement: Niall hidden behind the table, Harry crouched in the cover of the bar, Louis and Zayn lurking in the shadows in another corner.

Collins’ men seemed about ready to depart when the door leading to the private wing of the Hornet Mob’s Speakeasy opened and Liam appeared, still looking flustered and exhausted from a frustrating afternoon in his office. He seemed to have missed the disturbance entirely and Ashton’s heart rose into his throat when the older man stepped out obliviously into the open space, his dark eyes shocked for a moment before suspicion quickly rushed in.

“Watch out!” Niall shouted, scrambling up from behind the ruined table and rushing towards his boss. Collins’ men were already aiming their rifles, seemingly unperturbed by the return fire Harry, Louis, and Zayn were directing at them. Apparently they had been given their orders to end Liam, no matter the cost… but if they were going to kill Liam, they would have to go through Niall first and that was something that Ashton would never allow.

He sprinted from his refuge without hesitating, the adrenaline flooding his body like electricity as it crackled through him, his fear lending him wings.

There were bullets firing in both directions now and small fires were burning around the room where the alcohol had caught alight. Ashton saw none of it as anything more than a blur of colour and danger; he only had eyes for Niall.

The blond man had just bodily lifted Liam over the bar and into the relative safety of Harry’s new hideout but his honourable actions had left his back exposed, and the other armed Hornets weren’t close enough to keep Niall safe now because Collins had Liam’s right-hand man directly in his line of sight.

The Irishman should have stayed where he was safe just like every other mobster had done and that mistake would cost him if Ashton had miscalculated now.

The Texan threw himself the last few paces, his arms wrapping securely around Niall as he dragged him down out of harm’s way. Collins’ bullet scraped across Ashton’s shoulder, the force of it jerking him like a ragdoll as he shielded Niall’s body with his own.

The blood ran hot down Ashton’s arm but the wound seemed shallow enough and he could still feel his fingers, the soft pads torn and stinging from the broken glass sparkling on the floor around them.

The sound of shouts rose now, Collins’ demanding voice ordering his invaders to leave before the Hornets had the chance to regroup. Much closer, Niall’s breaths tore out of him in panic as his trembling hands rose to pull Ashton’s head down into the relative safety of his neck, lest one of the rival gangsters fire off one more warning shot before running.

Luckily, it was not to be.

Their enemies disappeared back the way they had come and the Texan’s relief overwhelmed him. His dizziness warred with the dull burning pain in his shoulder but neither of them mattered because Ashton had saved Niall. That was all he cared about.

“You’re hurt,” the Irishman gasped in horror, his frightened eyes locked on where the blood was spreading across the younger man’s crisp white shirt. Ashton felt a little faint now, his body loudly protesting the assault it had been subjected to.

“But you’re safe,” he mumbled, his bloodied face still tucked into his best friend’s neck. “Had to… had to tell you something…” His words were slurred, his eyes stinging with tears as the pain in his shoulder overwhelmed him. Niall was calling for help now, his voice higher than usual with anxiety as he was pinned to the floor by the dead weight of his best friend’s body.

Louis Armstrong’s voice was still somehow filling the room, drowning out the pained groans and cries, the running feet of patrons leaving and the crunch of glass under boots. The light in the room seemed to dim around them.

“Ni,” Ashton said urgently, his voice little more than a breath as his bloodstained fingers smeared across the older man’s pale cheekbones. The fatigue he could feel was starting to overwhelm him now and Niall was watching him anxiously, his own shirt sticky with Ashton’s blood as their gazes met. “Ni, I love you too.”

The younger man’s eyes rolled shut as the shock of the evening finally overwhelmed him and his head dropped back down onto his best friend’s shoulder. He was shaking, he realised dimly; trembling so hard that his teeth jarred together as Niall pressed a tearful kiss to his messy curls, his fedora fallen to the ground nearby.

“Thank you for saving me,” the Irishman murmured as he held the younger man closer. “I’ve got you now. You’re safe.”  

When Ashton next opened his eyes, he didn’t know where he was. The ground was dusty and uncomfortable beneath him, the unfamiliar walls streaked with watermarks as they stretched up into the darkness.

The pain in his shoulder was worse now - sharper and more insistent - but the blood had been washed away and he could feel cool probing fingers against his skin. He realised absently that the wound had been stitched back together and the reality of that made him feel quite nauseous as he closed his eyes again.

“Where am I?” Ashton murmured, gritting his teeth against the beginnings of a headache. The person tending to him paused, making a noise of surprise when they realised that their patient had woken up.

“You’re in the tunnels under the Speakeasy,” Michael said quietly, concentrating on dousing a cloth in a metallic-smelling substance that made Ashton wrinkle his nose uncertainly. “We thought it was safer to come down here before we started patching people up. No one knows if the police will show up or not.”

The remaining Hornets were passing back and forth nearby, some of them gripping torches and sporting bandaged injuries, the others carrying crates of alcohol to safe places where it would be easier to transport them in a rush if this became necessary.

“Oh. That makes sense.” Ashton reached up with his good hand to rub at his gritty eyes, his face pale with exhaustion and blood loss. “Thank you, Clifford… and thanks for the tattoo the other week too. I don’t think I said it at the time.”

“That’s okay,” Michael said quietly, his tone slightly surprised as he raised the damp cloth to one of the gashes on Ashton’s forehead. “How’s the tattoo healing anyway?”

The metallic-smelling liquid made contact with Ashton’s cuts as the doctor spoke and the younger man hissed at the burning pain, struggling to pull away even as Michael held him firmly, his jaw set as he concentrated.

“Stop struggling. You’ll rip your stitches,” the older man said calmly before he moved on to the next cut, his green eyes softening when Ashton stopped trying to escape. “Now weren’t you going to tell me about your tattoo?”

“Oh… yeah, it’s been okay,” the Texan said faintly, gritting his teeth at the stinging pain as Michael encountered a tiny shard of glass that he’d missed. He removed it carefully, Ashton’s knuckles bone-white as his hands curled into fists. “I didn’t scratch it, just like you said…” His voice faded away and he sighed, biting his lip hard. “What are you pouring all over me? Acid?!”

“Not quite,” Michael corrected, even as a tiny smile touched his usually-grave face as he moved on to the next wound. “It’s iodine, Irwin. It’s an antiseptic which wouldn’t have been necessary if you hadn’t been playing the hero.”

“Not true,” Ashton whispered as his eyes slid shut again, the guilt slowly overwhelming him. “The glass caught me when I was hiding in the corner like a pathetic coward.”

“Or someone with common sense,” Michael countered before he pulled a face, biting his lip uncertainly. “You’re not a coward though, Irwin. You saved Horan’s life. Everyone’s been talking about it.” The doctor’s face had softened now as he finally set the iodine-covered rag aside. “That was brave. Stupid maybe... but brave.”

Ashton thought about that for a moment, remembering again that night in the warehouse before he thought of Niall lying safely beneath him and cradling his best friend to his chest. Ashton wondered for a moment if that had been his chance to atone - a life for a life - but the restless energy in his chest was crackling again and he knew it wasn’t enough to ease his guilt.

Maybe nothing ever would be.

“Stupid but brave, huh?” Ashton repeated after a long moment, his cheeks heating a little when he realised Michael was kneeling beside him looking anxious. “Well, that sounds about right. That’s the only criteria to join you guys, isn't it?” It was a subtle dig, just to remind Michael that he was a Hornet too, especially after their last conversation when the older man had criticised Ashton for his choices.

Michael seemed to realise what the Texan was implying because a tiny smile touched his lips, bitten raw from worry.

“You’re fairly stressful to be around. You know that, don’t you?” the doctor asked and Ashton grinned, his hazel eyes sparkling in the dim light as he accepted the older man’s extended hand, rising into a painful sitting position.

“Niall’s undoubtedly thought that before,” the younger man agreed. “You two should get a drink sometime; just sit there and whine about me.”

“Not sure I’d be to Horan’s taste,” Michael said with a smirk and the younger man tilted his head to the side consideringly, taking in the doctor’s cherry red lips and the gleam of his emerald eyes.

“No, not Niall’s maybe,” Ashton murmured, suddenly becoming very aware of the fact that his shirt had been cut away and the shadows of the tunnel were casting his abdominal muscles into sharp relief. Michael’s eyes definitely lingered and Ashton felt that heat melting inside him again when he realised the older man’s hand was still resting on his bare skin.

“Hey, Ash, you’re awake!” an excited voice called from nearby and Michael’s pale hand slipped away in a flash as he turned to sort through his medical bag, his cheeks heating as Niall loped over. “Good job, Clifford! I thought he’d be out for the count after all that blood loss.”

“It wasn’t as bad as it looked,” Michael said without looking over. “Irwin just bleeds like a stuck pig. He’s so melodramatic.”

Niall gave the doctor a slightly confused glance at the unexpected warmth the two seemed to share but he didn’t comment on it which the Texan was grateful for. The Irishman simply settled the fedora on Ashton’s curls instead, a fond smile spreading across his relieved face.

“You ready to go home now, kid?” he asked as Ashton struggled to his feet, rolling his bad shoulder hesitantly to see how badly it hurt. The pain was a dull ache but it was manageable and Michael had done a great job with the stitches; Ashton was so grateful to him.

“Kid?” Niall repeated and the Texan blushed when he realised he’d been staring at the doctor.

“Yeah,” Ashton said, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling in embarrassment. “Yeah, I feel like I could sleep for a decade.”

“I don’t think Mr Payne will allow that,” Michael said dryly from nearby, his handsome face washed out in the half-light. The doctor was still watching Ashton worriedly though and the younger man’s cheeks only burnt hotter when Michael suddenly closed the space between them, beginning to unbutton his coat.

“Take this, okay?” the doctor suggested quietly as he draped the garment gently around Ashton’s shoulders. “You can’t walk through the streets like that. You’ll get sick and I don’t have time to fix you again.”

Ashton’s face softened as the pain and stress of the evening melted away.

“Didn’t lose me this time, doc,” he said gently and Michael’s eyes crinkled as he smiled.

“No, not this time,” he agreed as he reached into his medical bag for a reel of bandages, already preparing for his next patient. “Let’s not try for another, Ashton, okay?”

It was only when he’d already turned away that the Texan realised Michael had used his first name for once.

Niall was watching the play of emotions on his best friend’s face with a knowing sort of tenderness that didn’t fade when Ashton caught him looking.

“What are you thinking?” the younger man asked and Niall smiled bashfully in the darkness.

“You love me too.” His soft blue eyes were sparkling with wonder as a bright smile danced across his face. “Now c’mon, kid,” Niall said softly as his arm wrapped securely around his best friend’s waist. “Let’s get you safely home.”

Chapter Text

Ashton met Luke Hemmings in late September.

The leaves were already turning gold as autumn swept across Chicago and the chill of the evening was lost beneath the crackle of restless energy charring his bones. The rain had been falling continuously for weeks now and the gutters were flooded as the moonlight reflected off the damp cobblestones.

Ashton’s injured shoulder ached beneath his coat, the stiffness of the damaged muscle only worsened by the cold weather. It had been just over a month since Collins had shot him and the Texan still couldn’t raise his bad arm high enough to place his fedora on his head anymore, and although Michael insisted he was healing as well as could be expected, Ashton wasn’t sure that was the truth.

Mostly though, he was just sulking that Niall had now taken it upon himself to badger the younger man at every opportunity about not overdoing things. Honestly, Ashton was a grown man and if he wanted to climb up onto the countertop in their kitchen to reach the tin of lemon cakes Niall had stashed up there then he was going to do it, and injury be damned.

A tiny smile curved his lips as he walked along in the drizzle, realising just how lucky he was to have a best friend like Niall looking out for him. The Irishman was working a job on the other side of Chicago tonight and Ashton felt sad for a moment as he realised that their routine would be ruined this evening.

There would be no steaming bowls of beef stew while Niall played jazz music on the gramophone and the Texan read Oliver Twist, and he felt strangely cheated as his pace slowed to a sullen plod. He hadn’t realised up until that moment how much he’d come to rely on those relaxing hours with Niall.

His jaded thoughts were interrupted suddenly by a panicked cry shattering the darkness.

Ashton followed the noise instinctively, his heart clenching in his chest when he realised that he was witnessing a mugging in the alleyway nearby. It brought him back jarringly to his own similar attack several years ago but he shook the remembered fear away like raindrops. That night felt almost as though it had happened to someone else now and here was somebody who needed him.

The victim was a young blond man whose eyes were squeezed tightly shut in fear as he clawed hopelessly at the hand wrapped tightly around his throat. He was pinned to the brick wall, his feet kicking uselessly into the air, and the strangled choking sounds escaping him made Ashton feel quite sick as he watched the attacker press closer, his mouth twisted into a snarl as his knuckles whitened with how forcefully he was choking the blond man.

He began to rifle roughly through his victim’s coat with his free hand, searching for a wallet or anything else that would make this robbery worthwhile.

“Hey, goon!” Ashton said sharply as he strode forwards into the darkness. The restless energy inside had burned itself into adrenaline now and he felt jittery as he balanced on the balls of his feet, his wary hazel eyes locked on the mugger’s contorted face. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?”

The older man turned towards him with a sneer as he finally released his choking grip on his victim’s throat, allowing the blond man to slide down onto the ground with a wheezing cough. His pale face was damp with tears as he raggedly gasped in air but his shocked blue eyes remained fixed on Ashton, blazing gratitude and concern.

“You think that’s gonna be you, tough guy?” the mugger sneered. “You’re a fucking daisy. You wouldn’t even know where to start, punk.” He spat on the floor at Ashton’s feet and the Texan tilted his head to one side questioningly as he looked at the revolting man.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong,” he said calmly, wrenching back his shirt sleeve so that the hornet tattoo was proudly displayed. “What do you think this is?” He had the satisfaction of watching the older man’s eyes widen disbelievingly and the answering smile that touched Ashton’s lips was cold. “You’ll leave right now if you know what’s good for you.”

The mugger hesitated and the younger man saw his chance, lurching forwards to slam him up against the wall.

“I’d get out of here right now if I were you, blondie,” Ashton called to the man on the ground, his Texan accent thickening with the pain as his shoulder ached dully. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the blond man scrambling clumsily out of the alleyway where he would hopefully be safer.

Relieved that he no longer had to concentrate on protecting both of them, Ashton allowed his cold gaze to return to the older man’s face.

“You ain’t one of them,” the mugger said uncertainly but his watery grey eyes were frightened now and Ashton allowed the satisfaction of that to fill him like smoke.

“I’m a Hornet, bruiser,” he promised. “And you just made the biggest mistake of your life.”

Ashton’s mind was racing as he planned his next course of action but, before he could raise his leg to kick the man squarely in the groin – and thus hopefully buy himself enough time to get out of there safely – his bad shoulder gave way, sending the mugger stumbling away from the wall.

The older man’s eyes were alight with fierceness now and Ashton grunted as their positions were reversed, his bad shoulder slamming into the brickwork behind him. He was sure the flash of pain must have shown in his eyes because the mugger smiled like a shark tasting blood as the resolve flooded his face.

Ashton sensed the head-butt a moment before it came and turned at the last second, catching the brunt of the impact on his cheekbone. The force of it jolted his neck painfully and he cursed as he bit his tongue, blood welling coppery in his mouth.

Black spots danced before Ashton’s eyes and he shook his head to clear them, his hazel gaze locked furiously on the mugger’s rapidly-paling features as a spectacular bruise began to bloom on the older man’s forehead. Clearly, he hadn’t thought his attack through.

“You’ll be regretting that now,” Ashton said softly, spitting blood. He made as though he was going to turn away but, at the last second, he spun and his fist connected firmly with the man’s jaw, sending his head snapping back into the wall.

It was a clean punch – the kind Niall would have been proud of – and Ashton’s satisfaction only grew as the mugger’s eyes rolled up into his head and he slumped down into the puddles like a sack of potatoes. The Texan crouched down beside him, his dizziness threatening to overwhelm him for a moment as his head throbbed painfully.

“Goon,” Ashton repeated in an angry mutter as he rummaged through the older man’s pockets for any stolen items. He rose once he’d found what he was looking for and, cracking his aching knuckles with a note of finality, Ashton turned and left.

The blond man was lingering nervously outside the alley, his blond hair rumpled from the scuffle as a shallow cut on his eyebrow oozed blood. There were painful-looking fingerprints pressed into his neck which didn’t seem to be fading but the concerned look on his face quickly melted into relief when he saw the Texan standing there.

“You're okay!” the blond man beamed, his blue eyes crinkling although the sheer strength of his smile caused his swollen lip to begin bleeding. “I'm so sorry you had to get involved like that. I thought if I just tried reasoning with him then…” His voice trailed away at the bemused expression on Ashton’s face and he faltered, broad shoulders slumping. “I was stupid, probably.”

“Not stupid,” Ashton disagreed kindly. “Just… dangerously optimistic.” He smiled, dimples creasing his cheeks, and the blond man blushed a little. “There’s nothing wrong with trying to find a peaceful solution to your problems… although really, you didn’t even try to hit him?”

“Of course not! I’m a pacifist!” the blond man said defensively, his cheeks heating again. It made Ashton smile a little, even as his face ached at the stretch. He was fairly certain his eye would be swollen shut by the morning and he knew he’d look terrible.

Niall would never want him leaving the apartment alone ever again probably.

“Nothing wrong with having principles, blondie,” Ashton said, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Although honestly, never would’ve guessed that a big strapping guy like you would be a pacifist. You look like you could’ve knocked the guy out with one punch and peacefulness be damned.”

“He wasn’t very peaceful,” the blond man said pointedly, shuddering a little as he wrapped his arms around himself tightly. His pale cheeks were still a little pink though, like Ashton’s words had delighted some secret part of him, and the sweetness of his face made him seem much smaller than he was as he stood there, his shoulders hunched in an oversized denim jacket decorated with various patches, one of which was a beautifully embroidered peace symbol sewn right over his heart.

“Well, he’ll be spending the night sleeping his concussion off in an alleyway,” Ashton said with an awkward, half-hearted shrug as he jerked his thumb towards the unconscious man behind them. “Speaking of…” He reached into his pocket for the stolen wallet, his face creasing a little when his bad shoulder protested the movement. “I believe this belongs to you?”

“My wallet! You got it back!” The blond man’s face lit up and he almost tripped in his haste to retrieve his lost possession, and it was only Ashton steadying him with a gentle hand on his arm that kept the taller man from staggering into the road. Both of them were blushing now.

“Thank you,” the blond man murmured, ducking his head shyly as his voice grew softer. “Thank you for helping me tonight. I’m sorry you got hurt.”

He reached out as he spoke, his fingertips fluttering lightly over Ashton’s swollen cheek as he tilted the smaller man’s head. He sucked in a shocked breath when he saw the extent of the damage in the moonlight but Ashton managed a wry smile all the same, even as the hairs on the back of his neck rose at the now-familiar sensation of being watched.

“I’ve been where you are and it sucks,” he said with a vaguely apologetic smile as the blond man’s hand dropped. “Plus, I’ve had a lot worse so please don’t beat yourself up worrying on my account.” He hesitated suddenly, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “Am I supposed to make jokes like that to pacifists?”

The blond man rolled his eyes, the blue sparkling in the light mist of rain.

“You’re ridiculous,” he said fondly as something that was almost a smile touched his lips.

“Actually, I’m Ashton,” he corrected, winking stupidly with the eyelid that was still functioning as it should be. “Do you have a name, blondie? Aside from damsel in distress?”

“Ridiculous,” the blond man repeated but he was definitely grinning now. “My name’s Luke.” He bit his lip, seemingly forgetting that it was sore before he winced at the dull stab of pain. “You’re bleeding,” he noticed suddenly and Ashton smiled humourlessly as he buried his hands in his pockets.

“So are you,” he said and the blond man – Luke – gave him a heated look that sent the Texan’s pulse racing in his veins.

“Maybe you should come back to my place and clean up,” the blond man said suggestively and Ashton smiled at the brazenness sparkling in the taller man’s eyes.

“Maybe I should,” he replied.

*

Luke lived in a bedsit a few blocks away and, despite the building’s generally rundown exterior, the inside was a pleasant surprise. He’d decorated the combined bedroom and living room area with more flowers than Ashton could count, and books piled across every surface. The room was lit with clusters of candles huddled together in pools of wax, the flames soon licking merrily at the wicks.

It felt strangely comfortable and Ashton relaxed in the rickety dining chair he had been pushed into. His coat and fedora were hanging up beside the door, and the blond man had shucked his denim jacket off since returning home, his soft white shirt clinging to him attractively as he carried a bowl of warm water back from the pan sitting on the stove.

Luke’s smile was tired as he reached to dab at one of the cuts on Ashton’s face with a damp rag and the Texan closed his eyes for a moment, unwinding further under the taller man’s tender ministrations.

“He really had you in a jam, huh?” Luke asked sympathetically as he gently washed the blood away from where the smaller man’s eye was rapidly swelling shut. Ashton shrugged with his good shoulder, his lips curving up into an infectious smile that the blond man returned, even despite the soreness of his own face.

“There are people like that everywhere,” Ashton said seriously, catching the taller man’s pretty blue eyes. “You’ll probably say no – tree-hugging pacifist that you are – but I think you should still know how to throw a decent punch.” Luke rolled his eyes but there was a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth which gave Ashton heart.

“What if you need to defend yourself if something like this ever happened again?” the Texan continued. “It wouldn’t sit right with me, just letting you wander out there without being able to defend yourself.”

“Defending myself and punching people aren’t the same thing,” Luke muttered as he brought the rag to another cut, this one stretching over Ashton’s cheekbone where the skin had split under the mugger’s forehead. It made him wince and the blond man looked guilty as he carefully eased away the flakes of dried blood.

“Is your nose broken?” Luke asked suddenly, his concern growing as he seemed to take in the twist of cartilage under the skin. His words brought the Texan back to that night in the warehouse for a second and he closed his eyes, inhaling shakily as he grounded himself in the current moment: flowers, candles, Luke.

“It’s healing,” Ashton said quietly. “And so will we.”

A comfortable silence spread between them, interrupted only by the gentle lapping of the water as Luke cleaned his wounds. His eyelashes were golden this close, so long that Ashton thought he could count every one if he could keep his eyes from returning to the taller man’s lips.

“You should still let me teach you to punch, blondie,” Ashton said when he realised he’d been spotted staring at Luke’s mouth. His hazel eyes sparkled when the blond man held his gaze, both of them sitting so close together that it was hard to focus in the soft light.

“Please let me show you,” the Texan said pleadingly and the blond man hesitated, clearly weakening now at the note of hopefulness in the smaller man’s voice.

“Fine,” Luke said grudgingly, trying to hide his smile as he turned to drop the bloodstained rag back into the bowl of water. “But that doesn’t mean I’m ever going to use it, okay?”

“Deal,” Ashton said, running his fingers through his hair where it was growing flyaway from the rain outside. Luke had carried the bowl back over to the sink by now and Ashton tilted his head to one side curiously when the blond man returned to him, a mischievous smile touching his lips as Luke unclipped the braces from his slacks. His shirt tails fell to hang around his waist but something about it drew Ashton’s eyes to the taller man’s thighs; the fluidity of his walk as he came to a graceful stop.

“How do I look now? All better?” Ashton asked teasingly.

“Still dashingly handsome,” Luke promised but it only sounded as though he was half-joking. He extended a hand to help Ashton up out of the chair and the Texan grinned as he rose lightly to his feet, their fingers remaining entwined for a moment as their tangled hands fell to hang between them.

“Thanks for helping me,” Ashton said softly, remembering the blond man’s gratitude earlier in the evening. “Now c’mon, blondie. Show me your best fist.”

*

Luke turned out to be dreadfully bad at punching.

He couldn’t form a fist to save his life and his arms windmilled clumsily as he proved to have very little coordination at all. His cheeks grew redder and redder with every easily-deflected punch, and he was growing quite exasperated in the end which was beginning to make Ashton laugh.

“That’s it!” Luke said grumpily, slumping down into an old armchair with a pout on his face. “I give up.”

“You can’t!” Ashton said earnestly, reaching for the blond man’s hand and giving it a comforting squeeze. “Don’t give in. We were finally getting somewhere – you actually managed to move in the right direction just now!”

Luke groaned, rolling his eyes at the smaller man’s tenacity even as he grudgingly allowed himself to be pulled to his feet again. They were bare now – him having long since kicked his shoes off – and he looked vulnerable for a moment, still moping a little as he curled his toes in the rug like a child.

“Hit me, blondie,” Ashton said, his eyes sparkling as he jokingly raised his fists. “C’mon, just hit me!”

“What prize do I get if I manage to land a real punch?” Luke asked and the smaller man smiled smugly.

“How about the satisfaction of knowing you bested me?”

“Nice try,” Luke said flatly, trying to pretend that he wasn’t finding this as funny as Ashton clearly was.

“Okay,” the Texan said, his tone placating. “How about I promise I’ll make it worth your while after and we leave it at that?” His tongue darted out to wet his lips and the blond man’s cheeks heated in response.

“You tease,” Luke muttered, huffing out a breathless laugh as he bounced on the balls of his feet, mirroring Ashton’s stance. “You asked for it though. I’m about to unleash my inner-bruiser.”

“Isn’t that a scientific impossibility?” the smaller man asked teasingly but he laughed delightedly when Luke grudgingly allowed himself to be drawn into their play fight.

“Guess you’ll just have to wait and find out,” the blond man smirked.

Luke did manage to land a successful punch eventually but his fist made contact with Ashton’s bad shoulder so it didn’t exactly go as planned. The smaller man stiffened, his pleased expression rippling with pain as his eyes prickled with tears. A curse escaped him before he could stop himself and Luke’s face became almost comically panic-stricken.

“I’m so sorry!” the blond man gasped, his hands covering his mouth so that his words came out muffled. “This is why I don’t like fighting! I hit too hard!”

“You don’t hit that hard, silly,” Ashton countered but his eyes were definitely watering now and he was worried it might have worsened the damage already hidden under his shirt. “I just… I got hurt a while ago and I forgot to warn you. It’s my own fault. If you’d hit me anywhere else, it probably wouldn’t even have hurt.”

“Oh.” Luke worried at his sore lip, his blue eyes softening as he took in the lingering pain on the smaller man’s face. “What happened to you?” He seemed to realise that the question might have been rude only after speaking and flushed scarlet when Ashton levelled a calm look at him.

“I got shot,” the smaller man said quietly, taking in the worry tightening the blond man’s face as he looked down at his unwitting guest with concern.

“Why?” Luke asked and Ashton wrapped his good arm around himself, shivering a little as he tried not to remember the terror he’d felt that night at the sight of Niall running towards Liam.

“I was saving my friend,” he replied after a long moment, providing the only truth he was comfortable with sharing. Luke didn’t need to know any more than that; it would only put him in danger too.

“Oh, Ash,” the blond man said, sighing sadly. “Do you ever have a day off from saving people?”

“Believe me, it’s not a regular activity for me,” he said heavily, a hollow smile tugging at his lips as his gaze fell to the floor. Luke reached for him uncertainly, his fingertips drifting down Ashton’s forearm where the Texan had rolled his sleeves back after getting too hot. It made Ashton shiver again but this time was distinctly more pleasant.

“You want to sit down somewhere more comfortable?” Luke asked tentatively as he gestured towards the corner of the room where a curtain was presumably hiding his bed from view. Ashton’s lips twitched wearily.

“Are you trying to seduce me?” he asked and some of Luke’s boldness from before returned to light up his relieved features.

“Only if you want me to,” he said, his fingers wrapping gently around the smaller man’s wrist. Luke stroked over Ashton’s pulse point with the pad of his thumb and the Texan shuddered, his stomach filling with excited butterflies as he stretched up to brush a feather light kiss over the taller man’s lips.

“Don’t stop,” Ashton breathed when Luke drew away to smile shyly against his mouth. The taller man’s hands drifted hesitantly to the Texan’s waist as his fingers slipped through the belt loops, drawing him closer. “It’s working.”

“You want it?” Luke asked softly and Ashton smiled past his nerves, pressing up on his tiptoes to kiss him again as his hand tangled in the taller man’s wavy blond hair.

“I want it,” he promised.

*

Luke’s sleeping quarters were the most colourful part of his bedsit. The mattress was draped with brightly patterned hand-knitted blankets and the pile of cushions was big enough for them to hide in. They left the curtains half-closed as they sank down onto the mattress together and it cast their little corner into shade, their skin glowing reddish-pink as the lamplight shone through the thin material.

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” Luke murmured between kisses. His lips trailed teasingly down the smaller man’s neck and Ashton groaned when he felt the barest scrape of teeth, the heat swelling inside him like a hot air balloon as he gasped in a breath. “Let me make it up to you?”

“Gladly,” the Texan murmured, his eyes falling shut as he moaned at the friction Luke’s thigh caused when it slipped between his legs. He relinquished control happily as their clothes slipped to the wooden floor like water and something about the way Luke’s muscles rippled beneath his pearly skin as he straddled the smaller man had Ashton hardening faster than he ever had in his life.

His hazel eyes were wide now, his pupils blown with arousal as his hands flew to grip the blond man’s hips. Luke rocked down lightly against him and a broken sound clawed its way out of Ashton, his cheeks heating with embarrassment and lust.

“You’ve never done this before, have you?” Luke murmured but, when the Texan drew back shyly to look at him, there was nothing but fondness on the blond man’s face. Ashton shook his head hesitantly and Luke’s smile softened as he leant down to kiss him. “Just relax. I’m gonna make you feel so good,” he promised and Ashton felt dizzy with how much he wanted this now.

“Please,” he breathed, shuddering when Luke lowered his head to kiss the smaller man’s throat. His lips began to drift again but not in the direction Ashton had been expecting and he blinked in surprise when the blond man’s mouth pressed feather-light to the healing wound on his shoulder.

“What’re you doing?” he breathed and Luke smiled bashfully against his skin.

“Kissing it better,” he whispered, his pale cheeks flushed with colour in the soft light. He shuffled behind Ashton, rolling the smaller man carefully onto his stomach so that he could settle down over him once more and resume his mission of getting the Texan to relax.

Luke pressed his lips again to the scar on the smaller man’s shoulder before he began to move lower, his mouth tracing down each knot in Ashton’s spine and not moving on until he was even more pliant beneath him. The smaller man’s overheated cheek was pressed to the cushions now, his eyes half-closed as Luke kissed the small of his back.

It made Ashton moan again, the sound softer as Luke’s thumbs rubbed comforting patterns into the smaller man’s hips. The friction of the sheets against Ashton was growing distracting and Luke’s mouth was tantalisingly hot against him.

“What are you doing now?” he breathed and the blond man pressed his smile into Ashton’s warm skin.

“Kissing everywhere else,” Luke murmured.

He was true to his word and by the time the blond man finally raised his head again, his lips were swollen and Ashton was almost incoherent. His flushed face was pressed to the cushions, his eyelashes sticky with tears and his hands shaking around fistfuls of blanket. He trembled when Luke pressed a kiss to the inside of his thigh, so achingly hard now that he felt as though he was about to burst into flames.

“Ashy?” Luke’s voice was softer now, raspier with need. He was stroking Ashton’s thighs teasingly with his thumbs, each swirl bringing them higher and higher as the smaller man whined, his hips rocking irresistibly against the mattress. “How far do you want to go tonight?”

Ashton shuddered, his hand reaching out blindly across the blankets for Luke’s. Their fingers entwined tightly and the smaller man glanced back over his good shoulder, their heated eyes meeting as he took in the taller man’s kiss-bitten lips, rumpled hair, and the bruises sucked into his pale shoulders.

“All the way,” Ashton breathed, his accent so thick now that for a moment it didn’t sound like he’d ever left Texas at all. “I want you to fuck me.”

Luke shivered, his eyes darkening further as he pressed another hot kiss to the back of the smaller man’s neck.

“I can do that,” he murmured, reaching down beside his mattress for a small container. He slicked himself up with it and Ashton shuddered when he felt the damp nudge of Luke’s fingertips sliding down to touch him. “Deep breaths, Ashy,” the taller man added. “This’ll feel better if you relax.”

Everything began to blur after that, until all Ashton could focus on was the blond man’s tongue and fingers opening him up, and the burning stretch as he rocked forwards to fill the smaller man with his cock.

Ashton’s fingers twisted in the blankets, his hips jerking as a choked sob forced its way out of him. The blond man’s hand slipped between Ashton's legs to touch him and the Texan rose onto all fours unconsciously, moaning brokenly into the crook of his arm as Luke’s fist began to glide in time with his hips.

The heat rose inside Ashton slowly, burning brighter and hotter with every thrust, until his curls were sticking to his forehead and the soreness of his injured face was buried under the weight of the pleasure crashing down over him.

The sensation was more intense than anything he’d ever felt before; more wonderful and frightening, and addictive. Ashton never wanted to live without this again.

Luke’s free hand had fallen to grip his arse now, his palm filled with the firm flesh as he pressed his thumb wonderingly against the place where they were joined. Ashton shuddered, his thighs beginning to tremble at the added stretch as the blond man dropped a biting kiss to the smaller man’s good shoulder.

“Hit me,” Ashton breathed suddenly, his cheeks flaming scarlet when the blond man stilled in surprise, the unmoving pressure of him somehow even more addictive. Luke groaned as he processed those words, one hand coming to rub the rounded flesh gently as he considered that.

“You’re sure?” he asked shakily, his voice wrecked now as Ashton whimpered softly.

“Please,” he begged and Luke’s hand came down hesitantly on the smaller man’s arse. Ashton clenched down automatically and they both moaned as his cock began to leak onto the sheets. Luke started to fuck into him once more, faster and rougher now as he chased his release, each drag of his cock against the smaller man’s prostate utterly electrifying.

“Now hit me again,” Ashton pleaded breathlessly, a broken moan tearing out of him when Luke’s palm collided with his overheated flesh. “Harder.”

Neither of them lasted much longer and, as his climax overwhelmed him, Ashton found himself content in the knowledge that this was always the way things were supposed to be with him. He should never even have considered sleeping with a woman; not when there were experiences like this to be had right on his doorstep.

“Fuck, Ashy,” Luke gasped humidly against his neck as he shuddered through his own orgasm. “You’re incredible.”

They fell asleep like that, arms and legs tangled together upon the mess of blankets as the bedsit cooled beyond the curtains. Luke was curved around Ashton warmly, one muscular arm wrapped around the smaller man’s waist as his lips pressed unconsciously to the scar on the Texan’s shoulder.

It was cosy and peaceful, and leaving the comfort of the blond man’s arms early the next morning was harder than it should have been for Ashton.

He rose from the unfamiliar bed stiffly, distracted from the usual pain in his shoulder by the peculiar ache between his legs. He was glad of it though; it reminded him that last night had actually happened and he would always be so grateful for that.

Luke had made him feel ordinary, just for one night. That was more of a gift than the blond man would ever be able to understand.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Luke’s voice was soft and reproachful, and Ashton stiffened from where he’d been standing beside the door, already reaching for his coat and fedora.

The blond man’s beautiful eyes were sad when the smaller man looked back at him and Ashton felt a lump rising in his throat at the hint of tears shining in the taller man’s gaze.

“I have to,” the Texan said, a hint of desperation entering his voice at the sight of the blond man’s distress, even as a tiny part of Ashton wondered if the words were true. “I’m sorry, Luke, but I have to go.”

For the second time in twenty four hours, Ashton rolled his sleeve back and showed the tattoo to the blond man. Luke somehow hadn’t noticed it last night - too busy trying to take the smaller man apart with his mouth probably - but Ashton saw the wary comprehension dawning on his face now and it hurt more than it should have.

“It’s too dangerous,” he said quietly as he set the fedora on his head, the ache in his shoulder growing as it always did. “And I’m not worth it.”

“Don’t I get to decide that for myself?” Luke asked weakly and the pain those words caused made Ashton’s eyes prickle with tears as a piece of his heart tore cleanly away.

“I’m sorry,” Ashton said when Luke rose shakily, dressed in nothing at all as he crossed the room, his pearly skin marred with love-bites. The Texan watched, utterly perplexed, as Luke picked a small blue flower from one of the many arrangements he had scattered around the room, his hazel eyes widening when the blond man stopped right in front of Ashton, all pale warm skin pressed against him.

His lips were so soft against the Texan’s as his fingers dropped to fiddle with the front of the smaller man’s shirt. Ashton looked down in surprise when the taller man stepped away from him, taking in the tiny bloom tucked through his buttonhole.

“It’s a forget-me-not,” Luke said and Ashton sighed softly, leaning forwards to kiss him again. It ended quickly, poignant and bittersweet, and the farewell hung like a curtain between them now, hiding Luke from view. “Goodbye, Ashy.”

When he stepped out into the sunlight a few minutes later, Ashton recalled a Dickens quote and tried to convince himself that this was why he’d had to leave; because of decency and not fear.

'It is because I think so much of warm and sensitive hearts, that I would spare them from being wounded.'

Luke deserved someone who could appreciate him fully; who would not have to spend the rest of their life looking over their shoulder for Bureau agents and rival gangsters; who was not on a dark path that could only lead to terrible danger.

As Ashton walked along through last night’s puddles beneath the watery sunlight, his fingertips brushed the flower and his body ached pleasantly, and he knew that he would miss Luke for a long time.

Maybe always.

Chapter Text

The apartment was empty when Ashton finally made it home. There were bruise-like circles smeared beneath his eyes and the flower had withered in his buttonhole.

“Ni?” he called as he pushed the front door shut slowly behind him. “Niall, are you here?”

The silence was broken only by the ticking of the clock as a frown grew on the Texan’s face. He’d been expecting the Irishman to be waiting for him in the kitchen, still rumpled with sleep as his signature grin lit up his face. It didn’t feel right that he wasn’t here but there must have been a reason for his absence.

Maybe Niall had gone out last night. He’d probably found a pretty girl to go home with and he’d swagger in any minute now, a cocksure grin tugging at his lips as the smugness radiated from him like a cat who’d got the cream… except that wouldn’t make sense, would it? Niall had been working last night, out on another reconnaissance job for Liam on the other side of the city.

He should have been back by now.

There was no time to worry though. It was already after ten o’clock and Ashton was expected at the Speakeasy before noon to collect some documents from Liam on an upcoming job. Still frowning uncertainly, the Texan limped into the bathroom to clean the traces of last night from his skin. He would not go to the Hornet Mob’s Speakeasy looking anything less than a first-class businessman, just as Liam had requested the day they’d met.

Ashton was washed and dressed within twenty minutes but there was a sinking feeling in his chest when he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. His eye was swollen shut, the cut across his cheekbone shiny and sore. His newly-acquired injuries throbbed in time with his shoulder and he grimaced as he shrugged back into his coat, disappearing into the sunlight outside.

He’d missed last night’s dinner and breakfast that morning but Ashton found that he was too tense to even countenance stopping for food on the way to the Speakeasy. He was worried about Niall, even if he was sure he was being silly. The Irishman had got himself out of countless spots of trouble before but, for some reason, all Ashton could think of was the unknowing vulnerability of his best friend that night when Mitchy had pulled a gun on him.

Niall had gone on this job alone last night. There had been no one there to watch his back if something went wrong.

The Texan quickened his pace, slipping his hands into his pockets as he strode along through the puddles. His thoughts were a tangled mess from the evening before and he was sure his anxiety wasn’t helped by the exhaustion he could feel after Luke had kept him up half the night but there was no time to dwell on that now… not when the Speakeasy was coming into sight up ahead.

Gritting his teeth, Ashton made his way to the front entrance where a leering Frank waited for him behind the heavy doors. The old man barely acknowledged him as the Texan stalked in, his expression so fierce that presumably Frank decided that it wasn’t worth his while trying anything. Ashton was glad he’d been left alone because he refused to be cowed today; not when Liam was waiting for him… not when Niall might need him.

The Texan was halfway down the long corridor towards Liam’s office when he heard raised voices rising through the wood. He hesitated, coming to an awkward halt as the threatening tone in the mob boss’ voice made itself apparent.

“- and I’m saying I don’t believe you, Sophia!” Liam was shouting, clearly drunk again, and Ashton felt something wither in his chest as his bad shoulder gave a phantom ache. “Who have you been visiting? Who?!”

“It’s my brother, Li!” Sophia snapped, her voice several octaves higher than usual in righteous anger. “I don’t understand why you won’t listen to me! Have I ever lied to you? Ever?!”

Ashton turned away, his cheeks heating as he crept towards the office he shared with the Irishman. He’d been intending to simply lurk in there until the shouting stopped and it was safe to collect the documents but, as the door clicked shut behind him, his eyes settled on a familiar figure slumped in the corner of the room.

“I’ve been looking for you all morning,” he said faintly as he crouched down beside the desk, his heart sinking in his chest. “You alright down there, Ni?”

The Irishman smiled blearily up at him, his face bruised and sore as his arms wrapped awkwardly around his torso.

“Think I should be asking you that,” Niall said breathlessly, his exhausted eyes growing worried as he watched his best friend groggily. “What happened to your face, kid?”

“Huh?” Ashton frowned, less focused on the conversation and more so on moving aside the stacks of boxes so that he could reach the Irishman more easily. He grew even more worried as he took in the bruise-like circles smeared under the older man’s eyes.

“Oh… I got head-butted in the face,” the Texan said awkwardly, shrugging with his good shoulder when he saw Niall’s confusion. “It was nothing really. I just saved this guy from getting mugged and then we slept together.”

The blond man’s expression became proud beneath his sweaty blond hair, even as his eyes fluttered shut for a moment too long, his face paler than it should be.

“Damn,” he said approvingly, wheezing a little as his knuckles whitened where he was holding himself together tightly. “I miss all the fun stuff.”

His head lolled to the side as he passed out and a worryingly rattling breath escaped him. Ashton felt dread wrap icily around his heart when his best friend’s eyes slipped shut.

Niall’s hands slipped down onto the dusty floor and his coat fell open, revealing spots of blood seeping through the torn white material of his shirt. The Irishman looked grey this close and the Texan’s heart rose into his throat as the worry inside threatened to consume him.

“Ni?” Ashton asked quietly, his voice shaking as he reached to grip his best friend’s shoulder gently. “Ni, what’s happened to you?”

The bruises on the older man’s face were almost black this close, his bottom lip swollen and sore as a ragged breath escaped him. His blue eyes fluttered open and he reached for the Texan’s hand, his knuckles torn and bruised like he’d been in a fight recently.

Ashton’s guilt threatened to consume him when he realised that, while he’d been messing around with Luke the night before, Niall had been stuck somewhere on a job gone south, fighting for his life.

“Some of Mitchy’s gang…” The Irishman’s words cut off as he gave a nasty sounding cough, his whole body jarring with the pain of it as his eyes prickled with tears. “They caught me when I was leaving... knocked me around a bit… but I managed to escape.”

“You should have gone straight to Michael. Not hidden in here,” Ashton admonished gently but the lump rising in his throat was choking him now and his hands were trembling as he smoothed the Irishman’s hair back soothingly.

“But I wanted to wait and see you,” Niall rasped. He’d probably intended his weak smile to be reassuring but it caused his bottom lip to split open and Ashton couldn’t stop his tears from falling as the blood ran down his best friend’s face. “Couldn’t make it all the way back home…”

The younger man began to cry harder as he processed those words, burying his bruised face in his hands as Niall petted his curls gently. It was just slowly beginning to sink in how much Ashton loved his best friend when all those months ago he had not even intended to like him.

Ashton couldn’t work out how it had happened but somehow, during those quiet evenings spent together and the tense adrenaline-fuelled moments of risky jobs, they had become brothers.

“Don’t cry over me, kid,” Niall murmured, his swollen face so soft and fond as he gazed at his best friend. “‘m not worth it.”

“You’re worth everything to me,” Ashton whispered, his hazel eyes still overflowing with tears as he struggled to calm himself. He shook his head to clear it, drying his face with his sleeve as he inhaled deeply, glowing a little at the pride growing on the older man’s face.

“Right,” the Texan said shakily. “We’re getting you fixed up now, okay? We need to get you up off this floor.”

When Niall wearily nodded his assent, the Texan scrambled to his feet and reached gently beneath the older man’s arms, getting a firm grip on his coat. He’d only lifted Niall a few inches off the floor when a burning pain rippled through Ashton’s bad shoulder and his arm gave way. His face crumpled with pain and distress when the Irishman slumped back down onto the ground, and Niall waved a hand at him defensively when his tearful friend reached for him once more.

“Don’t even think about it,” the blond man said weakly, wheezing again as he clutched once more at his side. “Don’t hurt yourself for me, kid. Not again.”

“I’ll get help,” Ashton whispered, his eyelashes sticky with tears as he cradled Niall’s cheek gently. “I’ll be back so soon, I promise.”

He staggered back out into the darkness of the hallway, his aching shoulder tensing with stress as he searched for someone frantically. Unfortunately, there was no one to be found after Liam and Sophia’s shouting match; no one else had wanted to be caught in the blast zone and Ashton was just beginning to frantically wonder if he’d have to beg Frank for help when an office door nearby opened, and Michael appeared.

“Oh thank god,” Ashton gasped as he grabbed the older man’s hand unthinkingly, almost making him drop his medical bag in surprise. The Texan’s hazel eyes were still damp with tears but he calmed a little under the older man’s warm gaze. “You have to help me, doc, please.”

“Of course,” Michael said soothingly, his expression saturated with confusion and concern as he gave the Texan’s fingers a reassuring squeeze in the moments before their hands separated. “What have you done to your face, Ashton? Who hurt you?”

“I’m not worried about me,” the smaller man said blankly as he gazed at the doctor in bewilderment. “It’s Niall who’s hurt… and I can’t get him up on my own. Not with this lousy shoulder.” He slumped for a moment, the shame welling in him as he realised that he’d been too weak to help his best friend. “He’s been lying on the floor in his office all night, doc. He’s in a really bad way.”

“Let’s see what we’re dealing with, yeah?” Michael said gently. “C’mon, Ash. Lead the way.” 

The ease with which the doctor carried Niall into his office once he’d checked his ribs astounded Ashton. Whereas he’d been too frail to even help his best friend into a sitting position, Michael had lifted the Irishman carefully into his arms and deposited him safely on the bed in the corner of his room.

It made the blond man seem almost childlike as Michael began to tend to him and Ashton felt a lump rise in his throat as he watched the exhaustion saturating his best friend’s agonised face. It took him longer than it should have done to identify why seeing the blond man so vulnerable hurt him this badly; it was because it put into perspective that Niall was mortal.

No matter how hard he tried to pretend otherwise, he wasn’t indestructible. He just wasn’t. He could still be injured or even die just like everyone else. The light and joy that radiated from him would not be enough to keep him safe on the dark path he had chosen to tread; not when the blond man didn’t care enough about himself to avoid being so reckless.

Even Ashton couldn’t save Niall from himself.

“Right, that’s probably about as much as we can do here,” Michael said unhappily as he straightened up, his green eyes fixed worriedly on Niall’s bare torso as the older man lay on the bed. The bruises on his ribcage bloomed like black flowers in the muted light and the blood had been cleaned from the myriad shallow tears in his pale skin. His sore face became a little more worried now as he processed the doctor’s words.

“I… I still hurt kind of a lot, Clifford,” Niall said delicately, one limp hand fluttering towards his ribs before he seemingly thought better of it. He was breathing shallowly, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he squared his jaw against the ache.

“There’s nothing else you can do, Mike?” Ashton asked softly from where he was sitting on the edge of the doctor’s desk. “If he’s hurting this bad, he won’t be able to work. Mr Payne won’t like it.”

“There’s no way around it,” Michael said regretfully. “Broken ribs are a nasty piece of work at the best of time. The upside is they usually heal up fine on their own after a month or two but the downside is that it’s going to hurt like a son of a bitch until then.” He raked a hand through his sandy hair nervously, leaving it sticking up messily as he shot a helpless glance between the two of them. “I’ll get you what painkillers I can, Horan, but it won’t be easy now. Ever since Liam and Collins declared war on each other, none of my contacts will speak with me. I haven’t been able to get anything strong at all lately. I think you’ll just have to put up with the pain. I’m sorry I can’t do more.”

Niall accepted that with a stoic nod, reaching out to grasp Michael’s wrist where it was hanging nearby.

“Thank you, Clifford,” he said, taking another light breath and wincing as he did so. “If there’s nothing else, I’d really like to go home now.” Ashton slid off the desk to help him but Michael stopped them both with a scoff.

“Not so fast, Horan,” the doctor said firmly. “I haven’t given you my doctor spiel yet. No one gets to leave this office until I’ve bored them with my medical vernacular.” He folded his arms across his chest as he spoke, leaning back against the polished wood beside Ashton, so close that their elbows brushed. “You listening, Horan?”

The Irishman nodded weakly. A little of the colour had begun to return to his cheeks now and he looked a lot healthier for it, even if his lower lip was still seeping blood.

“Make sure you pay attention too, Ashton,” Michael said, holding the younger man’s gaze for a moment. “Horan, you’re not to do anything strenuous at all, okay? That means no pushing or pulling, no lifting heavy objects, no crunches, and no sex either, yeah? I’m not having you accidentally puncture a lung because you couldn’t listen to doctor’s orders.”

Ashton snorted a little despite himself at the way Niall rolled his eyes grumpily.

“Don’t go trying to bind your ribs either,” Michael added. “You can hold a pillow against them if that helps but don’t be wrapping any bandages around your ribcage or you’ll do more harm than good.” His eyes narrowed in on the gentle rise and fall of the older man’s chest suddenly, and his jaw tightened. “You need to be taking deep breaths too, okay? Make sure you cough whenever you need to as well. If you don’t, you could end up with a collapsed lung or a chest infection; maybe even pneumonia. Taking those deep breaths will hurt but it’s better than the alternative. You understand?”

“I understand,” Niall muttered, taking a pointedly heavy exhale before his face paled once more. “Fuck,” he said, with enormous feeling. The doctor’s lips twitched humourlessly.

“Quite,” Michael said before he turned to Ashton with a grave expression. “Now do either of you want to tell me why you’re both in such a state? Normally I only have to deal with one patient at a time.”

“Oh.” Ashton’s cheeks heated as he remembered the night before with Luke and felt something that was almost shame searing through him. “I helped this guy who was getting mugged. Didn’t end so well for me,” he said with a shrug before the worry threatened to consume him again. “Ni just said that some guys knocked him around a little…”

“I got punched a couple of times,” the Irishman said defensively from the bed, making the frown on Michael’s face deepen.

“This wasn’t caused by someone’s fist,” the doctor pointed out as he gestured to the cuts and deep bruising marring the older man’s pale skin. Niall’s cheeks heated and he closed his eyes, turning his embarrassed face away from both of them.

“Metal pipe,” he mumbled, almost too soft to be heard. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does,” Ashton said reproachfully as he crossed the shadowy space, sinking down carefully onto the thin mattress beside his best friend. He reached for Niall’s hand and the blond man gripped it tightly, even as he refused to open his tear-wet eyes. “Don’t ever think you’re not worth it, Ni.”

The rage growing inside Ashton was countered only by the love he could feel for his best friend but there was nothing that would extinguish that now.

He just found it hard to accept that the person he loved most had been injured in what could only be described as collateral damage. First it had been Sophia and now Niall. When would Liam realise that enough was enough? That he and Mitchy needed to come to some sort of agreement now, before the gangs fell apart completely?

Maybe this was a war that neither side could win.

“I’ll give you two a few minutes,” Michael said awkwardly from behind them. “I have something I need to check anyway…” It was clearly a lie but Ashton appreciated it more than he could put into words and he knew his gratitude shone on his face when Michael blushed a little, his lips curving into a hesitant smile as he left.

“Goddamnit,” Ashton breathed when the door clicked shut. “You sure know how to scare a guy, huh, Ni?”

His hand rose to card once more through his best friend’s hair and Niall let out a quiet sigh as he went limp on the bed, his damp blue eyes focusing on the younger man more easily than before.

“You’re here to see Liam, aren’t you? You shouldn’t just sit around with me. He’ll be angry if you’re late, kid.”

“I don’t care,” the Texan said softly, his cheeks growing damp with tears again as he cradled Niall’s face shakily in his palm. “I don’t care about anything but you right now.”

“Because you love me?” Niall asked teasingly, his eyes sparkling. Ashton scoffed, even as a watery smile spread across his lips.

“More than you know, you sap,” he said fondly. “Don’t put yourself at risk like that again, okay? If Liam asks you to go somewhere dangerous, you have to ask for backup. You don’t have to do everything by yourself, Ni.”

“Physician, heal thyself,” Niall said sarcastically but the tenderness in his eyes was undeniable. “I’ll be alright, kid, and so will you.” His lips twitched suddenly into a crooked smile as he tilted his head to one side curiously. “So, going back to what we were discussing earlier before my dramatic swooning, did you like it this time?”

“What are you talking about?” Ashton asked uncomprehendingly, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip as he reached to rub his aching shoulder weakly with his palm.

Niall gave him a knowing look.

“The sex,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows in such a ridiculous way that it could only have been intended to make the younger man laugh. “Did you like sleeping with the guy you saved?”

“Oh.” Ashton’s cheeks heated scarlet as he tucked his smiling face away into his best friend’s neck. “Yeah,” he admitted, like he was confessing a terrible secret. “Yeah, I really did.”

“Hey!” Niall said cheerfully, still wheezing a little as he patted the younger man lightly on his good shoulder. “Happy for you, kid! I really am.”

Ashton drew his best friend into the gentlest hug possible and Niall melted beneath him, a quiet sigh escaping him painfully as he pressed a chaste kiss to the Texan’s forehead.

Liam’s rose voice from his office down the hallway and something thumped into the wall of the room next door, sending dust drifting down from the ceiling. Even this quiet space didn’t feel safe anymore - nothing did these days - and the hairs on the back of Ashton’s neck always felt raised now, like someone was following him wherever he went.

“We’re going to get through this, Ni. I swear we are,” he said fiercely. “I’m going to make sure you feel safe again.”

Niall leant back to look at him, his blue eyes softer than they’d ever been.

“I already feel safe, kid,” the Irishman said softly, their fingers entwining once more. “I’m with you.” 

Ashton went to find Michael after his meeting with Liam. It had been swift and unpleasant, and he’d simply stood there silently nodding as the mob boss tore into him for arriving just a few minutes later than they’d previously agreed. The alcohol on his breath had been worryingly strong as he’d slammed his palms into the desk. Ashton had simply stood there in silence, trying not to breathe.

Still, it was over now fortunately. The documents were stowed safely in his briefcase and his fedora was angled on his head in a way that had luckily hidden the irritated flush from his cheeks.

Ashton knocked lightly on the door to Michael’s office, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip in the seconds it took for the doctor to appear. The older man’s tense expression calmed visibly when he saw that it was the Texan who was waiting for him outside and Ashton relaxed when he noticed Niall sleeping over Michael’s shoulder.

“He’ll be okay,” the doctor said softly as he followed the younger man’s gaze. “He just needs to take care of himself.”

“Not his best skill but I’ll work on it with him,” Ashton reassured him with a weak smile which quickly faded into sincerity. “Thank you, doc,” he said in a softer voice. “For everything.”

Unsure of what exactly possessed him in that moment, Ashton stretched up on his tiptoes to press a brief kiss to Michael’s cheek, lingering there for just a moment too long.

“I don’t know where I’d be without you,” he said quietly.

The doctor’s face heated as his fingertips shakily brushed his now-burning cheek.

“Hopefully you won’t have to find out,” Michael said faintly and Ashton smiled as some of the tension leaked from both of them.

“That’s what I’m counting on.”

Chapter Text

They left the car in No Man’s Land.

Harry parked it carefully amongst the twisting streets still being fought over as Liam and Collins clashed in their struggle for territory. The world around them was bleak and grey, with every window and door locked up tight to keep out unwanted visitors, and the animosity hung in the air like smoke.

It was unsafe for any gangsters to step foot here - both for the Hornets and Collins’ Vultures - and Ashton knew that they would not be welcome if anyone discovered them.

The gang warfare was rapidly burgeoning into a pressure cooker now. Every raid or attack added another layer of tension which would ultimately cause the entire gang network in Chicago to shatter like a grenade.

Ashton felt it in his bones on nights like these: just how brittle and fragile the web they were weaving had become. He felt it squeezing his heart so tightly he felt as though it were about to burst sometimes… until it felt as though he couldn’t breathe.

“We need to move quickly now,” Harry said as he led the way down a narrow back street near where he’d parked the car. “Straight to the distillery to inspect it and then out again, okay? Liam’s supplier Jackson is waiting for us and we don’t want to chance getting caught up in another raid.”

“Sure,” Ashton muttered, still swaying a little from the motion sickness caused by another unpleasant car drive. Zayn reached to squeeze his good shoulder gently in the darkness and the Texan leant into it for a moment, managing a faint smile which the older man returned shyly.

“You okay, Irwin?” he murmured, even as his hand slipped inside his suit to wrap around the handle of his revolver. It would have seemed like overkill once upon a time but after Sophia’s abduction and Niall’s attack, their meagre weapons suddenly didn’t feel like enough.

“I will be once we get out of here,” Ashton muttered, making the older man’s lips twitch unconsciously. Harry was striding on up ahead but he paused to glance back at the Texan, his searching eyes softening a little when he found Ashton hurrying to close the space between them so that no one got left behind.

“Couldn’t agree more,” Zayn admitted from beside him. “I didn’t realise Mr Payne had changed the date of the job. I was supposed to make dinner for Lou tonight.”

The sound of an engine grew from somewhere in the darkness and all three of them froze, lingering there in the shadows as their hearts raced at the threat of being spotted. Fortunately, the motor car drove on and they remained undisturbed.

“Louis will forgive you,” Ashton reassured the older man once it seemed safe to speak again, managing a weak smile as he reached to feel the comforting weight of his flick knife in his pocket. “He’ll only have to miss you for one night, Zayn.”

“C’mon, you two.” Harry’s eyes were furtive now as they flickered warily up and down the dark empty street. “We need to get to distillery now... before anyone sees us,” he said quietly, courting disaster with his words.

They never made it.

A second car was crawling down the narrow road now but this one slowed down ominously beside them. There was a moment of absolute silence before the gunfire started, the bullets smashing into the mortar of the houses around them as the Hornets were pinned in the shadows.

The adrenaline flooded through Ashton like acid as the car continued on its sinister glide past, the muzzles of the various guns drifting over the place he stood frozen. There were storm clouds rumbling in the distance as the sparks flew from misfired bullets, one of them sending Harry’s hat flying from his head as another buried itself in Zayn’s shoulder.

The car was almost past now and Ashton didn’t think the Vultures would be returning to finish them off. Liam had sent his mobsters out on similar jobs before and only asked that they endeavour to put a bullet in every rival gang member possible before making their escapes, preferably before they could sustain heavy return fire.

This was a quick extermination job. Nothing more.

Zayn was swaying beside him now, bleeding heavily from his shoulder as he sank down onto his knees. He murmured under his breath as his hands hit the concrete - maybe a prayer or perhaps just Louis’ name - and Ashton felt the dread swelling inside him like poison as he turned away, already heading instinctively towards someone who might still benefit from his help.

He felt almost pragmatic in such mind-numbing fear and it was this which caused him to behave uncharacteristically. Ashton knew what a gunshot wound felt like and that Michael had been smart enough to save him but the odds were stacked against them now... against Zayn especially.

To a panic-stricken Ashton, he felt that it was too late to save the older man and - as his fear consumed him - he didn’t even try.

The Texan’s still-healing shoulder throbbed painfully when he barrelled into Harry instead but it was worth it when the collision sent them both tumbling to the ground, out of reach of the last shots smashing the windows over their heads.

Harry gasped, his green eyes widening with horror as the final bullet cracked through the cold air above them, embedding itself in Zayn’s chest. Something viscous and bitter trickled through Ashton’s veins as he watched the dark-haired man slump down face-first onto the ground, his blood spreading out beneath him like a gristly flower as he stopped moving.

The sound of screeching tyres could be heard as the Vultures made their escape and Ashton scraped his knees in an effort to get to his feet again, already rushing back to their injured companion’s side as the guilt burnt inside him like a furnace.

“There’s nothing we can do, Ash,” Harry said sadly as he crouched down beside him. He was shaking from the adrenaline in his system and, dimly, Ashton realised that he was no better, with his teeth chattering and his hands trembling violently. “The last bullet got him in the chest, see? He’s almost gone.”

The crunch of gravel sounded as Harry got to his feet and the Texan flinched violently when the older man gripped his shoulder in a comforting gesture.

“We need to leave, Ash,” Harry said softly, his eyes flickering to Zayn guiltily before they focused on the younger man once more. “We have to get out of here before someone comes to investigate. The Hornet Mob can’t be implicated in this, okay?”

“But…” Ashton’s voice trailed away as the shudders began to tear through him, his teeth jarring together violently as he stared down at the injured man in horror. “But… people will know… What about his tattoo?”

“Good point,” Harry murmured, his lips twisting unhappily as he tapped his foot on the ground, clearly thinking hard. The curtains of a nearby house twitched nearby but no one was quite brave enough to venture outside yet; they probably still had another minute or so before they were caught out there.

“Do you still have your knife?” Harry asked quickly and the question took the Texan so by surprise that he didn’t consider the implications until the older man bent down with the blade in his fist, reaching to expose Zayn’s tattoo. “You might not want to watch this, Ash.”

He squeezed his hazel eyes tightly shut against the choked grunt of pain, shaking his head almost frantically as he tried to block out the realisation of what Harry had just done. Zayn’s tattoo had been sliced away and he would be buried a free man, with no one any the wiser of the path he had chosen to tread. In a twisted way, he had been granted innocence in oblivion.

“Lou…” Zayn murmured one last time, his cheek pressed to the ground as the blood flowing from his wounds began to slow. It was almost black in the moonlight - like tar or ink - and the Texan found himself transfixed by it as Harry gripped him by his good shoulder, hauling him to his feet.

As Ashton was dragged back towards the car, his gaze settled on the injured Hornet and his heart rose into his throat as he watched the light in Zayn’s eyes snuff out.

After that, everything became a colourless blur of Harry leading him through the darkness and the unpleasant roiling of the engine as they tore away, leaving their companion’s body far behind.

Louis was waiting for his partner back home.

Zayn was supposed to make him dinner.

The Texan closed his eyes as the boiling tears finally burnt down his bruised face, his teeth sinking into his knuckle to keep the sobs in as the guilt threatened to tear him apart.

Ashton would never forgive himself.

The Speakeasy was thriving by the time the remaining two Hornets made it back to relative safety, the moon hidden behind the fast approaching clouds as the thunder rumbled closer. Something in the grimness of their expressions kept Frank from meddling as they passed and the Texan was grateful for that. He felt like he’d had enough trouble tonight to last him for the rest of his life.

The sound of jazz music faded as the pair walked down the dark hallway towards Liam’s office. Ashton’s exhaustion and guilt made him weary, his feet dragging as the burning ache of everything that had happened that evening gnawed away at his insides.

When they came to a wary stop outside the heavy wooden door, something caught in Ashton’s chest and he gasped raggedly, his eyes prickling with tears that he desperately fought back.

“Just breathe, Ash,” Harry said softly, holding the younger man’s gaze for a moment before he raised his fist to knock on the door. “Let me do the talking.”

Liam’s voice sounded from inside as he called them in and the numbness Ashton was feeling spread to his limbs as he stumbled into the office behind Harry, his hat askew and his hazel eyes sore with tears.

There was a moment of absolute silence as the two of them came to stumbling stops in front of the shining desk. Liam made a displeased noise, the bags under his eyes bruise-like as he frowned at them both, nursing a tumbler of whiskey between his palms.

“Jackson from the distillery sent word here,” he said bluntly as he leant back in his chair. “Told me you guys never showed up tonight.” He took a gulp of his drink, barely reacting as the fiery liquid burnt down his throat. “Care to tell me what the fuck happened?”

Ashton’s hands began to shake as Harry took a step forward, his green eyes blazing in the shadowy room. His shoulders were broad and strong, his jaw set as his face became grey in the dimness.

“Collins’ men carried out a drive-by shooting on our way there, sir,” Harry said quietly, exhaling shakily as his exhausted gaze flickered to the ground. “Malik’s gone, Mr Payne. They shot him.”

The room seemed to darken as a stifling silence fell. Ashton hunched his shoulders protectively as he stared down at the ground, feeling smaller than he ever had since joining the Hornet Mob. Outside, the storm had finally arrived and the rain battered against the roof of the Speakeasy like bullets.

“What do you mean gone?” Liam asked in a dangerously quiet voice. “If Malik got shot, I’d expect you to bring him back here. There are arrangements we need to make. Clifford would have been able to –” He faltered suddenly, a vein in his forehead beginning to jump as he downed the rest of his whiskey in one swallow. “Malik’s dead?” he asked roughly, breathing heavily now.

Harry withered a little under the mob boss’ icy stare. A tear rolled down Ashton’s cheek as he remembered the shine in Zayn’s eyes flickering out.

“He was as good as dead, sir,” Harry said uneasily, cringing at the furious look suddenly levelled at him. “But… but, Mr Payne, even if someone did call an ambulance for him, it would’ve been too late. No one could save Malik… and even if they tried, he was in no position to talk. The Hornet Mob won’t be implicated.”

The tumbler smashed when Liam flung it at the wall, the shards of glass scattering across the polished wood and shining menacingly in the dull light.

“You left him there?!” the mob boss demanded, leaning closer over the razor-sharp pieces as he glared with burning anger. “You abandoned his body for someone to find?!”

When Harry pressed his lips together and offered a shaky nod, Liam’s palm slammed down onto the wood so hard that the crashing sound reverberated around the room. Ashton flinched, his arms coming to wrap around himself unconsciously as his hazel eyes slid shut in long-forgotten instinct.

For just a second, the noise dragged him back to his childhood again… to those long nights spent hiding under his bed as Fletcher went into another of his rages in the other room, smashing up furniture through the wall as his son counted down the minutes until the sun would rise, and the world would right itself once more.

“There’s no way anyone will be able to prove that he was involved with the Hornets,” Harry was saying pacifyingly, his reassuring tone slowly filtering through the fog of grief wrapping itself around Ashton’s thoughts.

Liam looked almost white with rage now, his teeth gritted as he pressed his fingertip mindlessly to a shard of glass on the desk. Ashton watched the blood well up with horrified fascination, remembering the fountain of crimson as the bullet tore into Zayn’s torso… the sea of red that night in the warehouse when he’d been the monster pulling the trigger.

“You forgot his damn tattoo, Styles,” Liam hissed, his fiery gaze livid as he stared at the green-eyed man in incredulity. “I can’t believe you’d forget something like that! What the fuck am I paying you for, Styles? To forget the tattoo?! To lead the Bureau straight to us?!”

“No, sir,” Harry said coolly, shooting a worried glance towards the younger man struggling to calm his breathing beside him. “Ashton remembered. It’s sorted now. You can trust me.”

“Can I?” Liam asked doubtfully, his expression darkening into a glare as he got to his feet, rising from the shadows menacingly. “After tonight, I think I’d quite like you to prove it, Styles. Just to put my mind at ease, you understand.”

“Of course, Mr Payne. I thought you might ask this…” Harry’s voice trailed away delicately as he reached into his pocket for a neatly-folded handkerchief. He dropped it on the desk almost casually, stepping back beside Ashton as the mob boss unfolded the bloodied material in suspicion. When the scrap of inked skin came into view, Liam looked abruptly ill as a greenish tinge coloured his expression.

“Fuck,” he muttered, sinking down into his chair once more as a heavy sigh escaped him. Liam pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment, pressing his lips together hard before he swiped everything on his desk – broken glass and bloodstained handkerchief included – onto the shadowy floor.

“That was messy, Styles,” he said harshly. “Very messy.” Liam’s eyes seemed older when he looked up again, shaking his head slowly at the pair of them. “Just get out of my sight. I can’t stand to look at you right now.”

Harry bowed his head respectfully, already heading to the office door with a hand on the Texan’s shoulder when Liam’s voice stopped them in their tracks.

“Not you, Irwin,” he said quietly, his gaze heavy on the younger man’s back. “I want to talk to you.”

Ashton’s exhaustion seemed to multiply tenfold as he looked up at Harry helplessly, his hazel eyes drooping and gritty with tears as he took a shaky breath.

“Of course, sir,” he said weakly, his voice rough from crying. Harry hesitated beside him, looking incredibly awkward as he reached into his pocket once more.

“Here’s your knife back before I go,” he said, grimacing a little at the blood caked around the blade. “Sorry I haven’t had a chance to clean it, Ash.” Harry bit his lip at the pain rippling across Ashton’s face, still holding his good shoulder gently. “You want me to wait for you outside? Walk you home?”

“No, I’ll be fine,” Ashton said softly, already turning back to the mob boss when Liam let out an impatient sigh which seemed somehow false given the circumstances. “Don’t wait for me.”

The room seemed to darken further when Harry finally left, like he’d taken the last of the light with him. Ashton’s shoulders slumped when the pair were left alone, his pale face gaunt in the shadows as Liam fixed him with a long look, his dark eyes wearier than the Texan had ever seen them.

“Sit down, Irwin,” the older man said tiredly, gesturing to the chair across from his glass-strewn desk with a lazy hand. “You look like you need a drink.” He listened to the sigh that escaped his newest Hornet with something like sympathy as he cocked his head to one side in worn-out curiosity. “It’s been a tough night, huh, Ashton?”

“The worst,” the younger man muttered, his shaking hands settling on his knees as Liam poured them both generous glugs of whiskey into two fresh tumblers, apparently mindless of the remaining broken glass as he set their drinks down on the desk.

“This life we lead isn’t a glamorous one,” Liam said quietly as he peered into the depths of his drink. “There is a certain excitement to be had but it’s so often overshadowed by nights like these.” He shook his head once more, his eyes faraway now as he sipped the whiskey. “This job is better suited for some people though… the ones who can let the darker side of things leave them unscathed.”

“Like you?” Ashton asked riskily, taking a sip of his own drink and wincing as it brought him right back to that night in the storage room where Niall had found him semi-conscious.

Liam smiled humourlessly as he nodded once, allowing this slight.

“And your father,” he said, his words a little thicker now as the whiskey began to take hold of him. “He always found this work easier than most.”

“He did?” Ashton asked weakly, one hand gripping the armrest of the chair tightly as a wave of uncertainty washed over him. He felt almost like he was falling as the mob boss pinned him there with his shark eyes. “No one will ever talk to me about him. The longer I’m here, the less I feel I knew him at all.”

The few meagre facts Ashton had managed to scrape together during his handful of years in Chicago made no sense when they were laid out side by side: that Fletcher had been a Hornet too, even despite living in Texas; that he’d caused injuries bad enough to give Michael nightmares but people like Benito still admired him from afar; that he’d been described as a hero but still found hurting people to be as simple as falling asleep.

“I don’t think anyone ever knew him completely,” Liam said in an uncharacteristically soft voice, apparently feeling quite maudlin after the news of Zayn and the quantity of whiskey he had already imbibed. “Ever since Anne died – ever since you were born – he was never the same again. Nothing seemed to touch him anymore – no job gone wrong; no Hornet lost. He had this… this fire in him… this desperate need for action; a desire to do everything possible to have control over the world around him. It was like this… this energy that kept him burning when anyone else would already have flickered out.”

Ashton felt cold as those words slowly chipped away at the numbness swelling inside him because… god, no one had ever put into words the restlessness that filled his bones before. The Texan had never realised that it had been inherited from his father.

“Did you ever meet my mother, sir?” Ashton asked when he could speak again, his words a little choked as he finished the last of his whiskey with a shudder. Liam finished his own drink too, already reaching for the bottle to refill it. He didn’t offer the younger man a top-up and Ashton didn’t ask.

“Once,” Liam said, his dark gaze coming to rest on the dried blood covering his fingertip from where the glass had cut him earlier. “She was pregnant with you. Whenever I think of her now, she reminds me of Sophia.” A frown coloured his expression as he sat there, presumably dwelling on how strained things had become with his girlfriend.

The clock ticking on the wall was the only sound in the otherwise silent room as the night crept towards the witching hour.

“Who was the man behind the mask?” Liam asked suddenly, his words blunt and a little slurred as he gulped down the next drink too. He seemed to be growing dizzy now and he leant against the desk heavily, propping his chin up in his palm. “What was it like growing up with him?”

Ashton bit his lip as he considered that, rubbing at his aching shoulder distractedly as he leant back in the chair. He thought about his early years beneath the Texan sun for a moment; remembered being taught to clean a gun before he could read; dwelled on the beatings and the drug smuggling, and the sleepless nights tainted with fear and worry. Ashton remembered all of those long days spent abandoned on the ranch with nothing but books and dust for company, and something soured inside him.

“It was no childhood at all,” he said quietly, doing everything he could to keep the Texan twang from his words. In that moment, he’d never wanted to sound less like Fletcher Irwin. “He was a killer, wasn’t he, Mr Payne? That was why you hired him.”

“Not only for that reason,” Liam disagreed but his voice was milder now, his eyes growing more shrewd. “He was unstoppable when he set his mind to something. Absolutely ruthless.” There was a deliberate pause as the mob boss allowed those words to sink in. “Y’know, I think that’s where your tenacity comes from, Ashton. Like a dog with a bone, the pair of you.”

A tense silence grew as the younger man gritted his teeth, glaring down at the floor. He’d just had it confirmed that he’d been raised by a murderer and Liam thought he was ready to be fondly compared to his father? It made him feel sick.

“He used to get me to smuggle drugs when I was a kid,” Ashton said out of nowhere, unsure where the desire to confess had come from but hoping that it would put the older man in an awkward position all the same. “But that was back in Texas. It couldn’t have had anything to do with the Hornet Mob, could it? Nothing to do with you, sir.”

Liam gave him an appraising look, his dark eyes glittering in his tired face as he considered this.

“Fletcher ran a drug business on the side, did he?” He nodded slowly, like that made perfect sense. “Shouldn’t surprise me. He always was a greedy son of a bitch. Grasping, y’know? It’s why we got along so well.”

He let out a quiet bark of laughter that did nothing to warm his face and Ashton felt colder than ever.

“Well, none of it did any good,” the Texan said at last, his tone undeniably bitter. “I gambled away all of his money when he died. Everything he ever worked for is gone.”

“Not everything,” Liam said, his voice as smooth as silk. “What about this war we’re fighting?”

“With Collins’ gang?” Ashton asked blankly, his confusion saturating his tired face as he rubbed again at his injured shoulder. All he wanted was for tonight to be over now; to go home to Niall and lose himself in the older man’s arms. Maybe then he’d stop hurting quite so badly.

“What’s Collins got to do with my father?” the younger man asked warily, hating the way Liam’s dry laughter filled the room once more. The mirthless sound had become almost brittle now as he sucked at his bloodied fingertip, his eyes never leaving Ashton’s face.

“What’s Collins got to do with your father?” the older man repeated as he leant closer, the humour slipping from his expression like icy water. “He’s got everything to do with him, Ashton. Your father was the catalyst that started the tension between the Hornets and the Vultures. Because of him, this fight was inevitable.”

“What do you mean?” the younger man whispered, his shaking fingertips drifting to touch his tattoo through the thin white fabric of his shirt. “How could my father have caused this war?”

The ticking of the clock sounded deafening now as Ashton’s pulse roared in his ears. His palms were sweaty with nervousness and he was beginning to wish that they’d never started this conversation at all. It suddenly didn’t matter that he'd been craving answers all his life because the reality of actually receiving them – of sitting pinned there beneath the older man’s dark eyes – was almost more than the Texan could stand.

“It’s quite simple actually,” Liam said, his voice sinister in its deliberate softness. “Before Fletcher died, I asked him to work a job for me. I needed him to antagonise Collins; find a way to make him vulnerable enough that it would be easy to raid his warehouses and distilleries… and do you know what your father did then? He murdered Collin’s wife and kids. He killed them all in cold blood.”

The shock Ashton could feel was so intense that he found he couldn’t process the words at all. It was too much… too twisted… too unbearable.

“In a roundabout way, I suppose you could say that it’s Fletcher’s fault that Malik died… that Horan was injured... that you got shot.” Liam’s expression was calculating now, his lips pulled back from his teeth in what could almost be described as a snarl. “All of this leads back to him… to you… to the godforsaken Irwin family… always sticking their noses in where they're not wanted.”

Liam’s nostrils flared with rage as his hands curled into fists, the tendons standing out starkly against his tanned skin.

“I’ve been cleaning your father’s fucking mess up ever since … and then you showed up here, expecting handouts and sympathy, and fucking glory.” He was breathing heavily now, the rasping pants tearing out of him as the anger swelled inside him like a forest fire. “Did you ever stop to wonder why everyone hated you when you first got here?” the older man demanded, his voice rising as he leant across the desk out of the shadows. That glint of madness was back in his eyes now, volatile and explosive. “You were a constant reminder of how dangerous Fletcher was… of the unavoidable war looming over our fucking heads because your father had a restless trigger finger!”

“He was in your gang. He followed your orders!” Ashton choked out, desperately clinging to the fact that there was no way on earth that Liam was entirely innocent in this, even if Fletcher had done the awful things the mob boss was telling him.

“Don’t talk about things you don’t understand,” Liam snapped, his expression cold now. “Fletcher was a livewire. He was impossible to control… but he got the job done, didn’t he? That’s what I paid him for. Who was I to question his methods when they so obviously worked?”

“How about when he started killing innocent people in your name?!” Ashton countered, raising his voice over the rumble of the thunder outside. His head felt fuzzy with the alcohol, the burn of it simmering in time with the energy coiling around his bones. It felt like Fletcher was still here now that the Texan knew it was something they shared; it felt like he would be haunted by his father for the rest of his life.

“Get out of my sight, Irwin,” Liam said coldly, his shoulders slumping like all of the fight had seeped out of him. “I’ve had enough of the lot of you tonight.”

Ashton was already halfway out of the room when a second tumbler smashed above his head, sending him bolting out into the safety of the hallway as the broken glass rained down around him. His heart clenched with panic in his chest, his already-bruised face stinging as one of the shards opened up a cut on his cheek.

He was so focused on escaping that he didn’t realise his mistake until he stumbled into Frank where he was lurking in the shadows.

The old man looked tired too but the way his eyes gleamed as his hands gripped claw-like at the younger man’s shoulders made Ashton’s skin crawl. There was no one else around now. Even the Speakeasy was closed for the night so Frank must have been waiting to leave until Liam went home.

No one would hear Ashton if he called for help.

“Don’t,” the Texan said weakly, his voice cracking with fear when Frank’s grip tightened. “Please don’t.”

The rough brickwork pressed against Ashton’s back as the old man invaded his space but, before he could do much more than reach down roughly to grope his much-anticipated victim, a pained hiss escaped him as a deep gouge opened up on his palm.

“What the –?!” Frank reeled back, his watery eyes narrowing in fury at the flick knife clasped tightly in Ashton’s shaking hand. The old man lunged forwards again, faltering only when the Texan raised the blood-caked knife, blinking past the tears rolling numbly down his cheeks.

“I said don’t,” Ashton repeated, shouldering past him and rushing out into the rain. He didn’t pause to see if Frank was following him. He simply ran until he was far enough away.

The rain was a drumbeat against his skin as he finally allowed his pace to slow, his shining shoes dragging as he trudged through the puddles. The drops rolled down his cheek like tears as the lightning tore the sky apart but the Texan barely noticed it as he wrapped his arms around himself to fight the cold, his eyes glassy with exhaustion and grief. The guilt he could feel threatened to suffocate him.

Ashton wondered when the pain would end. 

It was almost four in the morning when he finally made it home.

His breath was ghosting in the air in front of him as he reached the apartment building and his eyes felt gritty with tears as he wearily climbed the creaking stairs. The key turning in the lock sounded deafening when Ashton let himself into the hallway, and a painful mixture of relief and despair threatened to overwhelm him as his knees weakened with exhaustion.

“Ash?” Niall called from his bedroom, his voice soft in the silence. “C’mere, kid. Let me see you.”

Ashton went to him unthinkingly, almost dead on his feet now as he padded down the smooth panels of the hall. He left his shoes discarded on the ground, his coat a crumpled pile of fabric on the floor. Nothing seemed important but seeing Niall now; nothing but moving one foot in front of the other until it was finally – finally – safe to fall apart.

“Ni,” Ashton breathed when he came to a stumbling stop in the doorway, his vision growing blurrier with unshed tears. His white shirt was half-untucked now, his cheekbone still welling blood even despite the rain outside. His fedora slipped from his shaking fingers to land innocuously on the dusty floor.

“You… you stayed up for me?” the Texan choked out past the lump rising in his throat. “I thought Michael told you to rest. You need sleep to heal.”

“As if,” Niall said fondly from where he’d been dozing in a chair in the corner. A book lay open on the floor where it had presumably slipped from his fingers and the soft lamplight cast strange shadows across the walls. “I didn’t want to go to bed while you were still out there, kid. What if you needed me?”

“I do need you,” Ashton confessed, his shaking voice little more than a whisper. “I’ll always need you, Ni.”

“And you’ll always have me, kid,” the blond man countered, his blue eyes so gentle as he reached stiffly for his best friend. Ashton sank down onto the floor beside the chair, his cheek coming to rest on the Irishman’s knee as a soft sob caught in his throat.

“Harry stopped by,” Niall said carefully, tensing a little now as his fingers reached to card hesitantly through the younger man’s damp curls. “He… he told me about Malik.” He broke off for a moment, still a little wheezy from his broken ribs and definitely in pain now, although perhaps the ache was grief instead. “I’m so sorry, kid,” the blond man said softly. “I know you two were friends.”

“It’s my fault he’s dead,” the Texan whispered into the bare skin of Niall’s knee. “I didn’t even try to help him.”

Niall rubbed Ashton’s sore shoulder gently, his touch soothing as the younger man melted against him. He could see the tattoo inked into the blond man’s ankle now and the guilt of it burnt as he closed his eyes tightly against the tears, fighting not to remember what his knife had been used for earlier that night.

“It’s not your fault,” Niall said gently, his voice pained at the poorly-suppressed agony on the Texan’s face. “You were frightened, kid. It’s okay. We all freeze up when we’re scared.”

“You don’t get it,” Ashton croaked, drying his eyes roughly with his fist as his injured face ached at the abuse. “I helped Harry instead, even though he wasn’t hurt. I don’t know why. Zayn needed me more but… I just didn’t think… and now he’s dead… and it’s all because of me.”

The tears rose again and Ashton buried his face in his hands for a moment, fighting down the panic as he remembered once more the terrible reality of watching his friend die. The weight of losing someone because of his own decisions never seemed to get any easier.

“No way are you taking all the blame for this, kid,” Niall said in a slightly sharper tone, his fingers beginning once more to card through the Texan’s hair, even as his unhappiness etched itself clearly onto his pale face. “Did you pull the trigger? Did you shove Malik in front of the bullet?”

“Well… no,” Ashton allowed, too exhausted to fight. The energy stabbing inside him was wild and hurting, and it was all he could do to concentrate enough on not crying as it gnawed away at him.

“Then it wasn’t your fault,” Niall said softly, his eyes blazing with honesty. He gave the saddest smile that Ashton had ever seen. “You wanna sleep in here tonight, kid? My bed’s plenty big enough for the both of us.”

“’Kay,” Ashton mumbled, too drained to make any silly jokes about it. His eyelashes were spiky with tears as his fingers tangled with Niall’s and he followed the blond man across the room like a child, the lump in his throat almost impossible to breathe past when the Irishman let out a pained groan as he slumped down tiredly onto the mattress.

“Don’t you dare worry about me tonight,” Niall chided softly when he saw his best friend’s concern, pressing a chaste kiss to Ashton’s damp curls when the younger man hesitantly curled up against his chest. “You’ve had a horrible, horrible night, Ash. You’re allowed to feel sorry for yourself.”

A tearful sigh escaped the Texan, his trembling hands rising to clasp one of Niall’s so that they were tethered together. He was almost afraid to let go now. He couldn’t stand it if he lost him too.

“Losing Zayn… that wasn’t the only awful thing that happened tonight,” Ashton admitted, his hazel eyes sliding shut against the boiling tears he could feel brimming behind his lids. Niall shifted closer around him, his chin hooking over the younger man’s shoulder as he brushed a kiss over his best friend’s overheated cheek.

“Is this about Liam keeping you back?” Niall asked softly, his words hesitant now as the hand that Ashton wasn’t clutching settled comfortingly on the younger man’s waist. “Harry mentioned he wanted to speak to you. Do you want to talk about it?”

Ashton stiffened, giving a half-shrug before his injured shoulder ached and a tear slipped free, quickly followed by another. He made no effort to wipe them away, quite certain that it would be a fool’s errand.

“I found out the sort of work my father used to do for the gang,” Ashton said quietly, his eyes growing damper than ever as he stared unseeingly at the wall. “Liam told me that my father is the root of the tension between the Hornets and the Vultures… that my father murdered Collins’ family on a whim.”

Niall’s answering silence was telling and Ashton felt the ache of it deep inside. He hated all of the secrecy but he was at least grateful that the Irishman didn’t try to soften the blow now. There was nothing to say that would make tonight anything close to alright and maybe all Ashton could do was accept that.

“Y’know, I… I worry I’m turning into him sometimes,” the Texan whispered shamefully. “I’m scared that maybe one day it will be that easy for me to hurt people too.”

His cheek welled blood as he spoke and Niall’s eyes flickered to it automatically, his expression creasing with concern even as he shook his head firmly at the younger man’s words. “What happened to your face?” Niall murmured and Ashton let out a soft sigh, relieved for the short reprieve from the crushing weight of his emotions.

“Liam threw a glass at me because I told him my father was only a murderer because he was following orders.”

Niall gasped in shock but it quickly gave way to doubt as he processed the younger man’s words.

“And you believe that?” the Irishman asked carefully, his sadness threatening to overwhelm him.

Ashton closed his eyes as a tear rolled slowly down his cheek.

“Not even a little bit,” he whispered. “My dad was a killer, same as me. It runs in our blood.”

“Stop it, Ash! You aren’t to blame for the things your father did!” Niall said fiercely, both arms coming to wrap around the younger man as he cuddled him tightly. He felt like the only anchor Ashton had left. “Fletcher could do awful things but… he’s not you, kid. You’re so much more than that.”

“It doesn’t feel like it tonight,” the Texan murmured, the fresh cut on his cheek stinging dully as he turned over to face his best friend. “It makes me sick, Ni… that… that that’s the man I wasted my childhood idolising… that I sat around on that fucking ranch waiting for him for weeks at a time while he swanned about in Chicago, killing innocent people and smuggling cocaine back for me to transport once he deigned to acknowledge my existence again… and that’s not counting the beatings or those dirty fucking places he sent me to with those disgusting old men who - who used to -”

Ashton’s voice broke off as a shudder tore through him and he bit his knuckle hard to keep his sobs locked away.

Crying had never helped before. Why should now be any different?

“God, Ash, I’m sorry,” Niall murmured, his own eyes pooling with tears as the Texan tucked his face away under the blond man’s chin. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea, kid.”

Niall was stroking his back soothingly now, one hand tangling in the curls as he pressed another kiss to the younger man’s forehead. Ashton wrapped his arms around the blond man’s waist, trying his hardest to remember to be gentle so that he didn’t hurt him, even as another sob tore out of him.

“I should be used to it these days,” he whispered into the warm skin of Niall’s throat. “People treating me like that shouldn’t hurt anymore.”

The silence then was more fragile than anything. The only sounds were the ticking of the clock in the hallway and the patter of the rain against the window as the storm finally moved on.

“It will always hurt, Ash,” Niall said after a long moment, his voice tearful but so sure. “You don’t deserve to be treated like that. No one does.” He stroked the younger man’s hair back from his face, one thumb gently skirting the edge of the cut Liam had inflicted as he peered into his best friend’s eyes.

“Did something happen to you tonight?” Niall’s voice was hesitant, his mouth pressing into a flat line when Ashton nodded mutely. The blond man’s bottom lip wobbled and he cuddled the Texan closer, a soft tearful sound tearing out of him as he considered the implications of this. “Was it Frank?” he asked and the younger man looked up at him, his jaw set and his eyes red from crying.

“He… he fucking touched me…” Ashton breathed, suddenly unable to hold his best friend’s gaze. “I froze and he… he…” He squeezed his eyes tightly shut as the panic inside finally ignited, the gunpowder burn of it taking his breath away as he let out a breathless sob into the older man’s neck.

“I’ll fucking kill him,” Niall whispered but his own misery was blatant as his shoulders shook under the weight of his grief. Ashton simply held him as tight as he dared, too exhausted to even raise his head anymore.

The night felt like it had sucked something important out of him and he was lost without it.

“Don’t,” the Texan whispered, his eyes falling shut when Niall’s shaking palm rose to cradle his sore cheek. “There’s been enough death I think.”

A piece of Ashton’s heart crumbled away into dust as the truth of his words sank in… as he processed the awful reality of Zayn closing his eyes for the last time and the stomach-twisting pain he felt when he realised that Louis would still be waiting for his lover at home, unaware that he was gone from the world now… and then Ashton thought of what Liam had said about Fletcher being the catalyst… about Fletcher being the reason for every single thing that had ever gone wrong in the Texan’s twenty years.

“I hate my father,” he said in a hard little voice, the words taking his best friend so by surprise that he didn’t seem to know how to react at first. “He’s ruining my life and he’s not even here, Ni. He’s a fucking ghost and he still has all this power over me.”

The Irishman held him closer, his arms tight in an effort to keep the younger man from falling apart.

“Then maybe it’s time to wrestle the control back,” Niall said quietly, his face blazing with determination and love. “You’re the strongest person I know, Ash. If anyone can change their life for the better, it’s you.”

Ashton drew back to look at him, his hazel eyes almost closed now as the weariness he could feel finally began to drag him towards unconsciousness. Niall saw it in his face and his expression softened as he hugged the Texan gently to his chest, rocking him in his arms as he calmed automatically at his best friend’s touch.

“You still believe in me?” the younger man mumbled sleepily. “Even now?”

“Especially now,” Niall promised, dropping a light kiss onto the end of the younger man’s nose. “You’re my kid, Ash, and no kid of mine is going to end up being anything less than happy. That’s a promise.”

The sky was beginning to lighten outside by now but Ashton was finally ready to succumb to sleep.

“I love you, Ni,” he murmured. “Thank you.”

The blond man smiled fondly as he carefully draped the blankets over their tangled limbs, one arm sliding comfortingly around his best friend’s shoulders.

“You don’t have to thank me, kid,” Niall said softly, his lips trailing soothingly over the younger man’s forehead. “I’d do anything for you because I love you too. Remember that, okay? No matter what.”

Chapter Text

Time seemed to slow in the weeks following Zayn’s death.

November rushed in like a steam train, its icy talons sinking into any exposed skin as the bare branches of the trees clawed at the empty sky. Chicago became a damp and dreary place where no one lingered anymore. The streets were a blur of faces flushed red with the cold and shifting eyes that flickered restlessly, never settling anywhere for too long.

Ashton’s world closed in around him, every moment passing like clockwork.

He breathed and ate and slept. He went for late night runs and drank more alcohol than was wise. He avoided Louis and Frank like the plague. He made sure Niall rested and always carried their groceries upstairs without listening to the Irishman’s protests. He cried in the darkness and forced blank smiles in the day, and did everything he could to stay awake so that he could escape his nightmares.

He dreamt of Zayn whenever he succumbed to sleep; pictured the flick knife in his hand and Zayn choking on blood beneath him, before the mobster turned into Fletcher and swore that this was his son’s fault.

The Texan sobbed and hated himself, and did everything he could to forget.

For what felt like the longest month of his life, Ashton simply existed.

By the end of November, winter had truly taken hold of the city.

The first snowfall lay thickly on the ground, the crunch of ice accompanying Ashton wherever he went as the world turned white around him.

The shadowy corridors of the Speakeasy became colder than ever as the year came to a close and Ashton found it hard to be sorry that 1920 was almost over. It had been an incredibly difficult time for him and those he cared about, and he prayed that it would be possible to put everything that had happened behind him.

He just wanted to be able to close his eyes without seeing his father or Zayn staring back at him… without reliving that night in the warehouse; the weight of the gun and the fountain of blood.

More than anything, Ashton wanted to sleep without nightmares… without waking up to Niall drawing him into his arms, concern and unhappiness prematurely lining his pale face as his best friend fell apart against him.

Ashton wanted to feel alive again and it was this wish most of all that ate away at him as the days became shorter, keeping the energy in his bones burning as he strode through the snow towards the Hornet Mob’s Speakeasy.

His breath ghosted in the air as he rushed past Frank, not slowing as the old man sidled away, his hungry eyes narrowed as the Texan vanished inside. Ashton’s hands were buried in his coat pockets, his face flushed red with the cold as he headed briskly towards the office space he shared with Niall.

Liam had given him some maps of Collins’ territory that he needed to study before a planned warehouse raid next week. He was meant to be locating areas where it would be safe for the Hornets to enter but, more pressingly, Ashton wanted to familiarise himself with the escape routes, especially in the event that the job went south like the night they’d lost Zayn.

The Texan would do everything he could to avoid another loss like that. The only problem was that, whenever he tried to concentrate on the looming job, his thoughts drifted automatically to the rival gang leader and suddenly all Ashton could think of was the grief Mitchy must have felt when Fletcher – the Texan’s own flesh and blood – murdered Collins’ family.

“Hey, Ash?” Michael seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, his voice tentative as he leant against the doorframe of his office. Ashton stopped in his tracks, his cheeks heating at having been caught so lost in thought that he almost hadn’t noticed the doctor at all. “Do you have a few minutes to talk?”

The Texan’s healing shoulder ached a little when he shrugged tensely and a worried frown creased Michael’s face. Ashton sighed softly, doing his best to rearrange his harried features into something more relaxed but, judging by the knowingly sympathetic expression the doctor was now wearing, the Texan couldn’t have done a very good job.

“Sure, doc,” Ashton said heavily, a tired smile tugging at his lips as he visibly weakened. “I can spare a few minutes.”

“Are you sure?” Michael asked, even as his mouth curved into a gentle grin when the younger man began to close the distance between them. “You seem pretty busy, Ash.”

“I’m not too busy for this,” Ashton said honestly, his cheeks heating a little as his heart fluttered in his chest at the growing softness in Michael’s emerald eyes. “I’ll always make time for you, doc.”

“Better come inside then,” the older man said quietly but he didn’t move from the doorway and the Texan brushed up against him deliberately as he passed, slowing to savour the contact. Both of them were blushing now, cheeks pink with the cold and their proximity as Michael followed Ashton into the small room, closing the door gently behind them.

It was darker and warmer inside, the only light resonating from a small lamp on the desk that cast their shadows against the panelled walls like giants.

There was a moment of silence as they both made themselves comfortable, Michael in his desk chair and Ashton perched on the edge of the narrow bed. He set his hat down on the blankets beside him, his curls slicked back against his head as the weariness inside him rose up like the sea.

“What was it you wanted to talk about, doc?” Ashton asked softly, confusion welling inside him as the heated tension between them boiled away into something softer instead. The older man bit his lip, his sandy hair combed down neatly as his green eyes focused on the younger man’s tired face across the shadowy room.

“I just…” Michael’s voice trailed away as something melancholy tightened his face, half-reaching for the younger man through the empty space between them before his hand fell down limply to his side. “I’ve been really worried about you, Ash. You don’t look so good these days. I wanted to make sure you were holding up okay.” The words were saturated with nothing but sympathy and Ashton hated how much the doctor could make him feel. No one else wielded this power over him so gently, except perhaps Niall.

Ashton still found it difficult to believe that people could love and care for him without demanding something in return but he could admit that the Irishman had proved him wrong there. Who knew? Maybe the doctor would too.

“The bruises are just about gone now,” Ashton said quietly, gesturing to his previously-sore cheekbone in a weak attempt at deflection. Michael rolled his eyes, a strange mixture of fondness and exasperation colouring his features.

“You know I’m not talking about the bruises,” he said, folding his arms over his broad chest as he quirked a pale eyebrow. “Stop avoiding the question.”

“I’m not!” Ashton said grumpily, his hazel eyes brightening a little in contradiction to his tone when he glimpsed the hint of a suppressed smile curving Michael’s lips. “I’m pretty sure you just called me ugly.”

“Oh, as if.” The doctor was blushing again, looking as though he wasn’t sure whether to be cross or not. “You’re deflecting – rather terribly, I might add – which isn’t exactly alleviating my concerns, Ash, but let’s just get this out of the way, shall we?” Michael’s voice was almost acidic now, his green eyes growing determined as his worries outweighed his amusement at Ashton’s feeble attempts to avoid his concern. “You’re not ugly, Ash – very far from it, in fact – but you are exhausted. I need you to tell me why you haven’t been sleeping.”

The good humour seeped out of Ashton like a pin pricking a balloon. His shoulders slumped, his tired face twisting into a grimace as his hands fell to grip the blankets. He would have responded with something stupid if the doctor had just asked him outright but… but Michael had said he needed this and Ashton knew he could never deny the older man anything.

The realisation came to him out of nowhere, hitting him like a lightning bolt, and he swallowed past the rising lump in his throat as he made himself meet the doctor’s worried gaze.

“I’ve been having a lot of nightmares,” Ashton forced out through gritted teeth, his thumb coming to rub unconsciously over the hornet tattoo where it was inked into his wrist. “Ever since that night where I was… initiated.”

The word tasted sour in his mouth and Ashton found that he couldn’t look at Michael anymore. He was too afraid to see the shame and disappointment he had come to associate with that night potentially reflected back at him in the older man’s eyes.

“The dreams are getting worse now though,” he continued, unsure where the confession was coming from but unable to hold it in. He buried his head in his hands but his mouth kept moving, the words muffled as they filled the darkness between them like smoke. “Now I dream of Zayn dying… or that it was me who killed my father and not some faceless soldier in the war.” Ashton’s eyes were faraway now, his vision blurry with tears. “Or I dream that I’ve lost Niall or… or you, doc…”

He looked up when he heard a small pained sound escape the doctor, his hazel eyes shining with warmth and sadness at the slackened look of shock on Michael’s dazed face. The older man’s cheeks were flaming with blood, embarrassment and fondness warring for control of his expression as he bit down hard on his quivering bottom lip.

“I made you sad,” Ashton realised, feeling a pang in his chest as he shifted closer to the edge of the bed… nearer to Michael. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “It’s the truth but… it’s not fair to say that to you, is it? You told me the day you gave me my tattoo that you were scared to get close to us… but I stuck around anyway.” His eyes burnt too brightly with tears and the Texan drew his sleeve across his damp cheeks carelessly. “I’m sorry,” he repeated in a softer voice. “Sorry if this is too much. I just… don’t want to lose you.”

The doctor rose slowly, his pale hands trembling as he moved to sit beside Ashton on the thin mattress. He kept a space between them but his palm came to rest on the blankets, just close enough that their fingertips brushed. Ashton shivered like a current of electricity had seared through him.

“Just don’t make me regret this,” Michael breathed, almost too soft to be heard. “Don’t make this a waste.”

The younger man gazed down at their hands, the lump in his throat abating a little as his eyes zeroed in on the hornet tattoo that Michael had etched permanently into his skin. Ashton brushed it with a fingernail and felt the prickle of heat when the older man’s gaze followed his own.

“You’re a Hornet,” the Texan said quietly, a shaking sigh escaping him when Michael’s fingers wrapped lightly around his wrist. “Where’s your tattoo?”

The doctor’s grip tightened for a moment, pressed right over the younger man’s pulse point, and Ashton’s mouth went dry in the long moments before Michael finally withdrew his hand.

“I don’t have one,” he said weakly, his green eyes burning in the lamplight as he caught the Texan’s gaze. “I’m a doctor, Ash. Killing goes against everything I believe in and I won’t do that for anyone… not even Mr Payne.”

Ashton’s guilt returned slowly, simmering like boiling oil as he remembered the light in Zayn’s face going out… the blast of the gunshot in the warehouse as one of Collins’ gangsters was destroyed before his very eyes… by his own hand.

“Then you’re a stronger man than me,” the Texan murmured, his voice heavy with bitterness and sorrow.

Michael shifted closer, his throat working nervously as he stared at the younger man with something like distress.

“I’m not strong at all,” he croaked, eyes damp with tears as two spots of colour bloomed in his pale cheeks. “I’m weak.”

The kiss was as unexpected as it was clumsy, all bumping noses and clacking teeth. Ashton’s hands shook as they rose to settle on the doctor’s shoulders and Michael groaned against his lips, his eyes squeezed tightly shut against the tears as his fingers tangled in the younger man’s curls.

“I’m not queer,” Michael gasped nonsensically against his lips, even as he twisted into the younger man’s lap, tucking his flaming face away into the Texan’s neck. Ashton’s shock made him slow but he reached automatically to card his fingers through the older man’s hair, his lips tracing the overheated skin of Michael’s throat soothingly.

“That’s a shame, doc,” Ashton said dryly, one hand smoothing comfortingly up and down the doctor’s spine as he held him closer. “I am.”

Michael let out a watery laugh, his pupils dilated as he caught the younger man’s gaze, their faces so close now that their noses were brushing as their foreheads came to rest together, both of them breathing the same air.

“Don’t make me regret this,” Michael repeated, his sandy hair tousled from the younger man’s fingers, his cheeks pink and streaked with tears. “Please, Ash. I couldn’t bear it if I did.”

Ashton cradled the older man’s cheeks gently, stroking Michael’s pale cheekbones with the pads of his thumbs. He leant in to kiss the doctor slowly – like a leap of faith – and something warm melted in his chest when Michael didn’t push him away.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” Ashton promised, even though the words tasted sour in his mouth. “Not if you don’t want it to.”

Michael smiled faintly, relief and disappointment welling up behind his eyes as he kissed the Texan harder, his teeth lightly grazing the younger man’s bottom lip as he buried his desperation in Ashton’s mouth.

“Good,” Michael muttered, his hands sliding beneath the younger man’s shirt to spread across the warm skin of his back as the Texan shuddered against him. “Anything else is too complicated.”

The pain that began to burn in Ashton’s chest at those words was drowned out by Michael’s lips against his and, for just a moment, they lost themselves in each other’s mouths. The lamplight flickered, the shadows spreading across the walls like ink. From somewhere deeper in the Speakeasy, a door slammed shut.

“Doc,” Ashton breathed, tensing as the hairs on his neck rose at the unpleasant feeling of being watched. “We can’t do this. Not here.”

He found it harder than he should have to withdraw his hands from Michael’s hips and something began to ache inside when the older man moved away unwillingly to sit beside him on the mattress. They were both shivering, their cheeks flaming as their heart rates slowly returned to normal.

“You’re right,” the doctor said unhappily, his quiet voice rough with some poorly-suppressed emotion. “It’s not safe.”

Ashton’s palm drifted to cover Michael’s wrist, giving it a comforting squeeze as a lump rose in his throat that threatened to choke him. His vision became blurry with tears and a heavy sigh escaped him as he slumped forwards, burying his face in his shaking hands.

He could feel the armour he had fought so hard to wrap himself in since Zayn’s death crumbling away like sand and he felt raw without it... like all he had left was that horrible crackling energy and the scorch marks seared into his bones.

“Ash?” Michael asked softly, the worry evident in his voice as he shifted on the mattress, moving close enough to wrap his arm around the younger man’s waist. The doctor’s relief was palpable when the Texan leant back against him automatically, soaking in the older man’s warmth as a chaste kiss was pressed to his honey-coloured curls.

“You okay?” Michael murmured in a gentler voice, jostling the younger man lightly and relaxing when Ashton huffed out a watery laugh, twisting in the older man’s arms so that he could face the doctor. His dimples creased his cheeks faintly at the obvious fondness on Michael’s face and something softened in the Texan’s eyes as he reached to tangle their fingers.

“Not really,” Ashton admitted, his lips twitching humourlessly. “But if you can find me someone who is after the year we’ve had, I’ll give them -”

“Head?” Michael interrupted crudely, mostly just to break through the sadness spreading across the younger man’s face. Ashton spluttered in surprise at the doctor’s unexpected interjection, his cheeks flaming even as an unwilling laugh escaped him.

“I was actually going to say ‘a medal’ but if you insist...” He let his voice trail away teasingly, making sure Michael caught the glint in his eye as he managed a weak smirk. “Anyway, as dangerously enjoyable as this has been, I did come here to work today, doc. I have some maps I need to study for Mr Payne… and besides, Ni will be wondering where I am.”

Ashton rose from the bed unwillingly, smoothing his jacket and his curls before he reached for his fedora. Michael remained sitting before him, his sandy hair unkempt as the creased collar of his shirt exposed the pale skin of his throat. He was gazing up at the Texan with something like longing and it made Ashton hesitate as he stared back, an ache gnawing away at him when he realised this stolen moment was about to come to an end.

He didn’t know when they’d get the chance to be close like this again and it burnt him from the inside out.

“You’re not moving,” Michael noticed, the knowing expression on his face tinged with wistfulness as a fragile silence grew between them, broken only when the Texan reached to stroke the doctor’s cheekbone with a sad sigh.

“I don’t want to leave you,” Ashton whispered, like he was admitting a terrible secret. “But… I have to. Mr Payne is waiting… and Niall will guess if I’m gone for too long...”

“How is Niall?” Michael asked quickly, his green eyes brightening as he alighted on a subject change which would prolong this shared moment. “Is he healing up okay after what Collins’ Vultures did to him?”

Ashton shivered as he remembered that horrible morning when he’d found his best friend lying broken on the dusty floor, bleeding and bruised as he lost his battle with consciousness… but that had been weeks ago and Michael had done everything he could to help the Irishman heal since then.

All they could hope for was time now.

“Niall is doing alright,” Ashton said uncertainly, pausing for just long enough that the doctor’s expression became concerned. “Physically, anyway. He’s healing up and doing just what you said. No lifting, no pushing or pulling, no sex.” Both of them smiled humourlessly as they remembered the grumpy look on the Irishman’s face at this last request; then Ashton’s face grew sadder again and Michael’s expression became serious.

“You said he’s physically alright,” the older man noticed, a frown creasing the pale skin of his forehead as he began to distractedly fix his own clothes where the Texan’s searching hands had rumpled them. “How about mentally? Has something happened?”

Ashton bit his bottom lip anxiously, mulling over how much to share before he realised that the events would most likely become common knowledge soon anyway.

“How much do you know about the war in Ireland?” he asked and Michael’s frown deepened as he reached up absently to flatten his hair. It did no good though and some of the pain in Ashton’s eyes melted away as he moved to help the doctor, his fingers combing through the tangles as he allowed the sandy locks to regain some semblance of neatness.

“Not much,” Michael admitted, a tiny sigh escaping him when the younger man finally took a step back, his hands falling to his sides. Ashton nodded thoughtfully as he considered the doctor’s words. “It’s about their Independence, isn’t it?”

“That’s right,” the younger man said quietly. “There are a lot of political factors that led to it but I wouldn’t be able to do them justice. Niall could explain... except…” Ashton’s voice trailed away as his teeth sank into his lip, shaking his head sadly. “He gets upset whenever anyone mentions it. Before this month, he wouldn’t even talk about it… until a few days ago when he got the letter from back home.”

His shoulders slumped, the healing injury aching as he leant heavily against the doctor’s desk. His expression was far away now, the lamplight casting strange flickering shadows over his still form.

Michael watched him silently, the sympathy in his eyes unmistakable as he searched the younger man’s handsome face for the root of his pain.

“Niall got some bad news from his family,” Ashton said after a long moment, his words twisting with bitterness as he recalled how tense the blond man had been recently. He pictured the bruise-like circles under his best friend’s exhausted eyes and the lower lip gnawed bloody with worry, and something hardened in the Texan’s chest.

He hated so badly that Niall was hurting and that it was completely outside his power to alleviate the older man’s suffering.

Any help or support Ashton could offer would be less than useless, not that the blond man would ever say that to him.

Niall had always been too kind for his own good.

“The war is much worse than he ever imagined, I think,” the Texan said softly, feeling a pang in his chest when Michael came to sit in his desk chair, close enough to rest a comforting hand on Ashton’s thigh.

“The letter said that the attacks are getting out of control now. Civilians are being targeted, the Horans included. There was a shooting at a football match this month and it was the police hurting people, doc. Niall’s brother was one of the injured.”

Michael hissed out a sympathetic breath, his face crumpling as he considered that. “Will Horan's brother pull through?” he asked hesitantly and Ashton slumped, his arms coming to wrap around himself as his shoulder burnt faintly.

“Probably not completely but… he should survive,” the younger man replied, losing himself in the doctor's warm green eyes for a moment as his shaking hand rose to stroke Michael's cheek. “I think this just put a lot of things into perspective for Niall. It's made him feel vulnerable… made him realise what he's left behind.”

Ashton’s hazel eyes were grave as he worried for his best friend. The world could be a cruel place and that was never clearer than when one's loved ones were at risk… not that Ashton had any left now, except for Niall and perhaps Michael.

“If he's anything like Horan, he'll be strong enough to fight it, Ash,” Michael reassured him and - although the younger man knew the doctor couldn't really be sure - it helped all the same.

Ashton entwined their fingers tightly, giving the older man a watery smile as he pressed a kiss to Michael's knuckles. Something softened in the doctor’s face.

“You care so much about Horan, don't you?” Michael asked gently. “God, you care about everyone. You have the biggest heart of anyone I've ever met, Ash. I can't believe I didn't notice it ‘til now.”

Michael was gazing up at him so warmly, his sandy hair still a little messy even despite the Texan's best efforts. His lips were swollen from kissing. His thumb rubbed soothing circles into the younger man’s thigh.

“What are you talking about, doc?” Ashton asked but, before he could receive an answer, a loud hammering sounded through the closed door.

They both froze for a moment before Michael came to his senses, rising fluidly and leading Ashton towards the bed.

“Just a minute!” he called as someone knocked impatiently once more. “Sit down and take your shoe off,” he added, lowering his voice. “You hurt your ankle if anyone asks, okay? But they won’t ask. Not if you sit there quietly.”

The Texan nodded in agreement, his cheeks still reddened with embarrassment and too much kissing. He did as Michael asked though, raising his bare foot onto the blankets and doing his best to adopt a vaguely-pained expression which would hopefully be convincing.

His heart clenched nervously in his chest when he suddenly caught a glimpse of a piece of clothing yet to be righted as the older man turned away from him, reaching for the door handle.

“Doc, your shirt!” Ashton hissed. Michael cringed, quickly tucking the crumpled material neatly back into his slacks before he finally pulled the door open, keeping the gap just narrow enough that the Texan couldn't be seen.

“Biersack?” the doctor asked, clearly tense. “What can I help you with?” He still looked flushed and shaky, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip nervously as he tried to hide how flustered he was. Ashton only hoped Biersack would be too distracted to notice.

“Clifford, we need help!” the Hornet began anxiously, his voice strained and rough with worry. “It's Moreta! He's slipped on the ice by the exit near the tunnels and cracked his head. It looks like he's been back there most of the night. You have to come quick!”

“I'll be right behind you,” Michael said soothingly. “You go back and wait with him, okay? Let me just get my bag ready.”

He waited until Biersack could be heard pounding down the corridor before turning back to Ashton, his pale face tinged with exhaustion now as he grabbed his medical bag off the desk.

“I was wrong about you,” Michael said, seemingly out of nowhere. One hand came to rest on the doorframe as he looked back at the younger man over his shoulder. “That's what I wanted to tell you before the interruption. You are nothing like your father, Ash, and you are not lost.”

The doctor spoke so fiercely, his emerald eyes blazing with certainty as his lips quirked up warmly. There was nothing but sincerity on his face and the Texan felt a tear slip down his cheek as Michael disappeared, already hurrying out into the shadows after Andy.

Ashton sat there tearfully for what felt like a long time. 

The Speakeasy was unusually empty when the Texan finally left the doctor’s room. The corridor outside was deserted, the only sounds the dripping of snowmelt and the occasional gruff curse emanating from behind Liam’s door. None of the other Hornets made a sound.

Ashton slipped into the office he shared with Niall silently, not wanting the mob boss to think he was lurking outside eavesdropping. The Irishman was nowhere to be seen and the Texan bit his lip uneasily as he sank down into a chair, already reaching for the documents Liam had left for him to look through.

He’d half-hoped that the blond man would be working on something in here, a captive audience so that Ashton could talk about what had just happened with Michael; about the gentleness of the doctor’s unexpected kisses and the poorly-buried fear in his eyes that Ashton was too wary to approach quite yet.

He sighed as a vague memory of dinner the night before came to mind. Niall had told him that he was starting work again, already almost healed now and keen to take his mind off of matters in Ireland. The Irishman had been asked to accompany Louis on a job to inspect a distillery this morning and Ashton’s shoulders tensed as he recalled this, the familiar guilt gnawing away at him as he remembered Zayn’s last word with his cheek pressed to the ground and his blood seeping into the dirt.

Ashton blinked back tears which he refused to acknowledge as he reached for the first map, his fedora angled so that anyone passing outside would not be able to see his emotions. His fingertip trembled as he traced a path through the first warehouse, drying his eyes roughly with the back of his hand as he tried to focus.

It soon proved impossible. All he could think about were the tears in Michael’s eyes and his pulse thrumming in his veins beneath the hornet tattoo… the soft kisses and the doctor’s clever fingers tangling in his curls.

Ashton pushed the papers away with a heavy sigh, the guilt niggling away at him as he recalled the rawness in Michael’s eyes as Ashton confessed how scared he was to lose him. There had been something caged about the older man’s response; something alarmed and wild, like a cornered animal unsure whether to pounce or run.

He thought of Michael’s desperate, senseless: ‘I’m not queer’, even as he drew the younger man closer and kissed the breath from his lungs. It had been an instinctive action and one that seemed utterly out of character, and the Texan could only hope that the doctor would not come to regret his decision to act, even despite his fear.

The more he dwelled on it though, the more he realised just how terrified the older man had been by his blossoming feelings and there was only one reason that Ashton could think of: Michael’s love had hurt him before.

He must have lost someone he cared about; maybe even someone who had been a Hornet once, until the doctor had been unable to save them. That could very well explain why he was so frightened of letting down his walls around the mobsters nowadays; of ever allowing himself to actually grow close to them.

The world had done its best to make Michael Clifford hard and cold; to rid him of his vulnerability and softness; to fill his aching heart with nothing but suffocating regret and choking fear. He had experienced discrimination and hatred - just as everyone had who loved the way Michael and Ashton did - and that was why Michael had denied his blatant emotions now, even in the face of crushing evidence… because he was afraid.

His lost love had burnt and twisted him almost beyond recognition, and yet despite it all, Michael had shown the younger man a sliver of his true self. He had allowed his icy heart to thaw and the warmth of it was melting the stiffness in his bones, and making him soft in Ashton’s arms once more.

The Texan refused to hurt him again and he only prayed that the older man could see the truth of that in his hazel eyes, and that it would be enough to make him feel safe now because… god, Michael deserved the whole fucking world and Ashton wouldn’t stop until the doctor believed it too.

He wanted to be whatever Michael needed most.

That was a vow he refused to break. 

Ashton’s contemplation was shattered several long minutes later by the sound of a muffled shout coming from the shadowy corridor outside. He stiffened at the desk, his hands flattening on the papers as he tilted his head to one side, listening to the furious bark of retaliation as Liam and Sophia began another of their ill-famed arguments.

Dimly, he was glad that it was still in the quiet hours before their customers began to pour into the Speakeasy because the things Liam was shouting at his girlfriend made Ashton cringe. He’d never heard anyone speak so harshly before; not to someone they were supposed to love.

The Texan rose silently, drifting to the door and turning the handle just enough that he could snatch a glimpse of whatever was going on out in the corridor. The mob boss was hidden from view - presumably still standing in the doorway of his own office - but Ashton could see Sophia across from him.

She was noticeably pregnant now, her stomach swollen with Liam’s baby as she hurled another insult at her boyfriend, her cheeks flaming red with righteous indignation. He scoffed something back at her, his words too soft for Ashton to hear, but he caught the crestfallen look on her face; the way her lips parted as a shaking hand came to rest over her heart, like he’d torn a chunk of her away.

Sophia looked up suddenly, her tear-wet eyes flickering to Ashton’s shocked face and widening fractionally. She didn’t call him out for spying though; clearly the soft spot she’d had for him extended to this and there was something gentle in her eyes in the moments before she tore her gaze back to Liam, where the vein in his forehead was twitching and his hands were curled into fists.

“I can’t do this anymore, Li,” Sophia said and the anger had been stolen from her suddenly, like the fire inside had sputtered out. “I won’t spend my pregnancy walking on eggshells in this godforsaken place because you can never decide if you love me more than this fucking job. You’re ruining my life. You’ve ruined my life… but I’ve had enough. I won’t let you do it any longer.”

She raked a trembling hand through her dark hair, the brunette waves tumbling over her shoulders as she fought to bury her fear behind strength she didn’t seem to feel.

“I’m leaving, Li,” she said quietly, gracefully. Her jaw was squared as she raised her chin, looking the mob boss dead in the eye. “I’d rather the disgrace of having this baby out of wedlock than the reality of raising a child with you. You’re a fucking monster, Li. You’re not the man I fell in love with. You haven’t been for a very long time.”

The tense silence seemed to steal the air from Ashton’s lungs as he listened, too afraid to close the door and retreat back into the office in case Liam heard him. All he could do was stand behind the frame, his eye glued to the gap as he witnessed the awful events unfolding before him.

“You’ll be shunned,” Liam said quietly, his breathing heavy and harsh as he stepped out into the corridor towards her. “You know what they’ll call you, don’t you, darling? A whore. A useless slut who couldn’t keep her legs closed until marriage. That baby will be a bastard. No one will give you two the time of day without me, Sophia.”

“Well, if I have to choose between bastards, it’s no contest,” she muttered, her voice twisting around the words. “You’d never come close, Li. Not over my child.”

She cradled her bump protectively, her eyes momentarily softening as she glanced down at it before she directed her furious gaze back at the dark-eyed man.

“My child will have nothing to do with you,” she promised, her voice cold as ice now. “I’ll tell everyone the baby’s father died in the war. At least that’s honourable... not that you’d know anything about serving your country, would you, Li? The only person you’ve ever served is yourself.”

She spat at his feet, her pale face flushed and so alive that it took Ashton’s breath away as she gave Liam one final contemptuous look.

“You are nothing to me anymore, Liam Payne.”

She turned away once she’d said her piece, striding back down the corridor towards freedom with her head held high. Her gait was purposeful, her expression almost serene now, as though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

She caught Ashton’s gaze briefly as she passed, a warmth to her eyes that hadn’t been there before. His lips curved up unconsciously in return and his heart began to race in his chest. He found it difficult to comprehend just how glad he was that someone had finally stood up to Liam and showed him that his horrific decisions had consequences - and, against the odds, that person had been Sophia.

Ashton so hoped she’d be able to escape from here now; that she’d end up somewhere far enough away that she could raise her baby without the risk of harm… that she’d finally get her rightful chance at happiness and safety. That was what her and her unborn child deserved more than anything.

The smile died on Ashton’s face when Liam withdrew the revolver from his jacket. He’d stalked along behind her like a wraith almost, effectively invisible until he passed the gap in the door, his face twisted with so much rage that it hurt to look at him.

Ashton felt bile rising in his throat when Liam levelled the gun at the back of Sophia’s head. There was a look of pure hatred on his face as his broad chest heaved with emotion, his dark eyes smouldering with black fire.

The hand holding the revolver was steady, his stride slow and casual as he flicked the safety off with a mildness that shook Ashton to the core.

Sophia was too far away to hear the tell-tale click of metal but she was well within range of the bullet.

Ashton wanted to scream at her to run but his voice had dried up in his throat, his knees weakening beneath him as he began to shake.

Out in the shadows, Liam pulled the trigger. 

The single shot echoed through the silent Speakeasy like a bomb going off but the deafening blast was nothing compared to the sickening thud as Sophia’s broken body crumpled to the floor.

Liam had already turned away by the time her blood began to spill, his office door slamming shut with a crash of finality as he vanished, behaving as though nothing had happened at all.

Ashton simply stood there frozen, his jaw hanging slack, his hazel eyes glassy with unshed tears as he gaped at the body on the ground, limp and spent. A piece of his heart splintered away and rotted in his chest as he stared at the carnage in numb disbelief, and he felt it die with Sophia.

The world grew darker around him.

His panic tore at his lungs like barbed wire, shredding them until the breath had choked itself from him… until he had no oxygen left at all. Ashton began to tremble violently as he staggered out into the corridor, his shaking hand settling on the wooden panelling as he leant against the wall like an old man, his legs weak beneath him as his head spun sickeningly.

He slipped in the blood as he lurched towards the exit, the sound of the gunshot still ringing in his ears as he shouldered his way frantically past Frank and into the fresh air outside. He was barely aware of the old man’s lecherous voice as he stumbled out into the bright daylight, so overwhelmed by what he’d just witnessed that Frank actually seemed shaken when he caught a glimpse of the younger man’s ashen face as he slowly lost control.

“Was that a gunshot I just heard or –?”

Ashton’s breath rasped harshly out of his lungs as he processed the old man’s words, the air grating like sandpaper in his throat as a breathless sob tore itself free. He covered his mouth with shaking hands, uselessly trying to keep his cries in as a keening sound escaped him.

Frank had taken a few steps towards him now and Ashton’s back slammed into the rough brickwork as the tears boiled over. All he could think about was the sickening moment when Frank had tried to force himself on the younger man, invading his space with no one around to hear his cries.

“Get away from me!” Ashton croaked desperately as he struggled away from the shocked older man. His hazel eyes drifted back to the Speakeasy and his heart clenched horribly in his chest at the sight of the gristly red footprints he’d left in the snow.

That was the moment the horror of what had happened finally caught up with him.

Ashton doubled over in the icy slush, his stomach contracting violently as he vomited against the wall, again and again until there was nothing left. He was half-blind with tears and grief as he slumped down heavily against the brickwork, sliding onto the frozen ground as his arms came to wrap around himself automatically, tight enough to keep the wild energy trapped inside him.

Frank disappeared back to his post in disgust, still glancing between the young Hornet and the Speakeasy uncertainly as Ashton remained where he was, curled up in the damp.

The sounds of raised voices and running feet could be heard dimly through the heavy metal doors, and the Texan only squeezed his eyes more tightly shut, his heart racing frantically in his chest as the cold seeped into his bones. Part of him wanted to run but he was too frightened to even move now; in case Frank chased him or Liam realised he’d been spying or… or…

His logic broke down beneath the onslaught of panic and he buried his head in his hands, unsure if the awful aching feeling in his chest was because he was about to faint or die.

He thought of Sophia’s face again; her final smile before the bullet tore everything apart. He thought of Zayn’s eyes turning blank and glassy, blood pumping steadily from the gunshot wounds; thought of the noise he made when Harry sliced the hornet tattoo clean away.

Then Ashton thought of that night in the warehouse when he had been the one wielding the gun and ending a life, and he felt as though he’d never feel alright ever again.

Maybe he didn’t deserve to.

The grief-stricken thoughts continued to swirl through him, stinging inside his head like hornets as his overheated cheek pressed to the rough bricks. The tears were rolling more slowly now, his flushed face sticky with them as the snow soaked into his slacks, forcing violent shivers through his weakened body.

The metal door suddenly clanged open from inside, startling him as a familiar blond figure hurtled out into the late morning and began to search the surrounding alleyway frantically.

“Your little friend’s over there, Horan,” Frank could be heard muttering, his voice gruff with wariness but lacking animosity for once. The pair stared at each other, Niall’s eyes blazing with fury at the indignity of having to speak to the old man. “Get him to pull himself together before Mr Payne sees. He won’t want Hornets attracting attention like that.”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve telling me what to do,” the Irishman snarled but the anger drained from him the moment his gaze settled on Ashton’s crumpled form. “Oh, kid,” Niall said softly as he approached, his footsteps lighter now as he carefully skirted around the trail of blood leading to his best friend. “Ash, I need you to look at me. Can you do that?”

The words seemed to come from somewhere very far away and it took Ashton a long time to process them, his pulse still roaring in his veins as he blearily raised his head, feeling almost as though he’d been deep underwater. Niall’s reassuring, tear-wet smile was like a lighthouse, guiding him back home to safety.

“Deep breaths,” the blond man murmured as he sank down uncaringly into the snow beside his best friend, one arm coming to wind comfortingly around the younger man’s shoulders as Ashton choked out a broken sob. “C’mon, kid. Copy me, yeah? Nice and slow now.”

They sat there quietly for a few minutes, Niall rocking the younger man gently as Ashton clung to him, relishing the warmth of the older man’s arms wrapped around him.

“There we go. Much better,” Niall said softly when the Texan had managed to catch his breath again, one pale hand coming to rub the younger man’s back gently through his jacket. Ashton shuddered as the fear threatened to overwhelm him once more but he fought through it, squeezing his eyes shut as he concentrated on his breathing. Niall hummed contentedly from beside him, apparently unaware of the cold in the face of consoling his closest friend.

“There’s my good boy, eh?” the Irishman murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the Texan’s curls. “You’re alright now, kid. You’re safe.”

“But Sophia -” Ashton rasped brokenly, his shaking hand tightening in the blond man’s shirt as he looked up at him desperately, his eyelashes spiky with tears. A shadow passed over Niall’s miserable face as he rose stiffly to his feet, drawing the younger man up with him.

“Did you see what happened, kid?” the blond man asked gently as Ashton’s arms slipped around his waist, his cold hands buried deep in the warmth of his best friend’s jacket. “Because if you did, we should go and talk to Mr Payne. He says a rival gang member broke in and… and killed Sophia.” Niall squared his jaw, fighting against the tears prickling in his eyes as he held Ashton gently in his arms. “Liam’s just sitting on the ground in there, still holding her. They called for Clifford but it was no good. Collins’ men got her good and proper. There’s nothing anyone can do to save her. Liam looked broken, kid.”

Ashton shook his head slowly as the boiling tears began to trickle once more.

He should have known Liam would try to manipulate his mobsters like this, by using his own personal vendettas to fuel the war between the Hornets and the Vultures… and here was poor Niall, still believing him.

“It’s a lie,” Ashton whispered, holding the blond man’s gaze beseechingly as the Irishman levelled a shocked look at him. “There were no Vultures here. I… I fucking saw what happened, Ni,” he croaked, his voice breaking. “I watched Liam kill his pregnant girlfriend in cold blood and… and I didn’t do anything to stop it. I couldn’t –”

“No, you couldn’t,” Niall agreed at once, looking completely horrified as he hugged his best friend tighter, his usually pale face gone white as bone now. “Ash, he’d kill you if he knew you were there. You can’t mention this to anyone else, okay? Not anyone.”

His instant trust made a lump rise in Ashton’s throat and all he could do was hold the Irishman closer, his cheek coming to rest on Niall’s chest through his crisp white shirt as he closed his eyes, holding on for dear life.

“You mean you… you believe me?” Ashton asked in a small voice, barely able to believe it as Niall cuddled his friend closer, being careful not to hurt his own ribs or the Texan’s healing shoulder.

Something damp fell onto Ashton’s forehead and it took him a moment to realise that Niall was crying too.

“Always, kid,” the blond man breathed, his words choked as he leant their foreheads together comfortingly. “Always.”

The door opened behind them once more and both of them froze, crackling with tension until they realised it was only Harry coming out for some air. He looked faintly green as he leant against the wall outside, his hands shaking as he withdrew a cigarette from his jacket pocket and lit it swiftly, burning himself on the match.

“Damnit,” the Englishman cursed, dropping it reflexively and watching as the tiny flame sputtered out in the snow. He sucked the edge of his thumb unhappily as he stamped the match deeper into the ice, waiting for the stinging to lessen.

“Harry?” Niall asked softly, keeping one arm wrapped comfortingly around the younger man’s waist as he looked over at his friend. The green-eyed man jerked his head up in surprise. “Are you alright?”

Harry wrapped an arm around himself unhappily as he trudged over through the slush, taking a deep drag of the cigarette before he passed it to Niall wordlessly.

“Not particularly,” he said quietly, his voice even lower than usual as he cleared his throat, clearly struggling to keep his emotions under wraps. He took the cigarette back when it was offered, inhaling deeply as the smoke coiled up into the cold air. “Niall, Mr Payne was asking for you. He wants to talk to you about your last job in Collins’ territory; see if you picked anything up that might have hinted at what happened to Sophia.”

Ashton felt rage curl inside him at the prospect of Liam potentially trying to pin the blame of this on Niall but the Irishman accepted Harry’s words with a purposefully casual shrug, his faint smile watery at best as he gave the Texan’s good shoulder a comforting squeeze.

“I’ll go talk to him,” the blond man promised. “But I don’t have anything new to tell him. We had a debrief a while ago. I didn’t have time to notice anything useful when I was being beaten to a pulp.”

Harry winced at his friend’s choice of words and Ashton’s grip tightened in Niall’s shirt, unwilling to let him go.

“It’ll be alright,” the blond man murmured, pressing a brief kiss to the Texan’s forehead while Harry was focused on his cigarette. “Are you sure you’ll be okay out here alone though, Ash? If you don’t feel good, I could always take you home first and then come back to talk later –”

“Not a good idea,” Harry cut in smoothly, shooting the doors to the Speakeasy a sharp look where Frank was blatantly eavesdropping. “Mr Payne shouldn’t be kept waiting – especially not today – but I’ll keep an eye on Ash for you, Niall. Don’t worry about him.” A faint frown creased his brow when the Irishman hesitated. “You do trust me, don’t you?”

Niall’s cheeks heated as he folded his arms, looking mildly offended.

“Of course I do,” he said wearily. “But just… don’t stay around here, yeah? I don't want Ash anywhere near Frank if he doesn’t have to be. That goon gives me the creeps.”

“Yessir,” Harry said wryly, managing a faint smile as he touched his forehead with two fingers in a parody of a salute.

Still, Niall lingered, holding Ashton’s gaze and not leaving until the curly-haired man managed a weak nod.

“I’ll come find you later, kid, yeah? Try not to worry while I’m gone.”

He strode past Frank without looking at the old man, his pale jaw set and his shoulders tense as he unwillingly entered the shadowy Speakeasy once more.

Harry and Ashton watched him go in silence before the older man silently passed the cigarette over.

“You and Horan are close, aren’t you?” Harry said, bumping the younger man amicably with his shoulder when Ashton handed the cigarette back without taking a drag. He didn’t like the way the smoke had made him cough on those rare occasions when he’d pilfered one from Niall and he wasn’t keen to repeat the experience now, especially when his chest already ached so much from his anxiety.

“Well, we live together,” Ashton said quietly, too dazed and aching to give his words much consideration. Harry’s hand settled on his shoulder as he led the younger man deeper into the labyrinth of alleys, away from Frank’s watchful gaze. “Ni’s my best friend… my brother almost.”

“And you love him,” Harry said. It wasn’t a question.

Ashton shrugged uncomfortably and the older man’s face softened, his green eyes warm as the pair came to lean against the wall, tucked out of sight now.

“It’s not a bad thing, Ash,” Harry said comfortingly. “Too many people grow tough doing the work we do. They don’t have the capacity for love anymore. Not really.” He stubbed out what remained of the cigarette before burying his hands in his pockets, his tired eyes fixed on the ivy clinging to the wall across from them as Ashton leant subtly into his warmth.

“Take your father for example,” Harry said out of nowhere. “Fletcher was one of the toughest bastards I’ve ever met. He’d do anything – hurt anyone if that’s what was needed – and he wouldn’t let his heart get in the way. God, half the time I wasn’t even sure he had one.” Harry’s crass bark of laughter fell flat when he heard the younger man sniff beside him.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Ash,” he said at once, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip when the Texan refused to meet his gaze. “That was a horrible thing to say, especially when you’re already upset.” He raked a hand through his dark curls when Ashton’s breath escaped him in a shaky gasp, his shoulders slumping.

“Fletcher was a great man,” Harry attempted but the words were half-hearted now, his expression a touch bitter. “He was strong and brave, and –”

“Cruel,” Ashton interjected in a whisper, cringing when a tear rolled down his cheek. He fought valiantly to keep his sobs in but it was difficult, especially when Harry wrapped an arm around him and tucked the younger man’s head beneath his chin warmly.

“You’re allowed to cry, you know,” the older man said softly but it only made Ashton feel more tense. “This has been a horrible, horrible morning. It’s only natural if things feel a bit too much for you right now.” Harry hesitated, his thumb rubbing the younger man’s shoulder comfortingly as a sad sigh escaped him. “Ash, what Collins’ men have done to Sophia is… is awful… so if thinking about Fletcher is a way for you to process that, you shouldn’t be ashamed of getting upset.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Ashton mumbled, his arms still wrapped around himself even now as the energy coiled inside him like a venomous snake. “I’m done fucking crying over him,” he snapped, drying his eyes hard with his fist as his voice became steely. “He doesn’t deserve it. Not after the things he’d done.”

Ashton locked his weakness away as best he could, straightening his shoulders and squaring his jaw, even though most of him still wanted to break down and cry. He focused on Harry instead, giving the older man an awkward pat on the shoulder as he stepped back, putting a little space between them.

The Englishman’s pride was so obvious then that it hurt almost as much as Niall’s smiles did.

“You’re gonna be okay, Ash,” Harry said firmly, his green eyes tired but kind. “You’re so strong, yeah? And you can still love… even with a fuck-up like Fletcher for a father.”

“Thought you said he was a great man,” Ashton interjected coolly, the sarcasm positively dripping from his tone now. The older man’s eyes crinkled when he gave an answering grin and it proved infectious, even despite how much the Texan didn’t feel like smiling.

“Nah, Fletcher was a mess in the end,” Harry said calmly and Ashton thought that might have been the most honest sentence he’d heard from the Englishman. “I’m guessing you know what he did then? If you feel so angry towards him now?”

“If we take my childhood out of the equation, yes, I’m still furious,” Ashton said but the humour was gone and his shoulders had slumped once more. “I know what he did to Collins’ family. Mr Payne told me everything.”

He took a shuddering breath, his heart aching in his chest when Harry leant back against the wall again, his expression deeply unhappy.

“That must be why Collins’ has done this now,” the older man realised miserably. “Maybe it’s payback for what Fletcher did… for killing Collins’s wife and kids… god, even the baby.”

Ashton closed his eyes, fighting down the nausea as he tried not to process this… tried to forget the smile on Sophia’s face as her hands fell to cradle her growing stomach… the sound her body made as she crumpled down onto the ground like a ragdoll.

Harry looked unusually pale when Ashton finally opened his eyes, the dismay saturating his face as he began to realise the extent of Fletcher’s previously-unimaginable brutality.

“My god,” Harry breathed and the younger man shivered, not liking the shudder that tore through the Englishman as he gazed down at him. “I never really realised it before but…”

“What?” Ashton asked although, in all honesty, he was unsure whether he even wanted to know the answer.

The older man’s large hand slipped from his friend’s shoulder, his expression faintly ill now as the blood-stained snow crunched beneath their feet.

“You look so much like your father,” Harry whispered, his green eyes haunted.

Ashton felt something dark settle in his chest as the guilt reared its head like a monster.

He would have given anything for those words to be a lie.

Anything at all.

Chapter Text

Ashton slipped out of bed silently on Christmas morning.

It had snowed overnight and the world looked like the fruitcakes Fletcher had sometimes brought home during Ashton’s childhood, rich and covered in thick white icing like the blanket of snowflakes shrouding the city outside.

There were no footprints in the street below; no rumble of motor cars or distant steam trains. It felt as though the world had not yet woken up; as though every beautiful, terrible thing was holding its breath until tomorrow, when it would come alive once more.

Niall seemed to be the same, drifting through the apartment and the Speakeasy alike with a pallor to his complexion that could not be explained away by the plunging temperatures.

At the beginning of the month, the Irishman had received bad news from back home, seeping across the Atlantic like the deadly whorls of black ice covering the roads outside. He’d heard tell that his hometown - the city of Cork - had been burnt down in the Irish War.

Niall had waited for weeks to hear confirmation that the Horan clan had escaped unscathed but, as the days passed without news of their survival, the fear and guilt he harboured at having left Ireland behind seemed to take hold of him.

Ashton had watched his best friend’s mood decline in time with the weather, the snowstorms outside perfectly reflecting Niall’s unhappiness as he wallowed in anguish.

The worst part was that the Texan was just as bad. He’d been thoroughly miserable ever since the day he’d witnessed Sophia’s murder and it didn’t seem fair that time continued to slip by without a second thought… the planet still turning like Ashton’s world hadn’t been turned on its head.

Maybe the worst part of all was that Sophia’s death had come at the same time as the Burning of Cork. Just when Niall and Ashton needed each other most, the pair had been unable to discuss what was causing them so much suffering, and in this way it had begun to stagnate inside them, sour and cold until the bitterness was all they felt anymore.

The turning point for the Texan was when Niall insisted he didn’t want to celebrate Christmas that year. The pair had always enjoyed it in the past and Ashton had made a vow then that Niall would enjoy it now too, even if it was a more sombre occasion this time around. He wasn’t convinced that the Irishman wouldn’t be angry at him for ignoring his wishes but the younger man had decided that this risk was worth it because the blond man deserved to be happy, and that was all Ashton wanted as a gift.

It was this vow that had led to the Texan’s current predicament: padding down the hallway in the darkness, laden with an enthusiastically-filled stocking and perhaps just a little too much eagerness for so early in the morning.

The blond man’s door creaked when Ashton sneaked in and he grimaced as he padded through the darkness, stumbling into the edge of the older man’s bed. So far, his subtle plan was leaving a lot to be desired but Ashton decided that - in the spirit of good cheer - no one should be allowed to judge him for that.

He was just about to lay the stocking on the foot of the bed before disappearing to search for the lemon cakes Niall had hidden in the kitchen when the blond man pushed himself into a sitting position, a wry expression on his face which fortunately still looked fond.

“Santa, is that you?” he drawled sarcastically. “I would’ve thought you’d be better at creeping around… although maybe you get rusty if it’s only one night a year.” Niall’s hair was sticking up messily but his face was soft enough that Ashton risked joining him on the mattress, the stocking cradled awkwardly in his lap.

“That does raise a question though,” Niall continued as he scratched his bare stomach sleepily, fixing his best friend with a weak frown. “How did you get in here, Santa? We don’t have a chimney.”

“Oh, shut up,” Ashton muttered, rolling his eyes even as the relief warmed him when he saw the blond man’s lips begin to curve up unconsciously. “Excuse me for trying to do a nice thing for you!” His shoulders slumped a little and his tone became more sincere as Niall reached to lay a comforting hand on his ankle. “You deserve to feel happy again, Ni. I hate it so much when you’re sad.”

Something melted in the blond man’s eyes as they sat there together in the dark, the only sounds their quiet breathing and the dripping of snowmelt where Niall had left the kitchen window cracked open after a late-night cigarette the evening before. The kitchen would no doubt be freezing when they finally ventured in but Ashton couldn’t bring himself to care right now; not when Niall was watching him like that, with a faint smile touching his lips and a gentleness in his face that hadn’t been present for the last few weeks.

“I’m sorry I didn’t want to celebrate, kid,” Niall said quietly, apparently crestfallen as he patted Ashton’s knee before slipping his hands back under the blankets again. His shoulders slumped and he bit his bottom lip morosely, giving his best friend a regretful smile. “I know you love this holiday. I should’ve got a Christmas tree for you.”

“That’s okay, Scrooge,” Ashton said cheerfully but his words were gentle and his hazel eyes remained soft. “I still love you, pine needles on the floor or not.” He pulled a face suddenly, his dimples creasing his cheeks as he grinned. “Plus, the paper snowflakes and candles we used to decorate the tree last year didn’t mix very well, did they? So this is probably safer…”

“Just a little bit, kid,” Niall agreed but the sadness had drained away now, leaving him only sleep-rumpled and fond as Ashton crawled closer over the blankets. He settled down against the blond man’s side easily, no longer worried about causing further injury because Niall’s ribs had long-since healed and the Texan’s shoulder barely pained him these days.

“Here you go, Ni,” Ashton said, his chin resting on the older man’s shoulder as he pushed the stocking hesitantly into his best friend’s hands. “Sorry it isn’t very exciting.”

“Don’t be silly, kid,” Niall grinned, wrapping an arm around the younger man’s shoulders so that he could drop a kiss onto Ashton's forehead before he began to rummage inside his surprise gift. “You really shouldn’t have… but I’m glad you did. This is the sweetest thing, Ash. Thank you.”

The Irishman’s face lit up as he began to empty the contents of the stocking onto the blanket, sorting through swiped home-grown apples and fresh oranges from the market, little paper bags of walnuts and peanuts, raisins dried on their stems and festive-coloured striped candy canes, and the blond man’s very favourite: as many chocolate drops as Ashton had been able to cram inside.

Niall’s blue eyes were sparkling when he finally looked up at his best friend, his gifts safely tucked back inside the stocking as he set it reverently on his bedside table. The blond man’s eyelashes were spiky with what might have been tears as he lunged forwards to wrestle the younger man into a hug, sending a giggling Ashton tumbling back down onto the blankets.

“My mam used to get me a stocking like this too,” Niall mumbled, his voice thick with emotion as the younger man's arms slipped warmly around his bare waist. “Thank you, kid. So, so much.”

Ashton smiled gently, deciding it might be wise to distract the blond man from how overwhelmed with love he suddenly seemed to be in order to avoid any tears.

“So you’re not disappointed that it wasn’t Santa trying to break into your room?” the younger man asked teasingly and the Irishman let out a bark of laughter as he allowed his forehead to rest lightly against his best friend’s.

“You’re so ridiculous,” Niall said softly, his eyes crinkling as he smiled. “The most ridiculous, loveliest, kindest boy I’ve ever met.”

“I’m a man,” Ashton said reproachfully but he was shining with joy as Niall tucked his face away into the younger man's neck, his blond hair tickling the Texan's cheek lightly.

“Well, you’re my boy,” the Irishman said softly and Ashton hummed contentedly, his hands rising to smooth the older man's hair down gently as they lay together.

“Guess I can live with that,” the Texan said lightly, blinking back the happy tears rising behind his eyes when Niall cuddled him tighter.

“Y'know, while we're confessing,” the blond man began suddenly, his words taking on an excited lilt as he drew back to smile at Ashton. “I may have something for you too, kid. I got it a few months back before all this shit happened... and then I figured I'd just save it for your birthday.” Niall pushed himself into a sitting position and the Texan mirrored him, a slight frown on his face as he cocked his head to one side curiously.

”You deserve something nice, kid,” the Irishman said quietly. “I want you to have it now. Let me just go get it for you.”

He clambered free of the blankets, shooting the younger man a gleeful look as he began to rummage through the contents covering the floor of his wardrobe. After some mild cursing, Niall finally straightened up with something wrapped in brown paper clutched to his chest, returning to the bed with a lightness in his step that hadn't been there before.

”Here you go, kid,” he said, proffering the present shyly and biting his bottom lip when Ashton accepted it, his lips curving up into an unconscious smile when Niall came to sit beside him again.

“It's a book?” Ashton guessed as he felt the shape through the paper, the grin on his face proving infectious as the Irishman patted his knee fondly. The Texan tore a corner of the wrapping away and felt butterflies in his stomach as he recognised the cover. “Ni... you didn't,” he breathed and the blond man blushed, looking away to hide the smile in his shoulder.

“It... it's not a first edition - not that I didn't search for one – but... well, it's a nicer version than the one we have now,” Niall said, shrugging awkwardly although a pleased expression saturated his face at the obvious joy the younger man felt. “I just thought maybe you'd like a copy of Oliver Twist that doesn't look about five thousand years old.”

Ashton cradled the book to his chest like it was made of gold, his hazel eyes sparkling with tears.

“Thank you,” he whispered, giving the Irishman a watery smile that was fondly returned. “I love you, Ni.”

“I know you do, kid,” the blond man said softly. “I love you too.”

They sat there together for a little while, just enjoying their presents and each other's company as they discussed past Christmases they'd enjoyed, and suddenly it didn't matter that they had no tree or decorations up around the apartment because they had each other, and that was all they needed.

In that moment, everything was exactly as it should be.

When Niall let out a sleepy yawn, Ashton suggested brewing some coffee to wake them up and the blond man shot him an abruptly inquisitive look.

“I have a question actually,” the Irishman said as he moved their presents carefully back to the safety of his bedside table. “It's still really dark outside...” His voice trailed away when the younger man's cheeks heated. “What time did you wake me up, kid?”

Ashton gave Niall his best smile, hoping it would be enough to prevent the blond man - lover of sleeping and never leaving his bed when avoidable - from killing him.

“Um... five o'clock?” the Texan admitted, mumbling in the hope that he wouldn't be understood. “Maybe half four?”

“Goddamnit, Ashton!” Niall yelled but his eyes were sparkling when the younger man scrambled free of the blankets.

“Merry Christmas, Ni!” Ashton retorted, ducking as the blond man's pillow went flying into the wall. The younger man escaped the room with an excited cackle as Niall tore down the hallway after him, threatening all sorts of terrifying punishments involving tickling and no lemon cakes for breakfast.

Their neighbours would probably hate them for being so noisy but that was okay.

Niall was smiling again.

*

In the end, Christmas Day was pleasant enough.

They drank coffee and ate Niall's secret stash of lemon cakes for breakfast, and spent most of the morning wrapped up snugly in coats and scarves as they built snowmen in the park. They came home red-cheeked and laughing, with snow melting in their hair and their freezing hands tucked warmly inside their pockets.

They ate beans on toast for lunch to the tune of the gramophone, their socked feet tangled together under the table as they exchanged jokes, each one growing sillier and ruder until Ashton had tears in his eyes, and Niall almost choked on his toast crumbs.

The Irishman made his famous beef stew for dinner, chopping up the vegetables with impressive precision as Ashton sat on the counter, singing along to the music as he helpfully pointed out any pieces of potato not cut up uniformly, much to Niall's chagrin.

The joy of the day faded to peacefulness as the night drew in and, as the darkness began to overwhelm the sunset outside, they lit a candle. The atmosphere became sombre as the pair sat together at the table, fingers entwined on the faded wood as the flame licked at the wick.

Ashton thought of Sophia for a moment; thought of his mother and Zayn, and even Fletcher, although the latter pained him. He wasn't the only one reminiscing either. Judging by the sudden tenseness of Niall's face, he was clearly worrying about his family again and the Texan found he couldn't blame him.

In some ways, not knowing almost seemed worse than receiving upsetting tidings and Ashton hoped so badly that news of the Horans' survival would reach them soon. Their safety meant everything to Niall – no matter what had happened to send the blond man running away from home in the past – and the Texan found himself wishing for good news with every fibre of his being.

In the end, Niall's love and Ashton's wishing won out against the darkness.

Like an answer to the Irishman's prayers, a letter dropped down onto their doormat a few days later.

It was from Niall's mother, explaining that they'd been out of the city visiting his grandfather when the fires had been lit and that everyone had escaped with their lives. She'd even said that their house had remained relatively unscathed and Niall's sudden joy had reduced him to tears as he buried his face in his hands, body shaking with sobs as Ashton rocked him comfortingly in his arms.

“They're okay, Ni!” the younger man said soothingly, his dimples creasing his cheeks when Niall looked up at him. The blond man’s face was streaked with tears as he gave his best friend a watery smile. “They made it!”

Niall clung to Ashton like a child, tucking his face away into the younger man's neck as the Texan kissed his soft blond hair.

“Thank you for not giving up on me, kid,” the Irishman whispered and Ashton smiled as he drew back, thumbing Niall's tears away gently.

“I'm never giving up on you, Ni,” he promised. “We’re family.”

*

The year came to a close with barely a whisper of wind, the ice beginning to thaw as January arrived, bringing with it rainy showers and a sense of anticipation that Ashton couldn't shake, no matter how hard he tried.

The energy in his veins burned brighter than ever, seemingly determined to remind him at every moment that 1921 was likely to be just as eventful as the year before.

Liam seemed to sense a change in the air too; a tension that hadn’t been present before. His orders became harsher, his mockery of calm professionalism more strained. There was something wild burning in his dark eyes that had been unleashed the day he put a bullet in his pregnant girlfriend’s skull. It was a lividness that almost made it seem like he believed the lies he’d told the Hornets too, about Collins ordering the death of Sophia and the rival gangsters setting out to annihilate them.

Ashton didn’t think there was any truth in it at all.

Why would Collins have changed his strategies now, when they’d been working so well for him? Clearly, this was more about Liam single-mindedly trying to eliminate the Vultures before anyone could prove that it had been him who dealt the killing stroke instead.

Ashton wondered when the self-loathing Liam clearly felt had begun to eat away all of the goodness inside him… and then he wondered if there had ever been any brightness inside to begin with.

He had never seen a vessel so full of hatred before but Liam trembled with it sometimes, boiling over with fury and madness, the likes of which none of the mobsters had previously been privy to.

They were all overtired and jumpy, fighting to complete every task Liam set them to the highest quality in order to avoid incurring his wrath. The jobs grew more frequent and increasingly dangerous, and by the end of February, Ashton felt as though he had been worked to the bone, jittery with frayed nerves and agitated from exhaustion.

He snapped at the people he cared about a lot during those first months of 1921 but Niall was very good at getting him out of it – even though the Irishman must have been feeling just as much pressure – and Michael simply watched the Texan unhappily until the younger man felt guilty and kissed him in apology, more confused than ever about the stolen moments they shared.

The last straw for Ashton was when, right at the end of the day, he slipped coming back up the stairs from the storage room. He landed badly, twisting his ankle, and the furious tears he burst into were not helped when he limped awkwardly towards Michael’s office, only to discover that the older man was nowhere to be found.

Niall found Ashton lurking in the bathroom a short while later, a scowl on his flushed face as he stupidly kicked the sink. The blond man’s eyes saddened at the grumpiness on his best friend’s face but he kept his smile in place as he shut the door behind him, taking in the younger man’s tense posture as his muscles rippled under his shirt.

“Damn, kid, just look at those shoulders,” Niall said lightly, sauntering forwards and giving the Texan a silly wink in the mirror as he draped an arm around his best friend’s waist. “Someone’s been working out.” The Irishman lowered his voice, his blue eyes glittering a little. “Trying to impress a certain doctor, are we?”

“Shut up!” Ashton gasped, his tear-streaked cheeks flaming. He knew he couldn’t blame Niall for dropping hints – after all, the Texan knew he was being mysterious about his relationship with the doctor – but… but that was because he didn’t know what was going on either... and if he didn’t understand, how could he expect Niall to?

“Oh please,” the blond man grinned, drawing the word out into two syllables. “When have I ever known when to shut up?” He stuck his tongue out at Ashton’s dignified eye roll. “God, it’s like trying to get blood out of a stone with you sometimes, kid!” Niall declared but his gaze remained soft enough that it kept the younger man from worrying that he’d upset his best friend. Ashton's only response was to let out a little sigh, his head falling to rest on the older man’s broad shoulder. Niall nudged his best friend lightly with his elbow, his blue eyes soft.

“Why’ve you been crying, kid?” he asked gently and the Texan slumped, unable to meet the Irishman's gaze in the mirror. He gripped the edge of the sink hard, his knuckles whitening as he clung to the porcelain like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

When Niall leant closer to press a gentle kiss to his shoulder, a tear slipped down Ashton’s cheek.

“Today's just been really shit,” the younger man muttered, his cheeks flaming with embarrassment as he bit his bottom lip hard. “I… I feel like I’ve been wrung out, Ni.” He snorted humourlessly at his reflection, taking in the seemingly perpetual frown on his own forehead and the tension settling in his shoulders. “And I twisted my ankle. Pretty sure that was what caused this particular meltdown.”

Niall hummed, cuddling the younger man tighter as he held his gaze in the mirror.

“You hurt your ankle badly?” he asked and Ashton blushed, shaking his head. Niall smiled reassuringly, his thumbs rubbing comfortingly into the Texan’s hips where he was still holding him close. “Sounds like you’re just letting the stress get on top of you at the moment, kid. That’s nothing to beat yourself up about though. We all do it.”

“But… I’m going to be twenty one this year,” Ashton whispered, his hazel eyes gleaming with hopeless tears. “I’m supposed to be over this shit now. I’m not a kid anymore.”

Niall just rocked him slowly, glancing nervously towards the bathroom door although he didn’t loosen his grip.

“Still my boy,” the Irishman said with a shrug. “You’ll always be a kid to me.”

The choking energy in Ashton’s veins abated a little; became less fire and smoke, more warm arms and Niall’s comforting smile.

“I don’t reckon Mr Payne will care if we duck out now, huh?” the Irishman suggested softly. “Let’s go get a drink on the way home from work - maybe in that place we went for your birthday, yeah? On the other side of the city? We can have some fun for once, kid.”

“Sure, I’d like that but… isn’t that one of Collins’ places?” Ashton asked seriously, keeping his voice soft so that there would be no chance of being overheard. His cheeks heated a little as his thoughts flickered to the barman Calum for a moment. “If Mr Payne finds out, he won’t like it.”

Niall sighed, his pale cheeks heating up a little with indignation as he turned Ashton gently to face him, his palms coming to rest warmly on the younger man’s shoulders.

“Look, kid,” the blond man said seriously. “Mr Payne doesn’t like much of anything right now but I’m starting to think that what he doesn’t know… well, it can’t hurt him, can it? And if worst comes to worst and he does catch us, we can just say we wanted to see how Collins runs his Speakeasies, yeah? We’ll say we were trying to pick up tips.”

It was a weak excuse at best but the Texan appreciated Niall’s desire to cheer him up more than anything and, after a moment of hesitation, he allowed a slow smile to light up his face.

“Let’s go then,” Ashton said, giving Niall’s hand a comforting squeeze when the blond man reached to entwine their fingers. He cocked his head to one side curiously when the older man seemed content to simply watch him, a sad smile tugging at his lips as the younger man gazed back uncertainly. “Ni… why’re you looking at me like that?”

“Because I just realised how much you’ve grown up, kid,” Niall said softly, his knuckles brushing the Texan’s jaw lightly. “I remembered how small you looked that night in the alley in New York… and now look at you, huh? I’m just trying to work out where the hell the time’s gone.”

Ashton’s dimples creased his cheeks as his forehead came to rest briefly against the older man’s.

“You’re getting sentimental in your old age, Ni,” the Texan said teasingly but his hazel eyes were glittering now as he patted his wallet in his pocket. “Now c’mon. Let’s get out of here, yeah? First round can be my treat.”

*

The Vultures’ Speakeasy was just how Ashton remembered it, the shallow stone steps leading down into a subterranean bar easily missed from the street outside. The jazz music was soft, the clean glasses shining in the amber light as Niall led the way onto the polished wooden floor.

The patrons kept to themselves, their heads ducked in quiet conversation although a few looked up at the newcomers. Since their last visit to this establishment, even the quietest of the Hornets had made themselves decidedly more well-known in the city and it was always uncertain if they were going to be welcomed to a place.

Judging by the anger growing on several of the clients’ faces, this was not going to be the warm welcome they’d been hoping for. Ashton bristled visibly and Niall’s smile tightened as he touched the younger man briefly on the elbow, a comfort and a caution all in one.

“'People like us don’t go out at night ‘cause people like them see us for what we are’,” he said, seemingly nonsensically, before understanding lit the Texan’s face. “That’s a quote from your Dickens fellow, isn’t it?”

“Very good,” Ashton agreed. “Reading Oliver Twist to you every evening has finally paid off, huh?” The wry smile touching his lips grew when he caught the barman’s gaze because Calum was watching him expectantly, his hands resting casually on the wood as his full lips curved into a slight smirk. It made Ashton blush and he fought to keep himself from reacting when a suddenly grinning Niall elbowed him lightly in the ribs.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Calum said, his chocolate brown eyes twinkling as the Hornets came to a stop in front of him. “What can I get for you this evening?”

His gaze remained fixed on the Texan, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as his long fingers wrapped around a glass. Ashton swallowed, loosening his tie with a fingertip as a pleasant shiver ran through him in anticipation.

Niall was watching them knowingly but, before the Irishman had time to make a silly comment, a glass was slammed down onto a table behind them just a little too hard.

All three men fell quiet and Ashton tensed as he looked up into the angry face of a burly older man who was already well on the way to plastered. He jabbed a finger into the Texan’s chest, an ugly scowl twisting his features as he stepped aggressively closer.

“We don’t want your type around here,” the drunkard growled, slurring his words as his bloodshot eyes narrowed on the two Hornets standing before him. The patrons had fallen quiet now, the room as silent as a tomb. The man prodded Ashton harder, his lips twisted into a snarl.

“Hornets ain’t welcome here,” he said with absolute certainty. "You boys had better leave now or we'll make you leave."

Niall’s jaw set as he reached to drag his best friend out of harm’s way, his blue eyes burning with anger as he stepped in front of Ashton protectively.

“Don’t think you want to do that, buddy,” the Irishman said firmly, still smiling although it didn’t warm his face now. Niall’s hands had curled into fists instead and there was something in his eyes just begging the stranger to try something.

Behind the bar, Calum let out an audible sigh as he rolled his eyes at the tension.

“They’re alright by me, you lousy son of a bitch,” he said sharply, scoffing when the older man turned on him in a second. “Get out of my face. Preferably out of my bar too, alright?” Calum filled the glass he’d been holding with whiskey, taking care not to spill a drop as he pointedly ignored the angry flush of colour growing in the drunkard’s face.

“Here you go, gentlemen,” Calum said as he began to fill another glass with the amber liquid. “These two are on the house.”

The drinks never made it to the Hornets.

The drunkard threw a clumsy punch at Niall who sidestepped it easily, reaching to shove the man’s head roughly into the polished wood. There was a moment of stunned silence before all hell broke loose as the bar erupted into a flurry of fists, smashed bottles, and blood.

As Ashton ducked a punch and swiped the legs out from under a furious man charging at him, he couldn’t even say he was surprised by the chaos. The tension had been building in Chicago for weeks now and finally it had found a release.

Ashton could see it in Niall as the blond man traded punches with the Vultures’ clients, more genuine joy on his face than there’d been since Christmas. The tension in his shoulders was gone now and the adrenaline seemed to be feeding the flame inside his chest, keeping him burning.

Nearby, Calum slid over the bar easily, grimacing as a bottle was smashed over his head. He brushed the broken glass away carelessly, a disgruntled frown on his face as he floored the man who had tried to hurt him.

Ashton watched the fluidity of the barman’s movements with something like awe, at least until Calum darted forwards to shove him to safety as someone rushed at the Texan with a chair. The unfortunate patron was kicked rather roughly to the ground and Calum gritted his teeth as he turned away in disgust.

“I always hated that bastard,” he muttered but there was something in his face that mirrored the light in Niall’s, and Ashton realised then that it wasn’t just him who had been suffering under the strain of the gang war. It was affecting everyone and until someone found a way to put an end to the fighting, this was the way things would stay, only ever one word away from a beating.

Ashton skirted around a punch thrown at him, delivering a sharp kick to the man’s knee, and the fighting almost felt cathartic until the burly arms of the drunkard wrapped tightly around him, pinning his wrists to his sides as he was tackled out of the door. He tried kicking his captor in the shins but no amount of struggling seemed to help and Ashton’s panic flickered to life inside him.

Niall would be of no help, too caught up in his own battles as he shouted and laughed, punching and kicking, and Ashton was just resigning himself to the fact that – at best – he was probably going to be beaten to a pulp in the alley outside when Calum’s eyes locked with his, widening in concern.

The cold air of the evening made Ashton’s head spin when the man dragged him outside, to where the fight was spilling out onto the street. Somewhere along the way, he’d taken a punch to the face and the Texan’s nose was bleeding now, trickling hot and sluggish down his chin as he aimed a careful kick at the man’s groin.

Ashton hit the floor hard, all of the air being driven from his lungs as he gasped on the ground like a fish out of water. The man was standing over him now, doubled over in pain but not for much longer as the fury set his eyes burning like coals.

“Fucking Hornet scum,” he spat, stalking closer through the shadows. Ashton tangled their legs together roughly, tightening his hold and dragging the man down on top of him which had seemed like a good idea right up until their foreheads slammed together.

“Fuck,” Ashton gasped, a sharp pain throbbing behind his eyes as the man looked down at him blearily, his gaze unfocused too. The Texan jerked away from the drunkard’s raised fist in an effort to avoid the punch but he realised at the last moment that it had been a bluff, his heart clenching in his chest when the man’s fingers wrapped easily around his exposed throat.

Ashton’s panic flared brighter as he writhed on the cobbles, clawing uselessly at the burly man’s hands. The stars were mostly hidden overhead by thick clouds and he thought irrationally that at least there was no snow covering the ground now; otherwise he’d have been soaked through.

Calum was struggling through the crowd towards him, ducking punches and shards of glass warily as he fought his way closer.

Ashton’s eyes were bulging now, his ragged gasps wasting the last air he had left as the grip around his throat tightened. He tried to hit the man in the groin again but it was no use; he couldn’t twist up to deliver the kick and dark spots were beginning to appear in front of his eyes as his head spun sickeningly.

His chest was burning and the panic inside was overwhelmed only by his desperate need to breathe. The horrible ache of it settled deep in his bones with this immense pressure that made Ashton feel as though the ground was trying to drag him down as he scratched at the dirt, his eyesight hazy with boiling tears.

His vision was blurring now, his head spinning too much to make out anything more than jarring flickers of movement as the shouts around him began to sound like echoes.

Calum’s boot made a dull crunching noise when it connected with the back of the man’s head and, as the drunkard fell limply to the cobbles beside him, Ashton’s chest burnt like a forest fire as he gasped in a desperate lungful of air.

Calum’s hands settled gently on the younger man’s face as the fight finally drained out of him and Ashton’s head lolled to the side, his eyes sliding shut when the barman stroked his hair back soothingly.

The ground rose up to swallow the Texan whole and Ashton didn’t resist.

Everything went black.

*

Ashton opened his eyes to an unfamiliar room, decorated with peeling blue wallpaper and containing little more than a chipped dresser, a neatly-made double bed, and a rocking chair in the corner which was currently occupied by none other than Calum.

The barman looked tired as he sat there, his crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the collar and speckled with a few drops of blood, probably from Ashton’s nose. The beginnings of a black eye were beginning to bloom on his tanned skin too but all of that faded when Calum suddenly realised he was being watched.

He bounded to his feet effortlessly, grinning weakly at the Texan’s chagrined expression when the younger man tried to cough and felt pain shooting through his bruised throat.

“Fuck,” Ashton groaned, slumping back down onto the pillows again as he reached to massage his neck. His fedora was resting on the dresser nearby and he looked at it for a moment, taking in the faded material and the dust covering it before he refocused on the barman.

“What the hell even happened?” he asked, his voice sounding croaky even to his own ears. Calum winced sympathetically, disappearing for a few moments to fetch a glass of water.

By the time the barman had returned, the memories of the evening were beginning to flicker back: the bar fight and the confrontation, Niall’s protective stance and the actions the barman had taken to save the Texan.

“Fuck,” Ashton repeated, with more feeling this time. The bruise on his forehead was beginning to throb too and he groaned quietly as he took a sip of water, his throat aching. “Thank you for what you did tonight, Calum.”

“It’s Cal,” the dark-haired man reminded him but his eyes were glittering despite the bruising as he sat down on the edge of the mattress, toying idly with the faded blanket the younger man was lying under.

“Cal,” Ashton repeated, his lips twitching as he corrected himself. It hurt a little when he swallowed and he had the beginnings of a headache but that seemed to be the extent of his injuries, and the Texan was very grateful for that. “I’m lucky you were around to save me tonight.” He hesitated suddenly, biting his lip as the worry reared its head. “Did you happen to see where Niall ended up?”

Calum patted his knee soothingly through the blanket, his palm lingering just a little too long to be friendly.

“Sure I did,” he promised and the sincerity in his tone caused Ashton to finally let his guard down as he relaxed back onto the mattress. “Your excitable blond friend is sleeping off his concussion in another room. I’d leave him to it if I were you. I’ve never seen anyone so grouchy at not being allowed to finish a fight.”

It hurt to laugh but Ashton didn’t let that stop him.

“Yeah, that sounds like Ni,” he grinned and Calum’s smile faded a little as he watched the younger man curiously, his fingers tangling in his lap.

“Is he your boyfriend?” the barman blurted out and Ashton snorted, his expression becoming decidedly fond as he reached to give the older man’s hand a squeeze.

“Nah, Niall’s straight as anything,” the Texan said brazenly. “Nothing like me, Cal.”

He pushed himself up from the pillows, his honey-coloured curls falling across his forehead as he gave the barman a heated look. Now that Ashton was sitting up, their faces were very close together and he swallowed audibly when Calum licked his lips, a tiny wince creasing his face at the dull ache in his throat.

“It’s still hurting?” the older man murmured and Ashton shrugged, reaching to wind his fingers hesitantly in Calum’s dark hair. The barman smiled, his chocolate brown eyes darker now at their proximity.

“Only hurts a little bit,” the younger man reassured him, blushing in the muted light of the bedroom as his fingers tightened infinitesimally in the older man’s curls, keeping him close. “Maybe you could help take my mind off it?”

“Sounds workable, Ash,” Calum said teasingly, a nonchalant grin tugging at his lips as he pushed the younger man down lightly onto the mattress. He settled over Ashton carefully, his lips dragging gently over the younger man’s bruised neck before he drew back so that he could meet the Texan’s gaze.

“You’re one of those boys who disappear before the sun has fully risen, aren’t you?”

Ashton smiled weakly, with fingermarks pressed roughly into his skin and blood splattered on his shirt, and stretched up to kiss the older man’s lips.

“Finally someone who understands me,” he muttered and Calum smirked as his fingers fell to unbutton the younger man’s shirt, tossing the garment aside eagerly.

“I think we can make that work,” the barman murmured.

Ashton groaned when Calum straddled him, the older man’s large hands rising to cup the younger man’s face gently as he coaxed him into a kiss. It started out relatively chaste, close-lipped and tentative, but then the younger man’s hips rocked up unconsciously and they both moaned at the friction.

Calum began to thrust against the younger man slowly, the hot drag of skin and too many layers of clothing decidedly teasing as he took the opportunity to stroke his tongue hot over Ashton’s. The Texan whined in response, his trembling hands making short work of the barman’s shirt. His palms came to rest on Calum’s chest, relishing the shift of muscle beneath the warm tanned skin, at least until the older man leant in to suck a mark into Ashton’s shoulder and successfully distracted him.

Having Calum here in the flesh was a million times hotter than any fantasy and the lust the younger man could feel was making his head swim as his hard cock pressed against Calum’s, trapped beneath his clothes although probably not for much longer if the sudden knowing smirk on the older man’s face was anything to go by.

“You gonna fuck me?” Ashton asked pleadingly and Calum groaned, his eyes twinkling as he shifted down the younger man’s body to press hot kisses over his taut stomach muscles.

“Eventually,” Calum promised as his fingertips skirted the waistband of Ashton’s slacks, dipping in teasingly before he withdrew them again, his casual touch leaving goosebumps rising on the younger man’s skin. “But let’s get rid of these first, huh?” He kissed the pout from the Texan’s face, his eyes crinkling fondly as he reached to pinch the younger man’s nipple, making him moan softly.

“Still gotta take your mind off things first, Ash, right?” Calum murmured, still frustratingly put together as - by comparison - Ashton fell apart beneath him. “If you can still string a sentence together, I clearly haven’t been trying hard enough, have I?”

Calum rid them of the rest of their clothes with impressive efficiency, his cock hanging heavy and leaking against his thigh as he surged back to kiss Ashton again. Their hips slotted together so perfectly that the heat coiling in the Texan’s stomach threatened to ignite as his hazel eyes slipped shut in pleasure, his hands rising to grip the barman’s shoulders desperately as his head spun.

Calum pressed his grin into Ashton’s skin, shifting back down the younger man’s body as he trailed kisses everywhere he could reach. Ashton whined when Calum’s tongue dragged hot over his nipples, his cock twitching between them when he felt the faintest hint of the older man’s teeth.

“You’re magic,” the younger man groaned, reaching shakily to rub his thumb admiringly over the barman’s full lips. He moaned when Calum took the digit into his mouth, his tongue curling around it hotly as the lust rippled through the Texan, taking his breath away.

The older man drew back with an obscene wet sound, his kiss-swollen lips tugging up into an easy smirk as he sank down to kiss the tip of the younger man’s cock. Ashton threw his head back into the pillows with a whine, his hips jerking until Calum pressed them down into the mattress, leaning closer to mouth hotly at the shaft.

“You ain’t seen nothing yet, Ash,” he promised, his voice lower with lust now as he traced the underside of Ashton’s cock with his tongue. The Texan shuddered, his eyes squeezing shut as a broken sound tore out of him, his fingers falling to tangle gently in the barman’s dark curls.

When Calum finally took Ashton into the heat of his mouth, the younger man almost lost it. His eyes were damp with tears as his teeth sank into his bottom lip because… fuck, no one had ever touched him like this before.

All Ashton could focus on was the intoxicating waves of pleasure as the barman worked to relax his throat around the younger man’s cock, rolling Ashton’s balls gently in his palm as the Texan whimpered into the pillow, aching at the steady burn of pleasure spreading through him.

Calum’s long eyelashes were fanned out against his cheekbones now, his dark eyes closed in bliss as he moaned around the younger man’s cock, almost like this was getting him off too.

The older man drew back slowly, his mouth trailing lower before Ashton could do much more than whine pitifully at the loss. Calum was rutting against the blankets now, his cock flushed an angry red as he lifted the Texan’s legs over his shoulders so that he could settle down more comfortably between them.

A startled sound clawed out of Ashton when he felt Calum lick over his hole, hot and wet, and his thighs tensed reflexively as his shaking hands fell to fist in the sheets. The barman’s grip on his hips tightened as his tongue pressed in deeper and a sob tore out of Ashton without his permission as he writhed, his muscles fluttering as his cock leaked pre-cum onto his overheated skin.

He shuddered helplessly when Calum slowly replaced his tongue with his fingers, the sounds tearing out of Ashton weak with lust as he panted, barely aware of the ache in his throat anymore when the older man had him so impossibly turned on.

The perpetual energy burning inside Ashton was the gentlest it had ever been tonight and he never wanted this moment to end.

His lips parted around a choked sound when Calum licked at his swollen cock again, his tongue sliding hot over the flushed skin as his fingers sank deep inside the younger man. Ashton clenched around him instinctively, his eyelashes spiky with tears as he thrust up weakly, sobbing with need.

His kiss-bitten lips fell open around a gasp but, when he tried to say the older man’s name, all that came out was a broken moan. It had the desired effect though; the barman sat up slowly, stretching his muscular arms as he gazed longingly at the younger man through eyes darkened with lust, his lips sinfully swollen from kissing and sucking.

“There we go, pretty boy,” Calum murmured, his voice gravelly from having his throat wrapped around Ashton’s cock. He stroked the younger man’s thighs playfully, his fingertips brushing Ashton’s hole as he drank the younger man in, taking in his flushed face and the tear tracks shining on his cheeks.

The older man smiled and it made Ashton’s cock twitch against his stomach.

“Much better,” Calum murmured, his eyes shining with promise, his tone rough. “Now I’m gonna fuck you.”

He ducked down to kiss the younger man once more, his soft lips distracting as he swiftly slicked himself up, his fist moving languidly. Ashton’s head was spinning as he clung to the older man’s shoulders, his curls sticking to his forehead as he arched up desperately beneath the warmth of Calum’s body.

“Ash?” the barman prompted when he drew back, his chocolate brown eyes darker with lust as his hand slipped down to palm Ashton gently, making him gasp. “You ready, yeah?”

“Yeah,” the younger man groaned, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment as he struggled to calm himself. Calum grinned as he pressed a brief kiss to the younger man’s jaw, his long fingers falling to wrap around his cock as he lined himself up. “C’mon, Cal, please.”

A grunt tore out of Ashton when Calum began to sink in, his cock filling him up so perfectly that his head hit the pillows as a shudder tore through him. He was panting now, his fingertips pressing bruises into the barman’s shoulders as he pushed back against him instinctively, making both of them moan as Calum sank deeper.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned and Ashton whined as his cock leaked against his stomach, tucking his face away into the older man’s neck. Calum’s arms had come to wrap around him now, holding him closer as he angled his thrusts to brush against the younger man’s prostate, and Ashton almost cried at how good it felt.

He pressed hot open-mouthed kisses to the older man’s throat in gratitude as they rocked against each other, his hands spreading greedily over Calum’s muscular shoulders as his hazel eyes fell shut to savour their closeness.

Every thrust had him crying out now, his body lighting up with the pleasure as the older man’s cock dragged against his prostate and… and fuck, Ashton had wanted Calum like this for so damn long now… ever since the night they’d first met. It felt unreal that they’d finally got the chance to be together; that someone as beautiful and confident as Calum - who had a whole Speakeasy of people to choose from - had chosen Ashton to take home for the night.

The sparks of pleasure in his stomach were igniting now, his breath tearing out of him in broken little gasps as his hips started to jerk, his muscles tensing. Calum leant to suck a bruise into the younger man’s collarbone, the gentle scrape of his teeth sending a wave of heat crashing down over the Texan as the older man marked his sensitive skin.

Ashton’s thighs were shaking now, the aches of the earlier fight lost beneath his lust as he started to lose control. Calum saw it in his face, his dark eyes glinting as he leant to suck Ashton’s nipple into his mouth, his stubble scraping the younger man’s skin when the Texan arched up into the contact with a whimper.

Ashton thought he might understand what Niall enjoyed so much about one night stands now; how everything felt so much hotter and more urgent; the searching hands and frantic pulses, because this was no strings attached and they might not get another chance like this.

“You gonna cum, pretty boy?” Calum murmured, his voice low with arousal as he fucked in harder, his thrusts deepening as his hands squeezed Ashton’s arse tightly enough that there would probably be bruises tomorrow. The younger man prayed there would be; he wanted to be reminded of this for days. “Gonna make a mess of yourself for me?”

It only took a few more thrusts before Ashton fell apart with a strangled moan, his swollen lips falling open as he shot cum between the warm press of their bodies, his arse clenching around Calum’s cock rhythmically. His head fell back into the pillows again, his bruised throat exposed as his nails dug into the older man’s shoulders.

“Oh fuck,” Calum groaned, his body heaving forwards as his orgasm punched out of him. He shuddered into Ashton’s neck as his hips jerked erratically, the warmth of it already leaking down the younger man’s shaking thighs as he gasped at the stretch.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were their ragged breathing and the Texan’s roaring pulse slowly calming in his veins. Calum disappeared briefly to get a cloth to clean them up with but he wasn't gone for long and Ashton relaxed when the older man re-joined him on the bed, reaching to gently stroke the barman's hair back with a lopsided smile on his face as Calum pressed a chaste kiss to his lips.

“Huh,” the barman murmured when he drew back, his eyes crinkling as one hand rose to sleepily cradle the smiling Texan’s cheek. “You have dimples too.”

Ashton wasn’t sure how to respond to that so he settled for pressing his lips lightly to the barman’s jaw, a contented hum escaping him when Calum’s arm slipped warmly around his waist. The Texan eased the blankets up over them and their legs tangled together warmly as they shared each other’s body heat.

They fell asleep to the sound of the wind battering Chicago in the dark.

*

Niall wouldn’t stop smirking on the long walk home the next morning.

It was a blustery grey day and he was sporting an impressive bruise on his cheekbone but none of it seemed able to dampen his mood. It was making Ashton shifty and the younger man tried hard to keep his probably-defensive retorts under control whenever he caught the Irishman watching him knowingly.

“So… someone had fun last night,” Niall said eventually, when Calum’s apartment building had long since disappeared from sight and the now-familiar ache in Ashton’s chest had made itself known as he left another piece of his heart behind.

“I don’t know what you’re insinuating, Ni,” the Texan said loftily, just a beat too late. “I, for one, didn’t much like getting my arse kicked in an alley.”

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about, kid,” Niall said pointedly, wiggling his eyebrows lewdly when Ashton risked a glance over at him, only to scoff loudly in response at how ridiculous the blond man could be sometimes.

“You’re just gonna have to come right out and say it, Ni,” Ashton said casually, trying to be airy about it and probably failing if the flaming of his cheeks was as noticeable as it felt. “Because I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh really?” the blond man asked, his blue eyes glittering as he bumped Ashton fondly with his elbow. “So you didn’t spend half the night screwing our delightful host while I was trying to sleep in the next room?”

Ashton snorted with laughter before he could stop himself, his face flushing with embarrassment as a slightly hysterical giggle escaped him at just how misguided his best friend was.

“Think you got the wrong end of the stick there actually, Ni,” he said once he was relatively sure his voice would be steady again. “It was actually the other way round.”

There was a moment of silence during which Niall’s cheeks became a shade too pink as well before, finally, the blond man simply raised an eyebrow and tilted his head to one side curiously.

“Really?” he asked, giving the younger man an appraising look before he smirked. “I never pictured that.”

Ashton shuddered visibly.

“Please don’t!” he wailed but a bubble of laughter still managed to escape him at the blond man’s expression and a warmth spread through him when Niall wrapped an arm around his waist, pressing a purposefully wet kiss to the younger man’s cheek.

“Happy for you, kid!”

“Are you gonna say that every time I have sex, Ni?” Ashton asked seriously and the blond man snickered, reaching to right the younger man’s hat for him where it was perched crookedly on his head.

“Only until the novelty wears off,” Niall promised, his pale cheeks flushed with laughter and the cold. “So, with the rate you’re going, probably not for much longer.” Ashton simply rolled his eyes fondly, giving the Irishman a weak shove before he pushed his dignity aside and leant closer to his best friend.

He loved the Irishman to the moon and back, and he was so grateful for him.

Ashton hoped he never left.

Chapter Text

Ashton was exhausted by the time he made it to the Speakeasy.

The walk across Chicago from Calum’s place had been unpleasantly damp but Niall had powered through his fatigue admirably after their eventful evening the night before and Ashton did his best to make an effort too.

Liam wanted him to start shifting some crates of moonshine from the bar down to the storage room - just in case there was a raid from either the Vultures or the Bureau - and, although Ashton didn’t relish the prospect of manual labour or understand why no one else had been assigned to help him, he didn’t argue. At least he’d be left to his thoughts down beneath the Speakeasy; having a moment of peace and quiet was all he wanted these days.

The work soon proved tiring but the Texan found he didn’t mind too much. Every step he took sent a dull ache through his muscles that reminded him of exactly what he’d done with Calum the night before and Ashton’s cheeks flamed at the memory as he made another slow trek up the stairs, carrying a crate awkwardly in his arms.

The corridor was empty which the Texan was grateful for as he struggled towards the main room housing the bar, aware that he was growing flushed now as his shirt began to stick to him. He’d shed his coat and tie somewhere in the storage room below, and his fedora was sitting crookedly on his curls as he finally hefted the empty crate up onto the bar. He doubled over once the weight of it was gone, panting a little as he loosened his collar to allow the cool air to reach his skin.

“You look like you’re having fun,” a wry voice said from the doorway and Ashton jerked his head up in surprise, a lopsided grin touching his lips when he saw Michael sauntering towards him. Ashton flexed his biceps jokingly and the doctor rolled his eyes, trying hard not to look too fond.

“Have you been doing this all morning?” Michael asked, gesturing to the bottles of moonshine that Ashton was beginning to load into the crate so that they could be taken back downstairs. “You look exhausted.”

“Just… had a late night,” Ashton mumbled, his cheeks heating now as the first trickle of guilt began to seep through him. He thought of Calum for a moment; of his chocolate brown eyes and his murmured ‘pretty boy’, and the way Ashton felt nothing in his heart when he looked at him.

He tried not to think of the way Michael’s beautiful eyes had brimmed with tears the day they first kissed… tried not to remember the doctor’s broken: ‘Don’t make me regret this. Don’t make this a waste’.

Ashton turned away to concentrate on the task at hand, not realising his mistake until Michael let out a shocked hiss behind him, abruptly moving closer.

“Ash?” the older man asked softly, his voice strained and noticeably unhappy as his expression became saturated with worry. He was staring at the finger-marks pressed into the Texan’s throat in absolute horror, his eyes shining with sympathy and concern.

“Those bruises weren’t there yesterday,” the doctor pointed out hesitantly as he reached to gently ease the creased material of the Texan’s shirt aside so that he could see better. “Did you get into a fight last night or –”

Michael broke off abruptly, a small sound tearing out of him like he’d just been punched in the stomach. His expression became visibly upset as he lightly touched the place where Ashton’s collar had slipped aside and the Texan felt dread welling inside him when he realised what he’d done.

The doctor was staring at something quite different now, his hardening gaze locked on the love-bite Calum had sucked into his collarbone. Ashton closed his eyes, his shoulders tensing as a shaky breath escaped him at the sudden tension saturating the growing space between them.

“How could you?” Michael whispered, his back colliding with the wall nearby as he watched Ashton hopelessly. “How could you do that to me?”

“Doc,” the Texan began but Michael’s lips pressed together hard as his nostrils flared angrily. Ashton twisted his trembling fingers together to hide the shaking as he tried again. “Michael, I… I swear it’s not what it looks like.” Ashton’s voice was despairing as his eyes stung with tears at the distinctly unpleasant sensation of everything beginning to slip out of his control. “I really did get into a fight last night… but… but then I bumped into a friend and…”

Michael buried his face in his hands for a moment, unsure if he wanted to cry or shout. Maybe the worst thing was that he didn’t even think he had any right to be angry.

After all of the time they’d spent together – all of the stolen kisses and murmured affection – Michael had still kept his walls built so fucking high. He’d never even given Ashton the chance to climb them… so what gave Michael the right to be upset now, when he’d been pushing the Texan away since the start?

If he was going to be furious at anyone, it should have been himself. Michael was the one who was too cowardly to lower his defences again; too frightened of vulnerability to allow himself to feel, especially after what happened the last time he’d let his guard down.

It was always Michael, twisting and breaking everything he touched.

No wonder he’d pushed Ashton away like this.

No wonder the Texan didn’t care about the doctor, with all of his baggage and fear.

Michael didn’t blame Ashton at all.

A lot of the time, he didn’t care about himself either.

“Mike,” Ashton breathed, tearful now as his hazel eyes glimmered wetly in the cold grey light filtering in from outside. He reached uselessly across the space between them, his hand trembling as a weak sob tore out of him. “Mikey, please,” he begged wetly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I swear.”

Michael’s agonised self-hatred reared its ugly head as he watched the Texan hopelessly, choking back the words he so desperately wanted to confess because, if Michael said ‘I didn’t mean to fall in love’ now, it was all over.

Ashton would know without a doubt how weak the doctor was and Michael would have nothing left to hide behind.

He told himself that that was the reason he left then, without a single word or second glance, because if he stayed for even a second longer, Ashton would see the truth screaming in the doctor’s eyes and he would abandon him too… and then Michael would have lost the only person left alive who still held a piece of his heart.

He staggered back down the corridor like a drunk, managing to keep from crying until he was hidden safely in his office. His legs gave way beneath him as the door clicked shut and he slid down onto the floor, his arms coming to wrap around himself as a sob clawed out of him painfully.

He couldn’t breathe when he cried like this - hated the rawness of vulnerability more than almost anything else - but there was no fighting this storm of emotions now. He’d been bottling them up for too long and Ashton was the spark that lit the powder keg.

Michael was exploding now, his tears raining down like flame as the sobs burnt his hollow chest.

He wanted to resist but his strength was gone and all he could do was hold himself desperately together as he waited for the agony to pass.

It seemed to take an age but it was no matter.

The pain was no more than he deserved. 

*

Ashton stood there for what felt like a long time, his eyes glassy with tears, one shaking hand wrapped around a bottle of moonshine. He stared down at the bar until his vision blurred, his knuckles whitening around the glass as he tried to steady his anxious breathing.

Fighting with Michael might be Ashton’s least favourite thing in the world.

He just couldn’t understand how everything had fallen apart so quickly. One minute they’d been laughing and joking around, and now… god, now Ashton knew exactly what Michael’s expression looked like when he was struggling not to break down in front of him.

A shaky sigh escaped the Texan as he set the bottle of moonshine down heavily, the clink of glass the only noise in the otherwise silent room, at least until the growing sound of footsteps made itself apparent.

Ashton looked up nervously as Harry entered the room, a quizzical expression blooming on the Englishman’s face at the heavy slope of the younger man’s shoulders.

“Chin up, Ash,” Harry said as he came to a stop beside the bar, shooting the unpacked crate a long look before his green eyes flickered back to his friend’s face. “I’ll get someone else to finish this job for you. Mr Payne wants you in his office.” He hesitated, smoothing his dark hair back worriedly as he gave Ashton’s tense shoulder a hesitant pat. “Niall’s already in there, Ash, so you need to hurry up. Mr Payne’s not in the mood to be kept waiting today.”

Ashton sighed, his muscles tensing as nervousness rippled through him. He fell into step behind Harry silently as they made their way down the shadowy corridor, a lump rising in his throat when they passed Michael’s closed door. No sounds came from inside but he could feel how close the older man was and it made him want to cry; to plead and explain until he could fix things.

“Ashton,” Harry said in a sharper tone, his eyes flashing with something that the Texan wasn’t quick enough to identify. “Come on now. Hurry up.”

The Englishman knocked firmly on the door and Ashton felt the strangest sense of foreboding when Liam called for them to enter. The hairs on the back of his neck rose and his palms became sweaty as he edged warily into the room, his heart instantly sinking at the chilly atmosphere.

Niall was standing in front of the desk, his posture tense, his jaw squared as he stared fixedly at a point just over the mob boss’ shoulder. Harry shut the door behind them quietly as he stood smartly by the wall and Ashton bit his lip as he came to an unwilling stop beside the Irishman, their arms brushing faintly as the only point of warmth in the room.

It didn’t bode well at all that Liam hadn’t invited them to sit down. Clearly this wasn’t simply a social visit and the grim expression on the mob boss’ face hinted at unpleasantness.

“How nice of you to finally join us, Ashton,” Liam said but there was no humour in his voice. When the Texan risked a glance, the older man’s dark eyes were hard as stone as he leant across the desk, his palms flattened against the polished wood.

“I’d offer you both a drink but I’m sure it wouldn’t be anywhere near as good as the stuff Collins serves at his place,” Liam said softly. He took a sip from his own tumbler of whiskey with a placid expression on his face as he regarded the pair of them over the rim of the glass. Niall had stiffened at the mob boss’ words, his lips pressing together flatly. Ashton simply held his breath and tried to make himself as unassuming as possible. His heart was racing in his chest though because here was finally the proof that Liam had been having them followed all along. Ashton knew he hadn’t been imagining the feeling of being stalked wherever he went.

“Nothing to say?” the mob boss asked calmly before his voice suddenly sharpened, his words taking on a harsher tone as he slammed the tumbler down just a little too hard.

“Would either of you two like to tell me what the fuck you thought you were doing last night?” he snapped, glaring between the two of them with more anger than Ashton had ever had directed at him before. “You actually thought you could go to a Vulture joint and I wouldn’t find out? You’re not stupid - if you were, I wouldn’t have hired you – so how the hell did you think you’d be able to get away with this? We’re at war with Collins and you two are fucking Hornets... or did you forget that somehow?”

The silence in the room festered, growing more and more fragile until it splintered as Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably behind them. The sound seemed to break Niall from the horrified trance he’d sunk into and he exhaled shakily, his hands curling into fists.

“Mr Payne, I can explain –” he began but the mob boss didn’t give him a chance to finish.

“Can it!” Liam growled, his dark eyes locked on Niall’s face as an uncomfortable flush spread across the Irishman’s pale skin. “I’ve had enough of your bullshit, Horan. You think I haven’t noticed how damn lazy you’ve grown over the past year? God, you spend more time fussing over Ashton than you do focusing on your job. I’m not paying you to be a babysitter. I’m paying you to work... but something about that isn’t sinking in, is it?”

Liam’s dark eyes shone with malice as his lip curled back over his teeth, the hint of a snarl twisting his face into something cruel.

“Maybe you’ve got complacent,” he said in a softer voice, his expression thoughtful now as he drummed his fingers jarringly on the desk. “Maybe a change of pace is what you need.”

Ashton glanced over at Niall in confusion, taking in the blond man’s frown as the turmoil slowly replaced his embarrassment.

“You were my right-hand man once, Horan. You remember that?” Liam asked and the Irishman nodded slowly, his: “Yes, sir” almost too soft to be heard. Liam sneered, apparently keen to ignore Ashton now as he pinned the blond man under his cold gaze.

“Well, those days are over,” the mob boss said when Niall was finally brave enough to meet his eyes. “You won’t set foot in this office again without a good fucking reason, you hear me? I want you out of my sight.”

He spat each word like it was poisonous, his eyes flashing with rage as he shot Niall a contemptuous look.

“Consider this your last warning, Horan,” Liam said coldly before a nasty smirk curved his lips. “Oh, and just one more thing while I have you here. You’re to report to Styles in future. He’ll give you your orders for any future jobs we’re foolish enough to send you on.”

Harry made a startled noise behind them, clearly embarrassed at interrupting although he didn’t back down.

“Me, sir?” the Englishman asked uneasily, his teeth sinking into his lip as he considered the implications of this, both for the gang and his friendship with Niall.

Liam gave him a dark smile.

“Looks like you’ve been promoted, Styles,” he said smoothly. “Now get Horan out of here, alright? Give him some work to do for once.” Liam pointedly kept from looking at the blond man as he spoke, apparently relishing the way Niall’s face grew red with fury as he bit his tongue. “I have business with Ashton.”

“C’mon, Niall,” Harry murmured, resting a hand on the blond man’s shoulder which was angrily shrugged off. Niall turned away from the desk with a stony expression on his face although his gaze softened fractionally at the anxiety he could see burning in his best friend’s eyes.

There was no time for anything else and Ashton felt a lump rising in his throat as he forced himself to look back at Liam, the sudden silence suffocating as the office door was shut behind them.

The room felt colder now that Niall was gone.

“I know what you did last night,” Liam said conversationally as he reached for the tumbler, swirling the whiskey thoughtfully before he levelled a flat look at the Texan, his dark eyes empty of any identifiable emotion. “Is befriending the enemy how you get your kicks now, Ashton?”

The younger man swallowed audibly, the bruises pressed into his throat aching as he squirmed under the mob boss’ obvious scrutiny.

“With all due respect, sir, what are you trying to say?” Ashton asked weakly, his shaking hands hidden behind his back as he twisted his fingers together. Liam rounded his desk slowly, a shark circling its prey as he scraped the tumbler loudly across the polished wood. When he finally came to rest against the edge of the desk, the pair were standing altogether too close for comfort.

“I’m saying,” Liam began, speaking very slowly, as though the younger man were incredibly stupid. “I know you fucked a Vulture last night.” His dark eyes burnt into the side of the Texan’s face as Ashton stared ahead hopelessly, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip to keep it from wobbling. “I know you’re a dirty little traitorous slut who prefers Vulture cock to self-respect.”

Ashton shuddered, his hazel eyes closing for a moment before Liam’s hand grasped his jaw hard, startling him enough that he was forced to look up into the older man’s eyes.

“Too much of a prude to talk about it now?” Liam asked scornfully, sneering unpleasantly. “You weren’t last night, were you, slut?” His grip on Ashton’s face was tight enough to bruise now, his nails digging into the younger man’s skin as Liam stared like the Texan was something strange he couldn’t quite understand. “Why did you think that was worth the risk? Don’t you realise what would happen to you if the rest of the Hornets found out?”

“Sir, please, I –”

“You’re a dead man walking,” Liam said as his eyes sparked with something too twisted to name. “You realise that, don’t you? If I let it slip that you’re queer, they’ll kill you. They’ll beat you to death. You do understand that?”

Ashton pressed his lips together hard as his eyes prickled with angry tears, his heart clenching unpleasantly in his chest. He gave a silent nod and Liam hummed, rubbing the younger man’s flushed cheekbone curiously with the pad of his thumb.

The Texan purposefully didn’t react, fighting to keep from bristling in the moments before Liam gave a disappointed sigh and lowered his hand, apparently dissatisfied that the younger man hadn’t recoiled.

The fear in Ashton burnt dully, a wildfire still too far away to cause much more than a smoke cloud hanging over the horizon. It would engulf him eventually but right now he could still think clearly and that made it worse somehow… the fact that he knew how dangerous it was that the mob boss had so much blackmail material over him. There was nothing he could do though. He had no option but to go along with whatever Liam asked of him; to play straight into the older man’s cruel hands.

Quite abruptly, Ashton recalled the mob boss’ words from what felt like a million years ago and prayed that he’d misinterpreted the gleam in the older man’s wicked eyes: ‘Not everyone’s as honourable as old Nialler here.’

“You’re not going to talk about what we’ve discussed today, slut,” Liam said coldly, drinking in the flush colouring Ashton’s ashamed face as the mob boss raised the tumbler, swallowing the last of his whiskey. “There’ll be consequences if you try to tell anyone… and that includes your protector Horan.”

He spat on the floor as he said that, the anger flooding his face abruptly as he slammed the empty glass back down onto the desk, making Ashton flinch.

“If you don’t start toeing the fucking line, I’m going to make you regret ever coming here, slut,” Liam said harshly. “You want to know how I’ll do it?” he continued and Ashton squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head silently. Liam pushed on regardless. “I’m going to hurt the people you love, starting with Horan.” The older man smiled slowly, his eyes as cold as ever. “Don’t think I won’t just because he’s a Hornet. He means nothing to me. He never did.”

Ashton’s breathing was panicky now, his lungs sorely protesting the anxiety coiling painfully around his chest as he struggled not to show Liam just how frightened he felt.

The worst thing was that he knew the mob boss was telling the truth. He’d seen the contempt Liam levelled at the Irishman first-hand and had no doubt at all that Niall would be treated as collateral damage if the Texan even so much as glanced at someone the wrong way.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Ashton croaked as one of the tears finally boiled over, sliding down his cheek. “I’ll do anything you ask. I swear.”

The hopelessness was seeping him of his strength now and his shoulders slumped as he stood there in the mob boss’ grip, limp in Liam’s grasping hands. He didn’t fight because there was no point; he had to do what the older man asked or the Hornets would know his secret and… fuck, that would be no life at all.

Ashton had heard the horror stories of the things that happened to people who loved those they shouldn’t – he’d seen the evidence of it in Michael’s haunted eyes – and he knew this was his only option.

Give Liam complete control or get beaten to death by people he had once called friends.

“Sounds like we have a deal then,” the older man said with a note of finality. He turned his back on the Texan then, apparently intent on pouring himself more whiskey, and Ashton drifted towards the door without thinking, reaching out for the handle before Liam spun to face him with fire in his eyes.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” the mob boss snapped as Ashton froze, his face paling as the dread rose inside him like a wave. “I’m not done with you yet, slut.”

The trembling overcame Ashton slowly, until his legs were shaking beneath him and his teeth jarred together as his back came to rest heavily against the door. The older man was in front of him now, the mild frown on his face so out of place as he reached to press lightly against the bruising on Ashton’s throat.

“Take that fucking hat off, slut,” Liam ordered warningly as his grip tightened a little, making the younger man gasp. “You look too much like Fletcher.”

His words sent warning bells ringing in Ashton’s head because he couldn’t understand why that would matter... unless Liam was about to do something unthinkable but… no, surely even he wouldn’t stoop that low.

“You told me you’d do anything I asked,” the mob boss said, his eyes taking on a horrible gleam as he pinned Ashton harder against the door, his forearm pressed across the younger man’s injured neck. “Did you mean it, slut? Does being a Hornet really mean that much to you? You want to belong that badly?”

The Texan’s hazel eyes were wide with fear now because, quite honestly, the answer was no... but Ashton had no choice. Liam would hurt Niall if he didn’t do this and picturing the Irishman’s frightened face – grey with worry and stress as he tried to save his best friend – was too much to cope with… because Niall couldn’t save him now.

Ashton didn’t think this was a situation he could be rescued from.

He simply remained stubbornly silent as he struggled for breath, his eyes glazed as Liam watched him fight helplessly for oxygen. He didn't beg though, refusing to give the older man the satisfaction.

“I’m fucking waiting, slut,” the older man hissed when it became clear that Ashton wasn’t going to speak. His head hit the door when Liam shook him violently but at least the pressure had been removed from his throat and the Texan gasped dizzily as his knees weakened beneath him.

“I want you to speak,” the mob boss said harshly as his fingers bit into the meat of Ashton’s shoulder, right over the spot where Collins’ bullet had buried itself so many months before. “What are you prepared to do to get what you want? To go where you want to go? To be who you wish you could be?”

The fire in Ashton’s hazel eyes threatened to flicker out when the older man’s eyes dropped to his lips for a moment, his face twisting with an awful hunger that sent goosebumps crawling across the younger man’s skin.

“What are you prepared to do to keep your secrets secret, slut?” Liam whispered, leaning closer as his thumb dug right into the old bullet wound, the phantom ache making itself known once more. Ashton shuddered as he felt the last vestiges of control slip away from him like water.

He raised his head like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, forcing himself to look the mob boss dead in the eye.

“I’ll do anything,” Ashton breathed, his words hollow and weak. “Anything.”

Liam took a smooth step back, his sudden absence almost jarring as he resumed leaning casually against the edge of his desk. He tapped one polished shoe on the wooden floor impatiently, his burning eyes locked on the younger man’s face.

“Prove it, slut,” he said fiercely. “I won’t be kept waiting.”

Ashton stood there in horrified silence for a moment, hoping that this wasn’t really happening – that it was some sickening hoax as Liam toyed with him – but then he remembered that this was the man who had shot his pregnant girlfriend in cold blood, and suddenly Ashton was quite sure that his world was about to change forever.

His fear burnt through him like acid, making his feet clumsy as he stumbled to close the distance between them. The mob boss’ eyes were locked on his face and Ashton did everything he could to avoid the older man’s gaze, quite certain that his nerve would fail him if he actually had to look at Liam.

Ashton’s hands trembled as he reached haltingly for the older man’s belt buckle, uselessly hoping that maybe if he took the mob boss by surprise and initiated this, it might allow him to regain some small amount of control. Liam quickly put that idea to rest though, his palms as heavy as lead on the younger man’s shoulders as he forced him down onto his knees.

“If you bite me, I’ll break your fucking jaw,” Liam said menacingly and Ashton’s pleading look may as well have been levelled at the ceiling for all the good it did him.

He didn’t try to escape though; he was too scared to fight now. He just knelt there painfully on the ground and took it, his eyes burning and his muscles screaming at him. His hands were curled into fists, his nails drawing blood as they sank into his palms. His eyes rolled shut as his oxygen supply was cut off, again and again.

He was entirely aware of the fact that there was nothing sexually gratifying about this. Liam was simply doing it as a punishment; to make a point and show how he was in control, and nobody else. It made Ashton feel smaller and weaker than he ever had as his tears coursed down his burning cheeks like boiling oil.

He still didn’t struggle, too frightened of the mob boss and the terrifying repercussions for the people he loved to risk it.

Liam’s fingers were twisted achingly in his curls now, ripping some of the hairs free as he slammed in again and again, making the younger man gag. It was even worse when Ashton started choking, the pain more agonising than anything he’d ever felt before because he couldn’t breathe and… fuck, this was a thousand times worse than being strangled.

It made him want to be sick – made him want to set himself on fire to hide from what was happening to him – but all Ashton could focus on was not dying long enough to make it out of this room alive.

There were dark spots appearing before his eyes and the painful pressure in his chest felt like Liam had broken every single one of his ribs, and all Ashton could do was gasp uselessly for the air that wasn’t coming until –

The older man pulled out roughly, the punishment apparently complete as he looked down at the Texan with distaste.

“You’re not Horan's,” Liam said sharply as he tucked himself away, having to raise his voice over the retching as Ashton’s body jerked on the floor. “You belong to me, slut, just like your father did. Don’t ever forget that.”

Liam crouched down, patting Ashton’s cheek as the younger man sobbed, his tears falling relentlessly, his lips swollen as he fought not to be sick. Liam hit him hard across the face, jerking Ashton’s head painfully to the side as he watched the Texan with disgust.

“Get on your fucking feet, slut,” he growled, standing up and sending a kick at the younger man’s legs as Ashton fought to drag himself off the floor. He lurched upright unsteadily, his throat so agonising that he could barely breathe as the air rasped out of him.

Liam’s smile was cold as he moved to settle the fedora on Ashton’s head, adjusting it carefully so that it was angled just right that his tear-streaked face was cast in shadows.

“Much better, slut,” he said quietly before he forced his thumb into Ashton’s mouth again, watching him gag with satisfaction. “You’re not going to tell anyone about this, remember?”

Ashton tried to nod, his eyes reddened with tears as his eyelashes stuck together in clumps. Liam’s expression twisted as he wrenched his hand away, burying them both in his pockets and looking for all the world as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all.

“This isn’t over, kid,” he said in a cruel mockery of the Irishman’s soft voice. “You fucking owe me for keeping your dirty little secret.”

He raked his gaze over the Texan with nothing short of malice, his eyes glittering as though he liked what he could see. After a moment, Liam simply nodded and turned away, already moving to settle in his chair once more as he reached to replenish his whiskey glass.

“Get the fuck out of my office, Irwin,” he said as his dark gaze locked on the younger man’s ruined palms where his nails had torn the skin. “You're bleeding on my floor.” 

*

The rest of the day passed in a nightmarish blur that Ashton barely remembered.

There were only flashes: his shaking hands smearing blood on the sink in the bathroom; the burn of his muscles as he carried the crates of moonshine mindlessly up and down the stairs; the searing ache in his throat whenever he tried to speak or cough, or breathe.

It was only when the rain began to roll down his cheeks like tears that Ashton paid the outside world any mind at all. It was dark now – the afternoon had disappeared in a haze – and Niall would have long since been home. He’d probably already have started dinner and Ashton’s eyes burnt unexpectedly as he pictured his friend waiting for him, unaware of the irrevocable damage that had been inflicted that day.

‘A dead man walking.’

That was what Liam had called him and it was how Ashton felt now as he staggered through the rain, his mouth and throat swollen so painfully that he could barely breathe, his ripped palms still seeping blood after the damage his nails and the countless crates had wreaked.

Every breath hurt, the burn so awful that for a moment, Ashton thought it might be easier to stop breathing completely –

But he couldn’t afford to think like that.

Not when Niall was waiting for him at home. Not when he still needed to make amends with Michael.

They were the reason he’d suffered in silence after all. The Texan would do anything to keep them safe. He had proved that today.

A shiver wracked through him as the cold settled in his bones, the energy inside dormant, almost like it had been snuffed out.

He walked through the puddles carelessly, kicking up water as he fought to ignore what had happened. It was impossible though, because the perpetual ache refused to leave him and his tears still fell even now, when by rights they should have long since dried up.

It felt like he’d hurt for the rest of his life… not that that might be very much longer.

With Liam’s threat hanging over him like a funeral shroud, Ashton had a feeling that his world was only going to get more dangerous.

He was running out of time. 

*

Niall had been waiting for hours now but the Texan still hadn’t come home.

Dimly, the Irishman tried to recall if Ashton was supposed to work a late shift in the Speakeasy tonight but he was sure that wasn’t the case. His best friend would have told him – except… maybe he had done and Niall had just forgotten.

After his anger earlier that morning as Liam had torn him apart in front of an audience, Niall wouldn’t have been surprised. His rage had burnt white-hot, washing him clean of anything that wasn’t righteous anger and the protectiveness he felt for Ashton.

Nothing else was left.

He paced back and forth across the kitchen as the clock ticked mockingly in the hallway. The food he’d prepared had long since gone cold but he barely paid it any mind as he trod the familiar wooden floor. All he hoped was that his best friend was safe but, the darker it got, the less certain Niall became.

His pulse began to race in his veins when he heard the scrape of a key in the lock but he thought his heart might have stopped beating completely when Ashton finally staggered into the apartment.

The first thing Niall noticed was how cold the younger man looked, drenched from the rain and shivering with the plummeting temperatures outside, although he quickly realised that there was more to it than that.

Ashton’s unusually pale face looked… wrong. The skin stretching across his cheekbone had split open and – in addition to the bruising already blooming around his throat after the bar fight the night before – his lips were discoloured too, a sore red and abnormally swollen. His breaths sounded rasping and, when he reached to feebly lock the door, Niall winced at the sluggishly-bleeding cuts littering the younger man’s palms.

Something awful had happened – that much was painfully apparent – and the blond man’s heart sank when it appeared that Ashton was trembling too hard to even undo the buttons on his jacket. Niall stepped closer hesitantly, his pulse racing when the Texan looked up at him frantically, his hazel eyes more tormented than the Irishman had ever seen before.

“Kid?” Niall said softly, his voice tentative. “Let me help you, yeah?”

He felt like he was approaching a wild animal and this was only cemented when Ashton’s back hit the wall of the apartment, his face crumpling as a weak sound tore out of him. It took Niall a long moment to identify it as a ragged sob and his heart threatened to break in his chest when Ashton gave up on the coat, simply tearing at it until the buttons clattered loose onto the floor as his fedora fell.

“Ash,” Niall said a little more loudly, struggling to contain the panic he could feel as Ashton’s bleeding hands stained the crisp white material of his shirt. “Ash, you’re safe now. I promise you’re safe.”

He let the words hang there in the silence, his tense expression softening when the Texan took a half-step towards him, one trembling hand rising to cover his sore mouth. Ashton’s bottom lip was wobbling now, his eyes welling with tears as he lurched towards the Irishman who only felt like he could breathe again when he had his best friend safely in his arms.

“There now,” Niall murmured as he rocked Ashton gently, dropping a hesitant kiss to his damp curls. “I’ve got you, kid. I promise.”

The hug seemed to be fine – the Texan even seemed a little calmer – but when Niall tried to cradle Ashton’s injured face gently so that he could get a better look at the damage, his best friend flinched away in terror, the tears boiling over as his sore hands curled into fists.

“I’m sorry,” Niall whispered miserably as his own eyes stung, furious with himself for somehow making things worse even if he did have no idea how to approach this situation. “I’m so sorry, kid.”

Ashton was trembling worse now but a hint of his usual determination seemed to fill him as he reached shakily for the Irishman’s hand, lifting it to gently cup his sore cheek. This show of trust made Niall want to break down in tears but all he allowed himself was a watery smile as he moved to brush the damp curls fondly out of Ashton’s eyes.

“You’re hurt, kid. Will you let me help you?” the Irishman asked softly, fighting to suppress the curiosity he could feel because this was clearly not the time for questions. If Ashton wanted to tell him what had happened, he would. There was no way on earth that Niall was going to make this any harder than it needed to be.

Ashton nodded after a long moment, glancing down at the blood on his shirt before he tried to clear his throat and winced.

“Just…” He coughed, the pain doubling him over for a moment as his eyes burnt with tears. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse. “Just my hands.”

“Alright, kid,” Niall said gently, his worry only growing now as he moved to pull out a chair for Ashton to sink into. “Let me just go get some bandages, alright? I won’t be long, I promise.”

He disappeared into the bathroom and Ashton watched him go for a long moment before he finally found the strength to move. His racing pulse had calmed a little since Niall had held him and he focused on that as he settled into the kitchen chair stiffly.

He felt awful when he saw the food that had been waiting for him – the effort his wonderful friend had gone to in order to make him comfortable – but the best way he could think to thank Niall now was to keep the truth hidden so that the Irishman would stay safe.

Niall returned quickly, carrying bandages and some ointment that he used whenever the Texan sustained some minor injury out on a job. It didn’t burn anywhere near as badly as Michael’s iodine but it would be sufficient for tonight and Ashton was grateful for that when Niall carried a bowl of warm water over from the stove.

“Let’s get you fixed up, kid,” the blond man said tenderly as he started to clean the cuts, his words so calm that the younger man simply watched him in silence as it slowly sank in just how lucky he was to have someone as lovely as Niall in his life, let alone as the only family he had left in the world.

The silence stretched but it was more comfortable now, broken by the lapping of water and the soft hisses that escaped Ashton whenever the ointment stung. Niall wrapped both of the younger man’s hands in bandages with the utmost care once he was done and the gentle kisses he pressed to both palms afterwards made Ashton’s heart swell in his chest.

Once he was satisfied, Niall sat back on his heels, his blue eyes soft but exhausted as he stroked the younger man’s wrist gently with his thumb. The bruising looked worse in this light and Ashton hung his head as the shame rose inside him once more.

“Was it Frank?” Niall asked weakly, the fearful question seemingly coming out of nowhere as he gnawed at his lip, almost like he was afraid of the answer. Ashton winced, shaking his head slowly as he shot the window a nervous glance when the hairs on the back of his neck rose.

Thankfully, the Irishman seemed to realise at once what the problem was and he strode across the kitchen, reaching to draw the curtains shut firmly to keep the darkness at bay.

Looking at the torment on Niall’s face only made Ashton feel worse because his best friend deserved the truth… but telling him what had happened would be like signing his own death warrant and Ashton was far too scared to do that.

“Why didn’t you go to Michael?” Niall whispered when his eyes settled on the bandages again, applied nowhere near as neatly as the doctor would have prided himself on. Ashton gave a half-hearted shrug, his old wounded shoulder aching again after the hurt the mob boss had caused him.

“Couldn’t,” Ashton croaked, shaking his head as the tears began to burn in his eyes once more. “We fought.”

The reality of this sank in slowly and Ashton crumpled like a house of cards, burying his bruised face in his bandaged hands as he remembered the betrayal in Michael’s beautiful eyes. The sobs wracked his body violently, the awful feeling of violation saturating every fibre of his being as he tried to bury the pain he could feel so that everything was less suffocating.

Niall simply watched him helplessly for a long moment before the choked sound of his best friend's sobs finally became unbearable.

“I'm going to make you something to soothe your throat,” the Irishman decided, figuring that the best option right now was to take charge so that Ashton didn't have to think anymore. “Just hold on, kid. Sit tight.”

Niall prepared a mug of warm water and honey as quickly as he was able, hoping that it would go some small way to helping. He sat with Ashton until the younger man had drank all of it, stroking the back of his best friend's hand soothingly as the night went on.

It was already almost eleven o'clock and Ashton’s hazel eyes were drooping when he finally pushed the empty mug away, his cheeks shining with tear tracks.

“Time for bed, kid?” Niall suggested when the younger man yawned, his eyes growing pained when the stretch of his jaw ached dully.

“I won't be able to sleep,” Ashton mumbled as he rubbed his sore face weakly, his complexion grey. “Not after…”

He bit his tongue to stay silent and Niall watched him sadly, still stroking his best friend's limp hand even now as he worried his lip between his teeth.

“How about you go and get ready for bed… and then maybe you can sleep with me tonight?” Niall scratched the back of his neck awkwardly as the concern welled inside him again. “If you want to obviously,” he amended quickly. “If you don’t feel comfortable, we can just sit out here tonight. I don't mind, kid. Whatever will help you most.”

Ashton looked torn as he sat there, his arms wrapping around himself when he finally withdrew his hand from Niall's grip.

“I'll… I'll sleep in your room,” the younger man decided, his voice still weak although the words seemed to be less painful now. He tried to smile but it got lost before it reached his sore lips. “Thanks, Ni,” he said heavily as words failed him. “I… I just…”

“You don't need to thank me, kid,” Niall promised, relief blazing inside him when Ashton allowed him to ruffle his curls fondly. “I'd do anything for you because I love you. You know that.”

Niall didn't understand why Ashton’s eyes filled with tears at those words but his expression remained soft.

“Go and get changed,” he said, cajoling his friend gently into leaving the kitchen. “Just call me if you need any help.”

Ashton did as Niall had suggested, too weary for anything else now. He simply wanted to go to bed and forget this awfulness had ever happened.

He went to the bathroom first, scrubbing his bruised face in icy water as he tried to wash all remnants of Liam away. He cleaned his teeth three times before he was finally satisfied but the lingering horror of what had happened remained, clinging to him like tar as he stared at his blank expression in the mirror. Something in his empty eyes scared him and Ashton shivered as he turned away, hating the fact that he felt like he'd been hollowed out. He just couldn't quite work out why his own face frightened him so much.

He was already changing into some soft pyjama trousers and one of Niall's old, faded pullovers when he realised what was wrong with his reflection.

The light in his eyes had gone out.

It made Ashton feel old when he finally reached Niall's room, every step he took little more than a shuffle as he pushed the door shut quietly behind him. He felt decades older than his twenty years but some of his anxiety bled away when he saw Niall waiting for him, sitting up in bed with the lamp lit and a book resting nearby, the corner of the blankets folded back invitingly.

“I thought I could read you to sleep,” the Irishman offered tentatively, a hint of bashfulness colouring his words although he relaxed visibly when Ashton huddled up under the blankets beside him.

His uninjured cheek came to rest lightly on the older man's thigh and his trembling eased when Niall began to gently card his fingers through the Texan's curls, easing out the tangles. The overwhelming feeling of safety saturating the room covered the pair like a blanket as the last of Ashton’s tension drained away.

“What book are you reading?” he murmured and Niall relaxed further, still petting the honey-coloured locks soothingly as he tried to keep his best friend calm.

“I thought we could read your new copy of Oliver Twist,” the Irishman said quietly, his blue eyes fond in the dim light when Ashton peered up at him owlishly, his eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks. “How does that sound?”

“Good,” the younger man murmured, rubbing his cheek sleepily on the soft material of Niall’s pyjama trousers as he soothed himself, just like the blanket he’d carried around as a little boy.

“Any particular chapter?” Niall asked but Ashton didn’t mind. He’d read the book more times than he could count and knew the story off by heart.

“Anywhere is fine,” he whispered, his eyelids already drooping when Niall’s hand slipped to rub his shoulder gently, almost like he could tell the pain had returned to trouble Ashton.

“Here we go then, kid,” Niall said, his calm voice restful as he allowed the book to fall open to a random page. “You just lie there and listen, okay? I’ll look after you.”

Ashton’s eyelids were already drooping by the end of the first page but he fought sleep at first, a faint frown creasing his forehead as his fingers twisted anxiously in the blankets. Niall quietened him gently, stroking the younger man’s curls until the tension had leaked from Ashton’s shoulders before the Irishman continued reading, his tired eyes tracing the words as his best friend curled up safely beside him.

“The suspense: the fearful, acute suspense: of standing idly by while the life of one we dearly love, is trembling in the balance; the racking thoughts that crowd upon the mind, and make the heart beat violently, and the breath come thick, by the force of the images they conjure up before it; the desperate anxiety to be doing something to relieve the pain, or lessen the danger, which we have no power to alleviate; the sinking of soul and spirit, which the sad remembrance of our helplessness produces; what tortures can equal these; what reflections of endeavours can, in the full tide and fever of the time, allay them!”

It was only then – with a lump rising in his throat and his heart squeezing painfully in his chest – that Niall realised Ashton had finally passed out, slumped on the rumpled sheets beside him with tears drying sticky on his bruised face.

One bandaged hand still lay limply on Niall’s thigh and the Irishman’s own tears choked him as he reached to cradle it gently between his palms, hating so much that someone had hurt Ashton this badly.

Trying to shake these thoughts away for tonight, Niall set the book aside, treating it as carefully as Ashton did. He plunged the room into darkness when he extinguished the lamp, shifting awkwardly so that he could lie down beside his best friend.

He kept his movements gentle enough that the Texan didn’t wake and Niall was grateful for that as he wrapped an arm gently around the younger man’s shoulders. The blond man’s own exhaustion was bone-deep and he knew Ashton had to feel about a million times worse, especially after whatever had happened to him today.

The Irishman hoped his best friend would feel ready to talk in the morning but he wouldn’t force him.

Ashton had had enough of that to last him a lifetime.

Niall felt the truth of that sinking in slowly as the tears burning in his eyes finally boiled over and he shuddered under the crushing weight of his misery, holding Ashton as close as he dared as the younger man whimpered against his chest, already in the throes of a nightmare.

The pain in Niall’s chest reared its head when he felt Ashton’s tears soaking through his shirt – like the younger man was still hurting even in his sleep – and hearing those quiet sobs was the catalyst that unleashed Niall’s emotions like a storm.

He cried silently all night long.

Chapter Text

The walk to the Speakeasy the next morning felt like a funeral march.

Ashton’s injured face looked even worse in the daylight and Niall didn’t look much better, the bags under his eyes dark and heavy due to his exhaustion. The Texan felt like he was sleepwalking through the bustle of a city still waking up; felt like all the colour had been leeched from the world overnight as his heart beat like lead in his chest.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea for you to come in today, kid?” Niall asked softly, possibly for the fourth time since they’d left the apartment. Ashton sighed, his arms coming to wrap around himself as he fought not to remember the malice in Liam’s eyes the day before… as he tried not to take his fear and anger out on Niall, who had never deserved anything less.

“I have to,” Ashton rasped, his throat burning with pain as he tried to tell the Irishman with his eyes how important it was that he stopped asking these questions. “Please, Ni, just… just drop it, okay? I’m fine. I said I was fine.”

It was an overcast day and Niall looked pale in the grey light as he came to a sudden stop, watching his best friend unhappily.

It was strange to see the blond man walking to work without a cigarette between his lips but he’d made the mistake of lighting one that morning, only for Ashton to cough and then almost cry at how badly it hurt his throat. The guilt still hadn’t entirely bled from Niall’s face at realising he had unknowingly hurt his closest friend.

“Don’t you trust me, kid?” he asked weakly, aware that he was being unfair but unable to help it when he was so exhausted and upset, both about the night before and how unfair Liam had been when he’d replaced the Irishman with Harry. Niall’s blue eyes shone wetly and Ashton watched him hopelessly, his shoulders slumped as though he was carrying a great weight.

“I do,” Ashton croaked, his eyes brimming with tears at the sadness he could see on Niall’s face. “More than you’ll ever realise.”

“Alright,” the blond man murmured, his weak smile not quite warming his eyes as he buried his hands in his pockets. “Just making sure.”

The Speakeasy was up ahead now and Niall’s shoulders visibly tensed as they approached it. Beside him, Ashton seemed to shrink in on himself.

He shied away from Frank when the old man answered at the sound of the secret knock and Niall kept his hand firmly on Ashton’s waist as he led his best friend inside, the scowl growing on his face as the door clanged shut behind them.

Almost as though he had been waiting, Harry appeared from his own office, dressed as smartly as always although there was a new set to his shoulders now, like the promotion had given him more confidence.

“Morning, boys,” he said tentatively, apparently unfazed by Niall’s grouchy expression and the way Ashton flinched at his sudden appearance. “Ash, I need you to finish moving the crates of moonshine from yesterday, okay? I think most of them are down in the storage room already but it’s a total mess so that needs to get sorted.” Harry turned to the Irishman without waiting for a response, his smile tightening a little at the unhappiness saturating the blond man’s face. “Niall, you’re with me today. I’ve got a job for you.”

The Irishman accepted it silently, looking deeply displeased with this turn of events although he did as he’d been asked. Ashton watched the pair of them leave before he felt Frank’s eyes on him and, shuddering, he slipped down into the storage room, reaching for the first crate on autopilot.

The morning passed slowly, the work made difficult with Ashton’s sore hands and the pain he was in whenever he became short of breath or waited too long before stopping for a drink. His throat burnt, and he felt battered and sore, an unpleasant feeling that only worsened as the hours crawled by.

He was carrying the last crate of moonshine bottles back towards the storage room when everything went wrong.

A door opened in the otherwise empty corridor and Louis walked out without looking, his face pinched with tiredness and grief. The pair collided and it startled Ashton so much that his grip on the crate slipped, sending the whole lot falling onto the ground with a thunderous crash.

He just stood there numbly for a moment, staring down in horror at the broken glass and the stink of alcohol that would only ever remind him of Liam now. One of the cuts on his palm had torn open again and blood bloomed like a rose on the bandage. Ashton thought he might cry.

“I’m so sorry!” Louis gasped, his blue eyes shocked and remorseful. His hand was resting comfortingly on the younger man’s arm and Ashton’s eyes burnt with tears when he realised how long he’d been avoiding the older man for… god, ever since Zayn had died.

“Let me help you,” Louis murmured, looking quite concerned at how upset the younger man seemed now. “We can tidy it quickly before –”

It was already too late.

The door at the end of the corridor opened and Ashton froze as Liam appeared with a face like thunder. He took in the scene slowly: Louis already crouching down to gather up some of the shards of glass, the Texan pale-faced and trembling as hundreds of dollars’ worth of alcohol seeped into the floorboards below them.

“Irwin. Here. Now.” Liam’s words snapped like a bear trap, making Ashton flinch like he’d been struck. Louis looked between the two of them with growing comprehension, his blue eyes growing more and more concerned.

“Tomlinson, clean this mess up,” Liam barked without so much as looking at the Hornet. “Irwin. I said come here.”

Louis gave Ashton’s shoulder a gentle nudge, not wanting the younger man to get in anymore trouble, and the Texan stumbled forwards automatically, his face grey as a shudder tore through him.

The office door closed behind them and Ashton swayed as the panic threatened to overwhelm him, his heart racing as the previous day’s ‘punishment’ flashed before his eyes with sickening detail. He almost choked just remembering and there was something satisfied in Liam’s dark gaze as he watched the play of horrified emotions on the younger man’s face.

“How’s your throat, slut?” the mob boss asked softly, his taunting gaze fixed on where the skin was still bruised and raw behind the younger man’s collar. Ashton’s eyes burnt with bitter tears.

“Fuck you,” he said hoarsely, his words choked.

Liam moved too fast for the Texan’s eyes to follow but he felt the blow when the older man hit him; felt his knees fold beneath him automatically as he fell, his head hitting the edge of the desk in a spray of blood. The cut seemed shallow enough but it was bleeding copiously and Ashton didn’t have the energy to flinch away when the mob boss knelt down fluidly beside him.

“Mind your tongue, slut,” Liam hissed, his dark eyes burning into Ashton’s as he pinned the younger man to the floor. “Or I’ll cut it out for you.”

Ashton didn’t doubt that even for a moment and he tried to flinch away but Liam was pressing down too hard on his chest now, making him writhe uselessly in his struggle to escape.

“Why do you keep fighting?” the older man demanded. “Surely you know by now that you can’t escape.”

His expression was perplexed as he smeared his thumb through the blood welling on Ashton’s forehead, pressing down viciously over the wound. It made the younger man sob – mostly out of fear although the stinging pain certainly didn’t help – and the Texan hated so much how vulnerable he was now, lying there like carrion for the mob boss to tear apart.

Ashton’s luck was bleeding away, the energy in his bones dark and sour as Liam’s fingers knotted painfully in his curls, wrenching him up onto his knees. He swayed when the older man released him, his head spinning dizzily as the blood dried sticky on his cheek, the tears burning in his eyes.

Liam’s hands fell to his belt as his dark glare settled on Ashton, taking a carefully measured step closer as the younger man drew back in terror, his vision obscured by the blood sticking his eye shut.

“You made a fucking mess out there,” Liam said coldly, jerking his head towards the closed door. “Do you want me to punish you again, slut? Is that it?”

Ashton scrabbled backwards desperately, his heart in his throat, his head aching so badly that he could barely see. All of the air was knocked out of him when he collided with the wall and he wanted to cry when he realised that there was nowhere else for him to escape.

Liam was still there, his face set with cruel determination, and Ashton’s heart was crumbling to pieces in his chest now, shattering under the weight of the older man’s oppressive anger like the shards of glass from the moonshine bottles.

He imagined he could hear Niall’s voice for a moment, pleading with him to be strong; maybe even Luke and Calum, and Harry… but not his father. Not anymore.

Fletcher had never given Ashton strength.

He could see that now.

His realisation was cut short when Liam stepped closer, his shadow blocking out the light as he forced his fingers between the younger man’s sore lips. Ashton was seriously considering trying to bite them off when there was a sudden sharp knock at the door, both of them freezing before Liam stepped smartly away, the mask falling back down over his face like it had never slipped in the first place.

“This isn’t over, slut,” he said warningly but his face creased with anger when another thundering barrage of knocking sounded. Clearly, whoever was out there was determined to come in and Liam squared his jaw as he sent the Texan one last warning look before stalking over to open the door.

Sheeran was on the other side, his face flushed like he’d just ran there, his red hair unusually messy as he clutched at a stitch in his side.

“Mr Payne, I came as fast as I could,” the panting man promised breathlessly. “Vultures have been spotted on our side of the city, sir. They’re sniffing around Jackson’s distillery. We think they’re planning to raid it.”

Liam cursed angrily, pinching the bridge of his nose as he struggled to draw in a calming breath.

“Gather Styles, Horan, and whoever else you deem necessary by the bar,” the mob boss said firmly, his shoulders tense. “I’ll be along in a minute too. We can’t just rush in there, guns blazing. We need to plan this carefully.”

“Yes, sir,” Sheeran agreed, looking relieved that he had not been admonished for being the bearer of bad news. His eyes flickered away from the mob boss and Ashton saw the moment when the red-haired man noticed him, sitting slumped against the wall with blood drying in streaks on his ashen skin.

Liam followed Sheeran’s alarmed gaze, his eyes cold and blank.

“Irwin fell,” the mob boss said unconvincingly, his words bland and uncaring. Sheeran nodded uncertainly, apparently trying to avoid looking at the Texan now that he’d spotted him there, not that Ashton could very well blame him. If he’d been in Sheeran’s position, he wouldn’t have wanted to be implicated either.

“Come on, Sheeran,” Liam reproached, ushering the red-haired man out of the office. “Bar. Now.”

The Hornet jumped to it and Ashton listened to his pounding footsteps fading before he felt Liam’s eyes on him again, dark and greedy. When Ashton stared back defiantly, the mob boss levelled a look at the younger man that made his skin crawl. The shudders were still tearing through him when Liam grabbed his arm, dragging him bodily out of the room so that he could lock his office door behind him.

“Not a fucking word, slut,” the mob boss reminded him harshly. “Or Horan gets it.”

Liam left Ashton standing in the shadows alone, one half of his face sticky with blood as his forehead throbbed, the bandages on his hands dirty from being forced onto the floor. He watched Liam leave, his hazel eyes tear-wet and narrowing as he glared at the older man’s retreating back.

That was the moment when Ashton decided that he would end Liam… because what if Ashton wasn’t the only one who was being hurt and used like this? What if the mob boss followed through on his threats to hurt Niall?

God, what if he murdered someone else like Sophia?

Ashton had had enough of trying to convince himself that surrendering his freewill to Liam was his only option. He had felt the fight flaring to life inside him today and he knew this wasn’t what he deserved.

He was going to do everything he could to prevent this corruption and abuse from continuing but the only path Ashton could see was a potentially fatal one.

He would destroy the Hornet Mob, and Liam with it if he could.

Preferably Liam. 

*

Michael had heard the crash of Ashton dropping the crate – he thought maybe everyone in Chicago had – but he tried not to let himself grow concerned when he heard Liam’s angry voice rising. It was hardly surprising that the mob boss would be furious that a large quantity of his precious moonshine had been lost… and besides, Michael still remembered the days when Ashton had first joined the Hornets and Liam had paraded him around like some child prodigy.

The Texan would be fine; Michael was sure of that… not that it was any of his business anyway.

He had work to do and he was going to focus on that; not sit around wasting even more time by moping over someone who had already proved they didn’t love him back.

Almost as soon as the thought crossed his mind, a knock sounded at the door - clumsy and timid - and Michael knew before he’d even risen that it was Ashton waiting for him on the other side.

“Speak of the devil,” the doctor muttered, hating the way his heart sped in his chest because - even after the humiliation of yesterday - he still wanted the Texan so much it hurt.

Ashton was leaning against the frame when Michael opened the door, gazing off down the corridor so that only the side of his face was visible. His fedora was tilted low over his forehead but it wasn’t enough to hide how tired he looked.

“Hey, doc,” Ashton murmured, his words rasping strangely, like he’d developed a terrible sore throat overnight. “I’m sorry to show up like this. I know you don’t want to see me and… I don’t blame you but…” He swayed suddenly, his hand flying to his forehead as a low groan escaped him. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

His legs gave way beneath him and he would have fallen if Michael hadn’t reached to steady him, his arms sliding automatically around the younger man’s waist. Michael stared in horror at the blood drying in messy streaks down one side of Ashton’s face and he tried to stem his panic when the younger man stopped fighting, slumping forwards as his cheek fell to rest on the doctor’s broad shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Mikey,” he mumbled, coughing a little and wincing when it presumably hurt his throat. “I’ve got blood on your shirt.”

“Forget my shirt,” Michael said softly, nudging the door shut with his hip before he guided Ashton carefully to the bed in the corner of the office. “Just sit down, Ash, yeah? Let me take a look at you; see where all this blood’s coming from.”

Ashton did as he was asked, too exhausted and drained after everything he’d been through to put up any sort of fight at all now. His shoulders slumped and a tear ran down his cheek, carving a path through the blood. His left eye was still shut, his eyelashes dried in clumps. It gave him an odd lopsided look and a lump rose in Michael’s throat at the desperation he could see on Ashton’s blood-streaked face.

“This was Liam, wasn’t it?” the doctor breathed and Ashton stiffened, his teeth falling to worry at his bruised lips. Michael noted all of these injuries without comment - his sore mouth and torn palms, the cut on his cheekbone and the gash on his forehead - and felt a horrible sinking sensation as realisation began to dawn on him.

He’d seen injuries like these on the workers in the brothels before, whenever they tried to fight back after a client was too rough, or they just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He’d seen the punches and kicks, the fading handprints and bite-marks, but somehow seeing them reflected back at him on Ashton’s bloodied face was the most painful thing he could imagine.

Michael’s heart felt like it had been shredded in his chest.

“Wasn’t Mr Payne,” Ashton croaked, both eyes closed now to hide the tears boiling over, but the doctor knew him well enough to guess that he was lying. “I fell. Hit my head on his desk.”

Michael winced sympathetically but he wasn’t quite ready to drop this yet as he reached to gently touch Ashton’s jaw, a pang running through him when the younger man flinched back fearfully. Michael sighed, dropping his hand as he knelt there in front of the Texan.

“You don’t have to lie to me, Ash,” the older man breathed, keeping his voice soft enough that Ashton had to strain to hear him. “I know you’re scared - you’re allowed to be scared - but you don’t have to lie.” Ashton drew back to look at him, leaning heavily against the wall as he cradled his sore hands in his lap. They needed fresh bandages by the looks of it but first Michael wanted to wash the blood from the younger man’s face so that he could get a look at the damage. He was fairly certain it was nowhere near as bad as it looked - head wounds often bled more than most - but he wouldn’t feel comfortable until Ashton was all fixed up again and looking less like the victim of a horrible crime novel.

“Feel kinda woozy,” the younger man muttered, apparently unwilling to comment on Michael’s gentle words. Ashton coughed again to clear his throat, his face crumpling as the pain seared through him. Michael reached to squeeze the younger man’s hand silently, growing more and more convinced that Liam had done something appalling to the twenty year old. The doctor didn’t voice his fears until he’d returned to the younger man’s side with a dish of warm water and a clean cloth. He soaked the material before he started to gently work away the dried blood, focusing on the younger man’s eye first so that Ashton would be able to see properly again.

Michael felt the younger man’s gaze on his face as he concentrated, cleaning the cut carefully before he began to dab the wound with antiseptic, hating himself every time Ashton winced in pain. The injury wasn’t as bad as the doctor had initially feared though and he was glad of that. He didn’t even think the Texan would need stitches; gauze and bandages would be enough.

“I still hate your horrible iodine,” Ashton muttered, clearly aiming for a teasing tone although he visibly faltered at the hoarseness of his voice. A heavy sigh escaped him and Michael sat back on his heels, setting the bowl of bloodied water aside as he watched the younger man unhappily.

“Liam forced you, didn’t he?” Michael whispered, his green eyes welling with tears, his words purposefully soft enough that no one outside would be able to overhear. A tense silence spread between them as the younger man looked away, the shame on his face unbearable as he stared down helplessly at the floor. Somehow, their fingers entwined and Ashton gripped the doctor’s hand like a lifeline, trembling with suppressed sobs as he finally caught Michael’s gaze and nodded grimly.

Ashton hated watching the sadness welling in Michael’s eyes and knowing he was the cause of it ached... but it was nowhere near as agonising as the things Liam would do if he found out the Texan had broken his promise. Ashton had thought he was going to die the first time and it was only luck that had spared him today, and he was sure he wouldn’t be so fortunate again.

The next time - and he was sure there would be a next time - Liam would tear him apart completely.

Ashton’s chest felt tighter than usual, his breaths choking as his hand slipped from Michael’s to claw uselessly at his bruised throat. He could feel the anxiety coiling inside him like a snake, crushing his logic and the defences he’d built to dust, until all that was left behind was fear and dread.

The panic rushed through him without warning, scratching and snarling at him until he was cowering in the corner of the room to escape it, his head buried in his bleeding hands. He shuddered violently as he fought not to remember Liam’s fingers knotted in his hair or the terrible choking sensation as his empty lungs screamed at him for oxygen.

Maybe the worst part was that it could happen again at any time, no matter how desperately he wished that wasn’t the case, and damnit, Ashton couldn’t live like this. He couldn’t stand not knowing whether Liam was waiting for him around the next corner, about to punish him for something else he had no control over.

He would rather die.

He was going to die because Liam would kill him and Ashton was too weak to fight him, and then Niall and Michael would be injured too and - and -

“Ash, just breathe for me, okay? You’re safe. I promise you’re safe” the doctor said soothingly, kneeling down on the floor in front of the younger man although Ashton didn’t remember him moving. He flinched back in shock at how close Michael was, his chest aching as the ringing in his ears reached new levels. His hazel eyes were wide now, his head spinning at the shallow breaths he was clawing in.

“Sweetheart, just listen to me,” Michael murmured, purposefully keeping his voice calm as he reached to stroke the younger man’s ankle since it was the only part of him that he could reach. His green eyes were soft and kind, tinged with fondness behind a sheen of tears. “Don’t fight it - it’ll pass soon enough. Just try to take deep breaths until then, yeah? Copy me if it helps.”

After a moment of hesitation, Michael shifted to sit beside Ashton, his relief welling inside when the younger man slumped against him with a sob, his tear-wet face tucked into the doctor’s shoulder. The older man pressed a soft kiss to Ashton’s curls, making sure to keep his breathing as slow and steady as possible now that he knew the younger man was copying him.

Michael was still stroking Ashton’s ankle gently as they breathed together, the pad of his thumb warm and comforting as it brushed over the tanned skin. The angle was making his wrist ache now but there was no way he was stopping; not when the younger man’s breathing was gradually edging towards calm.

When Ashton finally raised his head, his cheeks were flaming with embarrassment and his eyelashes spiky with tears. The gash was welling blood again and Michael sighed worriedly when he saw it, his heart aching.

“I still need to cover the cut on your forehead,” he warned the younger man gently. “Do you mind if I do that, Ash? It’ll just take a minute with some gauze and a bandage. That’s all, I promise.”

“Okay,” Ashton breathed, his shaking hands fisting the soft material of his slacks as he closed his eyes, holding his breath when the doctor began to work. Michael was gentle and methodical in his actions, and Ashton calmed further when the older man pressed a gentle kiss to the bandage once it was in place, his hand rising to card lightly through the younger man’s honey-coloured curls.

“Thank you for being brave,” Michael said softly, making sure to keep his tone of voice encouraging when the Texan looked up at him helplessly. “Do you think you can get back on the bed for me please, Ash? You should get some sleep for the next couple of hours, at least until it’s time for you to go home. I bet you have a bad headache, right?”

“Yeah,” Ashton agreed heavily, his eyes prickling with tears when Michael helped him up, taking care not to hurt the younger man’s injured palms. “Hurts like hell.” He rose shakily, humiliated and in pain, and Michael ached when he saw how stiffly Ashton moved as he settled down on the mattress, his lovely eyes falling shut in exhaustion.

“I can change the bandages on your hands too, if you want,” the doctor offered and the younger man’s eyes softened with gratitude as the older man carried his medical bag over. Michael got to work silently, his lips pursed as he concentrated on the task at hand.

Ashton thought he looked beautiful in this light, with his long golden eyelashes and soft sandy hair as tousled as always.

“Is Niall going to be home tonight?” the doctor asked quietly, breaking Ashton’s reverie as he started on the other hand, the bandages much neater than the Irishman’s had been although they had been applied with the same amount of tenderness.

“Doubt it,” the Texan murmured, closing his eyes as the cut on his forehead throbbed dully, making him grimace at the pain. “He went out on a job with Harry and the rest of them. Some Vultures came over to our side of the city I think… so it’ll just be me tonight.”

“Not on my watch,” Michael said firmly. “I’m not leaving you alone with a head injury, no matter how superficial. You can come back to mine this evening if you want. I could do dinner or something… if you wanted to obviously. Otherwise I’ll just keep you here so I know you’re not going to pass out and drown in a puddle somewhere.”

“Are… are you sure you want me there?” Ashton whispered, his hazel eyes widening with surprise and something too soft to name as he gazed at Michael uncertainly. “Even after yesterday?”

“Especially after yesterday,” the older man said heavily as he fastened the last bandage. “I care about you, Ash.” He moved to sit more comfortably beside the younger man, his shoulders slumping with weariness. “No amount of arguing with you is going to change that. That’s a promise.”

Michael ruffled Ashton’s curls gently, his fingertips lingering over the bandage as he carefully smoothed it down.

“Just rest now, Ash,” the doctor murmured, his soft eyes flickering towards the closed door before his gaze returned to the injuries on the younger man’s face. “I won’t let anyone hurt you again, okay? I swear.”

Ashton reached for Michael’s hand, pressing a tiny chaste kiss to the older man’s knuckles as his hazel eyes grew damp again.

“I can’t sleep yet. There’s something I need to say first, doc,” he said softly, his voice weak. “I wanted to tell you yesterday but… there was no chance.” Ashton reached shakily for his collar, tugging it aside so that the fading love-bite on his collarbone was displayed once more. He looked guilty and sad now, and Michael hated those emotions on Ashton’s face even more than the idea of somebody else’s mouth on his skin.

“The guy I slept with…” The younger man’s voice trailed away but he held the doctor’s gaze, his hazel eyes burning into Michael’s with absolute sincerity. “He meant nothing to me, Mikey. Nothing. I… I just wanted to forget everything.”

“Did it work?” Michael whispered, reaching to gently fix Ashton’s collar for him. A tear rolled down the Texan’s cheek and Michael kissed it away unthinkingly, his lips lingering on the younger man’s cheekbone.

“For a little while,” Ashton breathed and Michael nodded slowly, not even angry or upset now; just tired and searching for answers.

“Why’d you do it?” he asked, his voice small and uncertain. The vulnerability in his tone was impossible to miss and Ashton pressed his bruised lips together hard to keep from crying at how badly he wished the last few days had never happened at all.

“Because even when you’re right in front of me, you’re not with me. Not really,” he choked out, wiping his eyes with his sleeve as he stared up at the doctor beseechingly. “I just want to be close to you but… you’re always pulling yourself away. I know it’s not your fault. I get that you must have been through so much shit but… fuck, Mikey, it’s the loneliest, most confusing feeling in the world.”

“I know,” Michael whispered, his own tears prickling as he slumped like all of the air was seeping out of him. “I’m sorry I made you feel like that, Ash. It’s something I need to work on… and I’m gonna try, okay? I’ll try not to hide from you again.”

“Thank you,” Ashton said, his voice faint now as his exhaustion and pain finally overwhelmed him. “I just want you to show yourself to me… and I’ll wait, okay? You take as much time as you need.”

A tear rolled down Michael’s cheek as he nodded silently, pressing one last kiss to Ashton’s forehead.

“For you?” the doctor said honestly, his green eyes blazing with emotion. “I’ll do anything.”

“So you forgive me?” Ashton croaked, his face crumpling like he hardly dared believe it.

A lump rose in Michael’s throat as he drew the younger man into his arms, holding him as close as he dared.

“There’s nothing to forgive, Ash. I promise.” 

*

The walk through the rain to Michael’s place that evening was quiet.

Both of them seemed lost in thought and Ashton was too distracted to break the silence that had fallen between them. The city seemed oddly still around them but there was a tension there all the same; a dark undercurrent that hinted at danger. Ashton could feel it prickling under his skin, a dull dread that had been simmering since that morning when he and Niall had departed without saying goodbye to each other.

This guilt was only made worse now that the Irishman had been sent on another perilous job because… god, what if he didn’t make it back home again? What if their last conversation was Niall doubting that the Texan trusted him?

Ashton’s nerves felt like they’d been torn apart as a shaky sigh escaped him but he was fortunate that Michael was so perceptive. The older man reached for his bandaged hand wordlessly, tangling their fingers together on the deserted street as he led the younger man up a narrow path towards a timeworn house that had seen better days.

One of the lower windows was boarded up and ivy clung to the brickwork but it smelt clean when Michael unlocked the door, revealing a shadowy entryway. Ashton followed the doctor up a steep flight of stairs, one hand tracing the peeling blue wallpaper as Michael guided him through the darkness to the rafters of the house.

“I live on the top floor,” the older man explained as he dug in his pocket for the key, finally coming to a stop beside the front door. His sandy hair was damp from the rain outside and the smile on his face was tired as he pushed it open with a creak, gesturing for the younger man to enter ahead of him. “I know it’s small but… well, it’s home.”

“I think it’s nice,” Ashton said, meaning it. The space looked lived-in and Michael had done everything he could to make it comfortable. The wooden floors were swept, the curtains drawn back to let the light in. The furniture was faded and old but there was something restful about it all the same, almost as though the Texan couldn’t help but feel comfortable there.

“You can have a look around if you want,” Michael offered awkwardly as he shrugged out of his coat, spreading it out on the radiator so that it would dry. “I was going to start on dinner. You like chicken, right?”

“Chicken’s nice,” Ashton agreed, his dimples creasing his cheeks faintly when Michael gave him a relieved smile. The Texan wandered further into the room, listening to the doctor’s soft humming as he busied himself gathering the ingredients. It felt strangely domestic but Ashton couldn’t deny that there was something pleasant about this; about coming home from work and sharing a meal with Michael, just the two of them alone together.

After a long moment of quiet, the doctor finally broke the silence that had fallen while he worked.

“I’d have tidied up if I’d known you were coming round,” he said, his shirt sleeves rolled up and his tie loosened by now. “This place is a mess.”

“On what planet?” Ashton scoffed, his hazel eyes brightening a little when he saw the pleased flush spreading on the older man’s face. “You should see our apartment if you want to see a real mess. We’ve still got paper chains in the corner of the kitchen from two Christmases ago… and there’s a mug that’s been in Ni’s bedroom for almost six months now. He still hasn’t washed it; I’ve been marking down the weeks in all of the dust on our table.”

Michael grinned, leaving the vegetables to simmer as he started on the chicken.

“Are you lying?” he asked over his shoulder. Ashton’s lips tugged up as he turned away to look at the well-stocked bookshelf.

“A little embellishment of the truth,” he said with a half-hearted shrug. “There really are still paper chains on the floor… and Niall is awful at hiding cups in his bedroom. I have to go in there once a week to collect all the crockery.”

“You sound like his parent,” Michael said teasingly, making Ashton’s expression soften.

“Not really. It’s more the other way round,” the Texan murmured as he drifted over to the dining table, covered as it was by medical journals and a pocket watch taken to pieces. The little metal cogs looked like they’d been there for a long time and Ashton brushed one with his fingertip for a moment, his expression thoughtful before he drifted over to the window.

The raindrops were rolling down the glass and he watched them for a little while, just breathing as the ache in his chest finally burnt itself away to nothing.

“Mike?” Ashton asked, just loud enough to be heard over the bubbling of the boiling water. The doctor looked up at him curiously, his cheeks painted a pretty pink from the warmth of the stove. “Who does the watch belong to?”

Michael’s shoulders tightened, his cheeks losing their colour as a sad smile touched his lips.

“It was Jack’s,” he answered, not elaborating on who this mysterious man was. “It got broken when he…” Michael faltered, his eyes suspiciously damp as he turned back to focus on their dinner. “Well, I don’t suppose it matters now,” he said in a softer voice, his hands shaking as he began to clumsily peel potatoes. “I never did get round to mending it.”

Ashton watched him silently, a lump rising in his throat as he remembered that day in the office when he’d come to the conclusion that Michael had lost someone he loved in the past. Maybe this enigmatic Jack was the answer.

The older man was silent now, his posture tense as he stared down blankly at the stovetop. His shoulders were shaking and Ashton’s heart ached in his chest when he realised that the older man was crying.

The Texan crossed the room slowly, hesitating once or twice before he pressed himself warmly up against the doctor, his arms winding comfortingly around Michael’s soft waist. The older man let out a shuddering sigh as he leant back into Ashton’s arms, gazing up tearfully at the ceiling as the younger man pressed a gentle kiss to his shoulder.

“I’m sorry you’re hurting,” Ashton whispered. He rocked Michael gently in his arms as he spoke, tucking his face away into the comforting warmth of the older man’s skin. “You have the kindest heart, Mikey. You deserve to be happy.”

Michael turned in his arms, his pale face streaked with tears as he let their foreheads fall together gently. The gratitude in his eyes was unmistakable as he coaxed Ashton into a gentle kiss, relaxing visibly when the younger man timidly returned it.

His fingers eased carefully though the older man’s sandy hair, his hazel eyes fluttering shut as Michael’s palm came to rest comfortingly on his hip.

There was nothing frightening or threatening about this at all.

Kissing Michael felt like coming home and Ashton lost himself in it for a little while, at least until the water boiled over the edge of the pan and the older man had to rush to rescue their vegetables. He chuckled breathlessly as he turned the heat down, his cheeks blotchy with crying and kissing.

He was so goddamn beautiful; Ashton could feel it in his bones, filling the space where the energy had coiled before.

“Why don’t you go sit at the table, sweetheart?” Michael suggested lightly, surreptitiously drying his eyes when he thought the younger man wasn’t looking. “Dinner won’t be much longer now and you could probably do with a rest after the day you’ve had.”

“Good point,” Ashton agreed but he found it hard to be upset at the reminder of that morning’s events when the doctor was calling him ‘sweetheart’ like that. “You want me to help with anything first?”

“It’s okay, Ash,” Michael said softly, his lips curving into a soft smile. “You just need to sit there and look beautiful, alright? Let me worry about everything else.”

Michael’s expression flickered for a moment, the guilt and pain rippling across his features as though he’d said those words to someone else before. It made sadness well inside the Texan as he stepped closer, his palm rising to cradle the doctor’s cheek gently.

“Feelings don’t disappear just because the person went away, Mikey,” Ashton said softly, praying that he hadn’t got the wrong end of the stick here. “And if… if you still want Jack… well, that’s okay too. It really is.”

“No, it’s not,” Michael whispered, focusing on dishing their food up silently as he turned his back on the younger man. His shoulders were tense though, his breaths purposefully steady - almost as though he was trying to calm himself - and Ashton didn’t criticise the doctor for hiding from him again. This felt more like Michael was preparing himself instead; like the words he was about to say were very important.

“I promised you earlier that I’d show myself to you,” the doctor said after what felt like a very long time, his green eyes damp as he carried their food over to the table before pulling Ashton’s chair out for him. “I promised to stop hiding… and I meant that, okay? I will talk to you about Jack... but does it have to be now? Can’t I just be with you tonight, without the ghosts?”

Ashton felt quite a lot like he wanted to cry but he settled for pressing his lips together instead, managing a faint smile as he nodded.

“That sounds like a plan,” he said hoarsely, straightening the cutlery for something to do as Michael disappeared momentarily to get their drinks. He dropped a kiss onto Ashton’s curls when he returned and the Texan smiled weakly at the mug he was being offered, the confusion clear on his face.

“Is this… warm milk?” he asked dubiously.

“Sure. It’ll help with your throat,” Michael said, his cheeks heating a little. “I just want you to feel okay again.”

He busied himself with passing Ashton a napkin and moving the plate closer, his blush deepening as he eyed the food doubtfully.

“I’m sorry it doesn’t look that great,” the doctor added as he sat down hesitantly in his own chair, gnawing at the side of his thumb uncertainly. “I… I tried to use a lot of gravy for the chicken and the cabbage so that it wouldn’t hurt your throat but… but the mash should be soft enough anyway… unless you don’t like the look of it… because I can make something else! Honestly, it would be no trouble. I’ll just -”

“Mikey,” Ashton said softly, his fingers curling gently around the older man’s wrist to keep him in his seat. He hoped the tears in his eyes wouldn’t overflow. “It looks perfect, I promise.”

Still, Michael looked worried.

“I haven’t cooked for anyone else in a really long time,” he whispered and Ashton recognised the strained note in his voice as distress. “Plus, I… I don’t want to hurt you worse. You’ve suffered enough already.”

Ashton swallowed painfully past the lump in his throat as he blinked back his tears, managing a watery smile.

“It’s fine, doc,” he murmured, his voice soothing as he stroked the older man’s knuckle gently with his thumb. “Thank you for taking such good care of me.”

“That’s okay,” Michael said gently, his lips tugging up weakly. “Anything for you, Ash. I mean it.” 

*

Dinner was a quiet affair but Ashton found it strangely soothing, especially once Michael’s anxiety had bled away.

It felt nice to be able to enjoy each other’s company like this, without the threat of Liam or one of the other Hornets spying on them. At some point during the meal, their ankles had brushed under the table and Ashton relaxed further at the warmth as he finally set his cutlery down, letting out a contented sigh.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, unwilling to break the silence. “This was really good. Y’know, if you ever wanted to leave the Hornets, there’d definitely be a job for you in a fancy restaurant somewhere.”

“I literally just cooked a chicken breast,” Michael pointed out dryly and Ashton grinned, feeling more relaxed than he had in days.

“Stop playing it down, doc,” the Texan said huffily. “I’m trying to compliment you!”

Ashton’s teasing was worth it when Michael smiled but the doctor’s expression softened when his gaze flickered to the bandage on the younger man’s forehead.

“How are you feeling now?” he asked gently. “Still dizzy at all? Much pain?”

Ashton considered this for a moment before he shrugged, his lips tugging up half-heartedly.

“It’s not too bad actually,” he said honestly. “I have you to thank for that as well.”

“Nonsense. Anyone would have done the same,” Michael said in a softer voice, his eyes flickering to the broken watch as his hand curled into a fist on the table. His expression saddened and Ashton bit his lip, reaching to give the doctor’s arm a comforting squeeze.

“Not true,” the Texan murmured. “Only you, Mikey.”

Michael was still staring at the metal cogs, his gaze faraway now. Ashton didn’t interrupt the doctor’s thoughts, aware that this was probably something he needed to work through by himself.

“I wasn’t going to tell you about Jack tonight but… there’s no point waiting, is there?” the older man asked glumly, his voice quiet and sad as he finally dragged his gaze back to Ashton’s face. “You deserve the truth… and you’re here now, sitting where he used to sit. If I don’t tell you… well, it would be like I was hiding half of myself from you… and I don’t want to do that, Ash. You deserve honesty... so that means it’s time to tell you why I’m like this.”

Michael stood up slowly, his hands settling on the back of the chair like it was easier to speak when he wasn’t trapped behind a table. The sky was dark now, the night a deep navy beyond the window panes as the older man hung his head, searching for the words.

“I met Jack Barakat the day I got expelled from Chaddock,” Michael began after a long moment. “I was so angry that I walked into the road without looking and he managed to stop his car just in time. He was already a Hornet by then – on the way back from some job for Liam – but we got talking anyway. He hated that I was so upset; decided the best way to cheer me up was coffee and cake… and then it came up in conversation that I was a failed doctor and he said his boss had been looking for someone to fill a position in his gang and… well, the rest was history.”

“So you joined the Hornets just like that? For some guy you’d known one day?” Ashton hoped the words didn’t sound accusatory because that wasn’t his intention at all. He just found it incredibly difficult to wrap his head around the fact that the grave-faced doctor he knew so well now and the hot-headed disgraced medical student were the same person.

“It wasn’t as simple as that,” Michael said quietly, chewing his lip morosely as he looked at the broken pieces of the watch again. “I had nowhere to go. My parents kicked me out the day I got expelled – said I’d ruined my entire future – so Jack offered to let me stay with him. I remember thinking that it was the tiniest apartment I’d ever seen, right at the top of this rickety old house with horrible peeling wallpaper.”

Michael made a soft noise then, either a huff of laughter or a sob, and Ashton’s heart panged in his chest.

“I still think it’s a nice apartment,” he interjected and the doctor smiled, his eyes wet with tears.

“I fell in love with Jack so fast,” Michael confessed softly, shaking his head in disbelief at the memories. “He was so charismatic. He cracked these jokes that no one else could’ve gotten away with but because it was Jack, everyone loved them. He made me feel like it was okay not to be okay. Like maybe me messing up medical school was all part of the bigger picture… like it was fate or something… like this was the path I was meant to follow.”

Michael’s cheeks were growing blotchy now, like he was a lot more upset than he’d been letting on. The humourless smile slipped from his face like the rain falling outside.

“We’d been together for almost three years when he died,” the doctor said softly, scratching idly at his arm before Ashton rose to tangle their fingers together hesitantly, hating that the older man was hurting himself. “We were a few streets away from home when these guys came after us. I guess Jack and I had grown too complacent with each other and they must’ve seen something they didn’t like so they started shoving us around. I always wondered if they would’ve left us alone after they’d scared us but… but Jack never could stand to see me hurt. He tried to protect me and… well, they killed him.”

The doctor wavered suddenly, his hand rising to grip the younger man’s shoulder as his legs weakened beneath him. Ashton didn’t know what to say so he simply drew Michael into his arms, rocking him gently as the older man cried into his neck.

A tiny part of Ashton wondered if Liam had had anything to do with Jack’s death – if the killers had been hired by the mob boss; if this was another of Liam’s cruel, manipulating games – but he didn’t dare speak his suspicions out loud. He’d already broken his promise by telling Michael the truth about his injuries and that alone could result in Niall being harmed… but Ashton trusted the doctor to keep this a secret.

He’d trust Michael with anything.

He always had done.

That was the problem.

“You don’t have to talk about it anymore if you don’t want to,” Ashton murmured when he felt the older man’s tears soaking into his collar. “If it’s hurting too bad… It’s okay to stop, Mikey. You’ve told me more than I had any right to expect.” The rest of his words got caught in his throat as a lump rose there and he swallowed past it painfully, hoping that the doctor knew how much this meant to him.

Michael drew back slowly, his overheated cheeks streaked with tears as he reached to tangle his fingers gently through Ashton’s curls, almost like he was anchoring them together.

“All I have left of Jack is his watch,” Michael whispered, more focused on the softness of the younger man’s hair than his tears now. “He gave me a whole new life and all I did was get him killed.” He shook his head, his eyes sliding shut so that the flaring pain on Ashton’s face at the unfairness of that statement was hidden. “I swore after he died that I was never going to love anyone again. I didn’t even want to get close to another person… and then you came along, Ash… and I’ve always been weak for you, haven’t I? It’s why I was so horrible to you when we first met. I just couldn’t stand the fact that you made me feel again. It was the worst pain in the world.”

“I’m sorry,” Ashton croaked and Michael smiled wetly, brushing the younger man’s tears away with trembling fingertips as he closed the distance between them to kiss him.

“Don’t be,” he breathed, his hands slipping to gently cradle the Texan’s bruised face. “You make me feel alive, Ash.”

Ashton kissed him back, the panic in his chest easing when Michael smoothed his hair soothingly, his fingertips stroking the nape of the younger man’s neck.

“You are alive, Mikey,” the Texan said fiercely, his hazel eyes shining in the soft light. “Don’t forget.”

Michael’s face was still flushed but the tears were drying now, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip as he reached to hold the younger man’s bandaged hand.

“You’re so different to Jack,” he said quietly, watching Ashton’s face carefully as he gauged his reaction. “I just wanted you to know that. You might both be Hornets and we might have met in less-than-ideal circumstances but that’s where the similarities end. I just… I don’t want you to think I’m trying to replace him, Ash, because I’m not. Jack was Jack and you’re you and… and what I feel for you both –”

“It’s okay, Mikey,” Ashton promised, his pulse speeding up. “You don’t have to say it now.”

His heart ached when he realised on some level that, if things were ever going to work out between them long term, he would have to be prepared to share Michael with Jack’s ghost. The doctor carried his lost love with him wherever he went and no amount of affection from Ashton would be enough to fill the chasm left behind.

All the Texan could do was pick up the pieces and do his best to glue Michael back together again. It might not be enough but he was willing to try.

Ashton would do anything for Michael.

He knew that now.

“Was he better looking than me?” he asked teasingly, hoping to lighten the mood, and his reward was a surprised bubble of laughter erupting from the doctor as his green eyes crinkled warmly.

“You’re ridiculous,” he said but the fondness in his tone was undeniable. “Do you want to see a picture of him?”

Ashton hesitated for a moment before nodding in answer to the tentative question, his nerves making themselves known as he followed the older man into what he assumed was the bedroom. Neither of them spoke but Michael’s hand was warm in his as they came to a stop in front of a framed picture hanging beside the doctor’s bed.

Jack wasn’t what Ashton had been expecting. He was effortlessly handsome and several years older than the Texan had pictured, his dark hair neatly combed, his beard trimmed close to his jaw. He was smiling confidently at the camera, his suit as lavish as any Hornet’s, but it was his expression that made Ashton realise why Michael had fallen in love with him.

His dark eyes were alight with intelligence and amusement, his lips quirked into the barest hint of a smirk as he cocked his head, almost as though there was a joke poised on the tip of his tongue that would never meet the light of day now.

“I bet he used to make you laugh a lot, huh?” Ashton murmured, his arm slipping around the older man’s waist as Michael leant against him heavily. The doctor sighed when he processed those words, a tired smile touching his lips.

“All the damn time,” Michael admitted before everything seemed to become too much for him. He slipped from Ashton’s hold gently, dropping down onto his bed with a gracelessness that made the younger man cringe. Michael looked drained as he stretched out on his back uncaringly, staring up at the ceiling as the Texan hesitated for a moment before joining him.

“What are you thinking, Mikey?” Ashton asked softly, reaching cautiously to twine their fingers together. He wondered for a moment how many nights the doctor spent like this, simply lying alone in the darkness and craving someone who would never be able to hold him again.

Michael shrugged weakly, rolling onto his side so that he could meet Ashton’s gaze.

“I’m thinking about… moving on.” His voice was quiet and uncertain, his fingers grasping as he held Ashton’s hand closer to his chest. “I never threw any of Jack’s stuff out after he died and... some nights I wish I could. Whenever I’m back here, I feel like I’m drowning in everything I lost but… it’s still home to me... because this place is still him, y’know? I can’t bear to change anything about it because if I keep the apartment exactly how it was when he died, he’s not really gone. He could walk in at any second and make me whole again.”

Michael’s face fell at the sadness of Ashton’s expression and he looked away, his eyes tracing the way their fingers were entangled over his heart.

“I know it’s twisted,” the older man said softly, his eyes sliding shut to show lavender lids, his golden lashes spiky with tears. “I know how unhealthy this is but… I just can’t let go of him, Ash. No matter how hard I try.”

Ashton shuffled closer, pressing a chaste kiss to the doctor’s forehead as he struggled to put his thoughts into words.

“Maybe that’s where you’ve been going wrong,” he said, the ache in his throat fading under the gentleness of the older man’s gaze. “You don’t need to let go of him, Mikey. You just need to be able to move on… and those aren’t the same thing; don’t you see? You’re allowed to love and grieve and rage – those are all valid – but when you start trying to bury yourself too, that’s when it becomes dangerous.”

Ashton thumbed a rogue tear gently from Michael’s cheek, his hazel eyes soft.

“I wasn’t lucky enough to know Jack but I think… well, I think he’d want you to keep living, Mikey… and this isn’t living. This is just biding time until…” Ashton shook his head silently, unable to put into words how much Michael’s pain hurt him.

“Jack would want you to live, doc,” he repeated when he felt safe to speak again, his eyes stinging with tears. “That was the first choice he ever made for you, wasn’t it? He gave you a new life. He told you it was okay that you were hurting, so long as you carried on fighting for what you deserved. Jack would want you to move on and live your life, doc; can’t you see that?”

Michael looked faintly stunned as he leant closer, his lips finding Ashton’s in the dim light of the bedroom. The kiss was shy and soft at first, their mouths brushing together sweetly before Michael’s tongue stroked hesitantly over the younger man’s, coaxing a whimper from his bruised lips.

“Mike –” Ashton croaked, his heart pounding too fast in his ribcage as his shaking hands settled on the doctor’s chest. He didn’t know if he wanted to pull him closer or push him away and the relief flooded him when Michael saw the uncertainty in his face, shifting back a little to put some space between them.

“Sorry,” the older man murmured, his hand slipping back into Ashton’s again to still the younger man’s trembling. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Ashton promised, opening his arms shakily and feeling something heal inside him when Michael curled up against his chest, his sandy hair messy from the Texan’s searching fingers. He pressed a gentle kiss to Ashton’s cheek and the younger man smiled as he rubbed the doctor’s back soothingly, hoping that the tears were over for now.

“You’d have liked me better when I was whole,” Michael whispered into the shadows.

Ashton’s heart ached in his chest.

“I like you now,” he chided gently. “Broken pieces and all.”

Michael’s smile was weak as he wriggled up the bed to share the pillow. The tip of his nose brushed Ashton’s and the Texan hummed tiredly when the doctor’s palm settled on his cheek in the darkness.

“How’d I get lucky enough to find you?” Michael asked softly. “Even after everything you’ve been through – especially in the last few days – you’re still the kindest person I’ve ever met.”

The reminder of what Liam had done to Ashton felt less scary in the dark, almost like he could pretend the events of yesterday and that morning had happened to someone else entirely. His anxiety was still there but it burnt more gently now and he was too tired to panic… not when Michael was looking at him like this.

“I’m pretty sure the last few days haven’t quite sunk in yet,” Ashton admitted, his hazel eyes closing for a moment as a sigh escaped him. “So there’s definitely time for me to turn into some cold-hearted jerk. You just wait and see, doc.”

“Stop it,” Michael murmured, his fingers drifting to smooth the edge of the bandage on the younger man’s forehead. There was a long pause before the doctor bit his lip, his green eyes focusing on the Texan’s face. “Y’know, I wondered… well…” He looked uncomfortable and Ashton sighed, wondering if he knew what was coming.

“Spit it out, Mikey,” he prompted, his voice gentle enough to remove any sting from the words.

“I just… well, I thought Niall would’ve been furious at Liam for what he did to you,” Michael said uneasily, his green eyes searching as he watched Ashton’s jaw tighten. “Honestly, I’m surprised Niall didn’t try to kill him.”

The younger man’s expression was ashamed now and the doctor’s breath escaped him in a heavy sigh as something worrying occurred to him.

“Ash… you did tell Niall what happened, didn’t you?”

Ashton shook his head numbly.

He felt like he was falling which made no sense at all because he was still lying sprawled on the bed. His hands remained fisted in the crumpled material of Michael’s shirt and he was still battling the urge not to confess everything because he was too afraid of the consequences.

“I can’t tell Ni,” Ashton said weakly, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment when he remembered the horrible snarl twisting Liam’s face as he forced him down onto his knees… the sadness on the Irishman’s face that morning when he realised Ashton was keeping something from him. “I can’t say anything because… if I do then… then Liam will hurt him.”

Ashton’s chest was aching as he inhaled shallowly, fighting not to let the panic reclaim him once more but it was no good.

He felt like he was falling apart.

“You can’t say anything either, doc,” he added, his words sounding slightly strangled now as he rubbed weakly at his chest, struggling for breath. Michael’s eyes were damp as he watched him, apparently unsure of how to help. “Mikey, you have to promise me because… because you’ll be at risk too if Mr Payne finds out and… and I can’t have that. I can’t.”

“Okay,” Michael said tearfully, his eyes brimming with sadness and anger. “I won’t break your trust, sweetheart. I promise.”

Ashton pushed himself up jerkily into a sitting position, his curls in disarray as the cut began to throb under the bandage in time with the frantic pounding of his heart. His palms stung when he dried his tears roughly with his fists.

“I should never have come here,” the Texan whispered, a soft choking sound escaping him as the tears he’d been fighting finally boiled over. “It’s too dangerous for you.”

He was out of the room before Michael had even made it off the mattress and the doctor looked upset when he caught Ashton by the door, his hands shaking too violently to turn the key in the lock.

Michael shushed him gently as he reached past Ashton to help, pressing his lips to the younger man’s trembling shoulder. Ashton was crying now, his shoulders shaking with it, and Michael drew him into a gentle hug, his palm rubbing gentle circles into the Texan’s back as he dropped a soft kiss onto the younger man’s bandaged forehead.

Ashton closed his eyes, copying Michael’s breaths until the burn in his lungs felt less urgent. His cheeks were flaming now, the shame suffocating him as he raised the doctor’s knuckles, pressing his lips briefly to the pale skin.

“Please take care of yourself tonight,” Michael said imploringly, his own eyes damp as they held each other tightly. “I can’t lose someone else I love.”

Ashton’s knees weakened beneath him at the confession but he didn’t have the strength to stay any longer. He reached behind him blindly for the unlocked door, his hand shaking as he wrenched the handle until the cool air of the hallway came to wrap around him like a shroud.

The doctor was watching him hopelessly when Ashton finally left his apartment, his green eyes overflowing at the pain on the younger man’s face.

Something withered in Michael’s eyes when the Texan shut the door between them and he almost fell in his haste to escape the house.

Ashton wished he could relight the spark Michael had lost but he didn’t think he knew how.

He couldn’t even help himself anymore.

Chapter Text

The sun had not yet risen when Niall made it home the next day.

His shirt was crumpled beneath his suit, the collar speckled with blood from the split lip he was sporting. His pale face was a mess of black and blue bruising, and his scowl was deep as he entered the apartment building.

His tread was slow and heavy as he climbed the stairs, his tired blue eyes tinged with worry as he searched for his keys. He knew Ashton would still be inside and he couldn't help but recall the last conversation he'd had with his best friend; the suppressed tears and the younger man’s snapping defensiveness, and the way Niall had felt like his heart was being hollowed out of his chest when the Texan refused to trust him with the truth.

It made Niall feel less than useless; the knowledge that Ashton was hurting and yet he didn't seem to believe that the Irishman would be able to help him.

It felt like Niall wasn't good enough to take care of the Texan anymore... like he'd let his best friend down.

It was with a heavy heart that the blond man finally unlocked the door to find Ashton waiting for him at the table, his honey-coloured curls limp as he stewed in silence over a mug of coffee, the weariness lining his young face.

“I thought you'd still be sleeping,” Niall blurted out in surprise, feeling bad when he made the younger man flinch and almost spill his drink at his unexpected entrance. “Sorry, kid,” the blond man mumbled as he shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing a hand tiredly over his bruised face. “Is there any coffee left?”

“I'll make you some,” Ashton said but he made no move to rise. “What happened to you, Ni? Did the job go south?”

The Irishman smiled humourlessly as he sank down into a seat at the kitchen table, his exhaustion catching up with him as his injuries gave a dull throb.

“No, the job went fine,” Niall said bitterly, apparently unable to meet the younger man's gaze. “I got jumped on the way home. Bastard stole my wallet.”

Ashton's heart clenched painfully in his chest as his eyes widened in horror. He could feel the colour draining from his face as he stared at his best friend fearfully, afraid that this was a warning from Liam. What if the mob boss had overhead Ashton's conversation with Michael in the Speakeasy?

God, he should never have done that. It was so dangerous - not just for himself and Michael but for Niall too, who was at risk without even realising it - but then... what if it really was just a coincidence?

What if this had just been a random unfortunate mugging and Liam had nothing to do with it?

Ashton's paranoia felt like it was choking him as he sat there stiffly at the table, his shaking fingers wrapped around his drink as his furtive gaze flickered anxiously towards the unlocked door of their apartment.

“I'm sorry you got hurt, Ni,” he breathed, his eyes prickling as he watched the blond man carefully, taking in his bruises and the shame colouring his face.

“Nothing a coffee won't fix,” Niall mumbled, trying for a joke that didn't quite hit the mark. His weak smile slipped away as his split lip throbbed and Ashton's face fell as he rose to make the drink, pausing to rest his palm comfortingly on the blond man's shoulder before he crossed the kitchen.

“Are you sure you don't need to see a doctor?” the Texan asked unhappily as he put some more water on to boil. “I can fetch Michael if you like. I really think you should get checked over.”

His voice faltered as he spoke though, his pain from the night before making itself apparent, and Niall frowned as he watched his best friend, wondering why Ashton looked so much like he would rather do literally anything else.

Niall had thought the Texan and the doctor were friends but, as more time went on, he was learning that he knew little about Ashton's life at all. The Irishman's confusion grew as he considered the mysterious intricacies of his best friend's life. He became more secretive with every passing day, and Niall was afraid that one day he would wake up and Ashton would be completely unrecognisable to him.

“It's okay, kid,” he said heavily, murmuring his thanks when the Texan returned, passing him a cup of coffee hesitantly. “It's just a couple of bruises - nothing I haven't had before.”

Niall took a sip, sighing contentedly as he warmed his hands on the mug although worry trickled through him when the younger man brushed his curls back unthinkingly to reveal a bandage.

“What happened to your forehead, Ash?”

Ashton tensed, his shoulders stiffening as he folded his arms on the table, resting his chin on them.

“I fell yesterday,” he said mechanically, his eyes falling shut for a moment as he inhaled shakily. “Caught myself on the desk. Mike patched me up again.”

Niall sighed, hating the feelings of sadness and uselessness swelling inside him as he realised that he’d let his best friend down again by not being there for him. It was the second time in as many days and the Irishman was starting to understand why Ashton was keeping things from him now; how could Niall expect the younger man to trust him when he kept failing him?

“I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you, kid,” the blond man murmured, looking so crestfallen that Ashton couldn’t help but reach for the older man’s hand, the bandages covering his palms fresh and new now. Clearly Niall's hadn't done a good enough job.

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Ashton promised, wincing as his voice rasped painfully. His throat was slowly improving but it still hurt when he spoke sometimes, sending the familiar panic flaring through him as he fought not to remember what had happened.

Ashton's smile didn't touch his damp eyes but he kept it in place anyway, hoping that it would be enough to keep Niall from prying once more into what had happened. The last thing Ashton wanted was for the blond man to get himself in even more trouble by asking dangerous questions.

“Were you okay by yourself last night? What did you get up to?” the blond man asked curiously as he sipped his coffee, his tired eyes drooping. “You look exhausted, kid.”

“I was worried about you,” Ashton said honestly before his cheeks heated a little as he remembered the kisses, the tears, the loving confession that he had been too frightened to return. “And... well, I spent some time at Mike's too. He fixed me up and sorted some dinner out.”

“That was good of him,” Niall said but his eyebrows had risen now as he processed this. “Did you two have fun?”

Ashton floundered for a moment, not sure how to answer. He'd certainly enjoyed spending time with the doctor but 'fun' didn't seem like the right term. Everything had felt too raw; too frightening... the second after the pin had been ripped from the grenade.

“It was... it was nice enough.” Ashton shrugged half-heartedly, finishing his coffee with a contemplative expression on his face before he looked up at the Irishman again with a slight frown. “Did you ever meet Jack Barakat, Ni?”

Niall frowned, his blue eyes narrowing a little as he fixed the younger man with a confused look, clearly wondering how Ashton had heard of him.

“I knew of him,” the Irishman said uncertainly, leaning back in his chair with a wince as he pinched the bridge of his nose wearily, almost as though he was trying to ease a headache. “We were initiated around the same time but I didn't have much to do with him to be honest. He worked with Harry a lot in the brothels. He might even have been second-in-command for the prostitution ring - I can’t really remember. Our paths didn’t often cross.”

“Huh,” Ashton said softly, falling quiet again. He blushed when he looked up in time to see the questioning expression on the Irishman’s face. “I just wondered,” the Texan said defensively. “Mike mentioned Jack yesterday.”

The silence that grew between them as they nursed their coffees was surprisingly uncomfortable. Usually things felt so easy between them and Ashton hated that his secrets were tearing them apart... but it wasn't his fault, was it? Not really anyway. Ashton had no choice.

Liam had seen to that.

When the atmosphere became too tense, Niall broke the silence with a deliberate casualness that Ashton would be forever grateful for. He appreciated the Irishman doing everything he could to put his best friend at ease more than he could put into words.

“I got a letter from mam the other day,” Niall said, his bruised face softening a little at the pleasant surprise curving Ashton's lips. “She was telling me about how Greg's healing up after the shooting at the football match. She said he can walk on his own now. They even think he'll be able to go back to work soon, start bringing some money in again.” Niall’s tired face had softened with happiness as he cradled Ashton’s palm gently between his own but a lump rose in the Texan’s throat as he looked down at their tangled fingers. Grazes and bruises littered the Irishman’s knuckles - presumably sustained from defending himself the night before - and Ashton's heart ached at how dangerous life had become in Chicago.

More than anything, he wished that Niall could be safe. That was all he wanted for his best friend but he was starting to realise that maybe that safety just wasn’t attainable in the Windy City anymore.

Maybe it was time for them to think about moving on.

“I’m glad you got a letter from home,” Ashton said honestly, trying hard to keep his voice from shaking as he rubbed his thumb over the Irishman’s pale skin, fighting to appear casual. “Say, you wouldn’t ever consider going back to Ireland, would you, Ni? Once the war is over of course.”

Niall looked up in surprise, an uncertain smile touching his lips as the rain began to fall outside, sliding down the glass like tears.

“Trying to get rid of me, kid?” he asked teasingly.

Ashton smiled like his heart wasn’t broken in his chest.

“I just want you to be safe, Ni,” he said softly, still gripping the Irishman’s hand like a lifeline. “That’s all.”

The silence that grew was more fragile this time, brittle and layered with something too tender to name.

“What about you, Ash?” Niall asked warily, his blue eyes growing concerned. “Do you ever think of going back to the ranch?”

The Texan chuckled humourlessly, his arms coming to wrap around himself as he considered the question.

“Can I take you with me in this scenario?” he asked pensively and Niall smiled without meaning to.

“Sure, kid.”

Ashton nodded, sighing softly.

“Then yeah,” he said honestly, his hazel eyes wistful as he reached for the blond man’s hand again. “I think about it all the time.”

Ashton gathered their empty mugs silently, his tiredness enveloping him for a moment as he carried them over to the sink. Niall was silent behind him, his gaze fixed on the younger man’s back as the Texan began to wash up the crockery from breakfast, his shoulders slumped.

He wished so badly that he could take Niall away from here but he knew that he couldn’t just run from his demons.

If Ashton did that, he’d be abandoning the people he cared about to a monster like Liam - he’d be deserting Michael - and he absolutely refused to let anyone else die here.

Niall had been wrong that day in his office when the Texan had drank himself into oblivion because this wasn’t sink or swim anymore. It was time to escape instead, and Ashton was determined to finish this fight once and for all.

He’d had the vaguest inklings of a plan for a while now but the finer details had come to him slowly over the past few days and he finally felt confident that it was time to set things in motion.

Ashton was going to destroy Liam and his Hornet Mob but he couldn’t do it without help.

That was the first step of his plan.

It was time to pay Luke a visit.

*

Ashton couldn’t switch off all morning.

No matter how hard he tried to concentrate on the documents he needed to study for an upcoming job with Biersack, all he could focus on were the complexities of his plan and how many frightening ways it could all go wrong.

He gave up even the pretence of working by noon. With the documents bundled away in his briefcase, Ashton informed the older Hornet that he would spend the afternoon studying them at home and Andy didn’t question it. Ashton’s voice still rasped whenever he spoke and the Hornets had assumed that he simply had a horrible sore throat which was working to the Texan’s advantage.

He didn’t want to be trapped in the Speakeasy for any longer than was absolutely necessary.

Ashton strode out into the sunlight with a heavy sigh, pointedly sidestepping Frank where the old man was lurking in the doorway. Something in the Texan’s face kept Frank from bothering him though and Ashton was grateful for that. He already felt brittle with how searing the energy inside him was burning; one wrong touch might be enough to shatter him completely.

He stopped at the apartment first, depositing his briefcase safely in his bedroom before he changed into a more casual jacket. He could feel nervous butterflies in his stomach as he locked up on his way back out the door, his palms growing sweaty at the prospect of seeing Luke again after their night together.

This first step of the plan was so crucial but it was fragile too, especially when it could backfire so easily… but the Texan had to trust that he hadn’t misjudged Luke. The blond man had seemed like a genuinely good person who was willing to take risks and, if Ashton went about this in the right way, he was sure Luke would agree to help him.

He just needed to work out how to ask in a way that the blond man was sure to agree with. That was where the fear stemmed from because, if Luke refused, Ashton’s plan to tear down Liam’s criminal empire was over before it had even begun.

“No pressure then,” the Texan mumbled to himself as he stepped back out into the sunlight, a wry smile twisting his lips. There were still puddles on the ground from the rainfall that morning and the air tasted fresh as he headed in the vague direction of Luke’s bedsit, trying to take a roundabout route in case he was being followed.

His nerves only grew as he traversed the damp streets, his hazel eyes flickering about nervously as he watched the passers-by for signs that anyone was watching him. After his suspicions that Liam had arranged for Niall and maybe even Jack to be attacked, Ashton knew he could never be too careful where the mob boss was concerned. Liam would stop at nothing to preserve his fearsome pride and it was past time that the Texan accepted that as the very real threat it was.

Ashton came to a faltering stop as this realisation occurred to him, his hand rising to grip a garden wall nearby as his heart clenched unpleasantly in his ribcage. He took several deep breaths, his eyes closing for a moment as he rubbed at his chest. This happened whenever he thought of Liam now and there were no distractions around to keep his panic at bay.

He felt like he’d been hollowed out; like everything in him had been reduced to pain and instinct, and sometimes Ashton was afraid that he’d never get back the things that had been taken from him that morning in Liam’s office.

Sometimes Ashton felt like he’d never be whole again.

His eyes stung with tears but he fought them back, refusing to lose control now, especially at such an important time. He needed Luke to listen to him – to take him seriously and realise that Ashton wanted to do good – and that wasn’t going to happen if he turned up snivelling like a little boy with a grazed knee.

The Texan was going to do this properly.

His determination gave him the strength he needed to start moving again, one foot in front of the other as he approached a busier street up ahead. It was market day and he could hear the din of the crowd; the merchants hawking their wares and the impoverished citizens haggling for reduced prices.

It was a place Ashton usually tended to avoid – he found it incredibly depressing; so transient and dismal as the beggars pleaded for change and the thieves were chased down by furious merchants – but he gravitated towards it automatically today, perhaps seeking a distraction from the turmoil inside his head.

He kept his hand inside his pocket, his fingers wrapped protectively around his wallet in case any pickpockets made the mistake of trying their luck with him. He wasn’t opposed to withdrawing his flick knife but he would rather avoid it if he could. Ashton was too tired to threaten anyone today, having been intimidated far too frequently since moving to Chicago. He felt like he’d experienced enough menace to last a lifetime without contributing to it himself.

The city had already poisoned him, infecting him with fear and panic. He didn’t want to become a monster too.

His grim thoughts were interrupted when his eyes settled on a flower stall nearby. He’d never even glanced at it before but suddenly, with the realisation that he was about to see Luke again at the forefront of his mind, all he could think of was a forget-me-not tucked into his buttonhole and the tears welling in the blond man’s kind blue eyes.

A lump rose in Ashton’s throat as he removed his wallet from his pocket, his hazel gaze damp as he moved automatically towards the flowers.

He knew that this was the best way to encourage the blond man to help him and the Texan felt foolish for not having thought of this before now.

After all, Luke spoke in flowers.

Ashton was going to do this right. 

*

He carried the bouquet cautiously through the streets, being careful not to crush any of the delicate flowers as he dodged passers-by more intent on hurrying through the city than paying attention to their surroundings.

Ashton did his best to remember the way to the bedsit without being too obvious that he was lost, not wanting to draw unwanted attention to himself as he traipsed through the puddles. Everything looked different in the daylight but, before he could really get stressed, he spotted a familiar alleyway where he’d saved Luke from being mugged.

Here was the proof that he was on the right track but it still took three more twisting back streets before he finally located the dilapidated building. His relief at stumbling across his destination was strong enough that he didn’t feel any nerves until he was already climbing the stairs, his heart speeding up in his chest as the reality of the situation sank in because… god, this was it.

This was make or break.

Ashton was either about to take the first step to destroying everything Liam had built or every risk he’d taken leading up to this moment would be for nothing.

He almost couldn’t breathe when he raised a shaking fist to knock on the door, his panic abruptly overwhelming him as he realised that there was quite a big chance that Luke wouldn’t even be home during the day. The sound of approaching footsteps quickly greeted him though and Ashton felt dizzy as he struggled to compose himself, adjusting his hat before he tightened his trembling grip on the bouquet.

“Here goes nothing,” he breathed as a key turned in the lock.

The guarded expression on Luke’s handsome face at the prospect of unexpected visitors quickly melted into shock when he saw who was waiting for him and he pulled the door open wide.

“Ashton?” Luke gasped, his sky blue eyes stunned. His hair was longer than it had been last time they were together, pulled back into a messy knot although a few curls had escaped to tumble down across his forehead. He was dressed in a loose shirt and slacks, with a pencil tucked behind his ear and a stack of books open on the table behind him. He’d clearly been studying and Ashton felt terrible for disturbing him but this was so important.

There was no one else he could trust with this.

“I’m sorry to trouble you, Luke,” he said seriously. “I promise I wouldn’t be bothering you if this wasn’t necessary.”

“It’s okay,” the blond man said automatically, still worrying about hurting other people’s feelings even now… even when Ashton had hurt his by leaving. “I just didn’t expect to – you bought me flowers?”

Luke broke off mid-sentence, one eyebrow rising elegantly in surprise, and Ashton blushed as he shyly proffered the bouquet, rubbing the back of his neck fretfully.

“I picked them specially,” he said, stumbling over his words a little in his nervousness. “Because I want to say sorry for the way I left you… because I really hope we can be friends this time, Luke.”

The blond man’s face softened, his cheeks a soft pink as he thumbed one of the flower petals gently.

“Yellow roses for friendship and innocence,” he murmured, a smile playing across his lips. “Those are good for apologies… and white tulips for hope and renewal. You really mean it, don’t you?” Luke’s shoulders slumped a little as the warmth on his face turned sad. “You don’t have anything to apologise for, I promise. We both knew how that night was going to end – I just didn’t want to admit it.”

The blond man was watching him carefully though, his blue eyes inquisitive as he took in how exhausted Ashton seemed and the perpetually hunted look the smaller man was wearing.

“Has something happened to you, Ash?” the taller man asked gently. “Do you need help?” His gaze was softer now, the concern on his face plain to see, and something about it made a lump rise in Ashton’s sore throat which he valiantly battled against.

“Yes,” he said honestly, his hazel eyes shining in the shadows. “I hate to ask anything of you but… you’re the only one who can help me, Luke. I need you.”

“Then you’d better come in,” the blond man said, his voice warm as he stepped aside. “I can’t leave you standing out here alone, can I? Let’s find some water for these flowers.”

Ashton stepped into the room hesitantly, surprised by how different everything looked in the light of day. Luke was already filling a vase at the sink by the time the Texan closed the door behind them and Ashton hovered there awkwardly with his hat in his hands until the taller man gently pushed him into an old armchair.

“How’s your shoulder these days?” Luke asked as he sat down across from the Texan, setting the flowers on a rickety table beside them. Ashton looked up in surprise from where he’d been spinning the fedora unconsciously, his lips weakly twitching.

“It’s almost healed,” he said, giving a half-hearted shrug to prove it. His face remained pain-free and Luke looked satisfied as he watched the smaller man sitting on the armchair, taking in the bags under his anxious eyes and the nervous tapping of his fingers which hadn’t slowed since entering the room.

“I forgot how many flowers you have in here,” Ashton said out of nowhere, his hazel gaze flickering around the bedsit as he fondly regarded the jugs and chipped vases spilling over with blooms. The scent of them hung in the air around them, blanketing everything in the comfortingly sweet smell of spring flowers. “It’s really beautiful.”

“Ash…” Luke said tentatively, apparently unwilling to break the quiet as he removed the pencil from behind his ear. He set it on the table with a muted tap, his blue eyes serious as he reached up to untie the knot in his hair, allowing the golden curls to tumble down around his pale face. “What really brought you here today?”

“I remembered feeling safe here,” Ashton said honestly, his voice soft as the blood rose to warm his cheeks. “And I’d quite like to feel safe again. That’s why I’m here. It’s like I said earlier, isn’t it? I need your help.”

“But why me?” Luke asked, his eyes drifting back to the new bouquet as he curled a hand around the vase protectively. It was unbearably sweet and only cemented to Ashton that he’d made the right decision in coming here.

“Because you’re fundamentally a good person, Luke, at least from what I’ve seen,” he said seriously. “Because you’re a pacifist and… well, I think the world would be a better place if more people were like you.”

Luke blushed but the confusion on his face seemed to outweigh his bashfulness as he fixed the smaller man with a baffled look.

“But I thought you thought fighting was necessary sometimes,” the blond man said pointedly. “Aren’t you a Hornet? Because they certainly aren’t known for being peaceful.”

Ashton shivered, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as the tattoo on his wrist seemed to burn like a brand.

“That’s why I’m here actually,” he said, his voice faint as the nervous energy inside him tightened painfully around his ribs. “I am a Hornet… but I don’t want to be anymore.” Ashton sighed, rubbing the healing cut on his forehead distractedly as the exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him. “You were right about them, Luke, and there’s no easy way out,” he finished heavily. “That’s why I need your help.”

“Then tell me,” the blond man said softly, reaching out unconsciously to cover Ashton’s hand with his own. “I’ll do whatever you need, Ash. I owe you.”

“You do?” the Texan asked curiously, his tired hazel eyes lifting to the taller man’s face. “Why’s that?”

Luke smiled, his gaze soft.

“You saved my life, Ash,” he said gently. “How could I ever repay you for that?” 

*

In the end, Ashton needn’t have worried at all.

Luke agreed without question that he would do his best to make contact with the Bureau, even mentioning an old friend from college who had always aspired to become an agent. The blond man wasn’t sure if the man had succeeded but contacting him would be his first port of call and Ashton was so grateful for that. It would have raised far too much suspicion if he’d contacted the stranger to arrange a meeting himself but if Luke was able to do this under the guise of research for a project, Ashton was sure he could avoid attracting any unwanted attention.

To the Texan, Luke’s willingness was more important than anything. It meant that his plan was no longer up in the air; that he was able to hit the ground running; that he might actually be able to end this nightmare once and for all.

“I’m glad you came here today, Ash,” Luke said quietly, his voice breaking through the reverie the smaller man had drifted into. The pair were still sitting in the armchairs but the tense atmosphere had evaporated now, leaving only contentment and relief behind. “It means a lot that you feel you can trust me.”

Luke was watching Ashton carefully, fondness softening his frown as he took in how much more relaxed the smaller man seemed now. His tanned face was no longer saturated with alarm but there were exhausted, bruise-like circles smearing the skin under his eyes and the bandaged wound on his forehead seemed to be paining him. Luke pursed his lips worriedly as he wondered what exactly the Texan had got himself involved with.

“Thank you for saying you’d help me,” Ashton said gratefully, a tired smile tugging at lips that seemed faintly swollen. “You don’t know how much this means.”

“I think I can guess,” the blond man said lightly although his eyes grew sadder. “I know this must be important. You wouldn’t have come here otherwise.”

Ashton’s shoulders slumped.

“I really do want to be your friend, Luke,” he murmured and the blond man’s lips twitched as he reached to stroke one of the roses, his fingertip tracing the yellow petal.

“I believe you, Ash,” he promised. “I want to be friends too.”

Luke looked more comfortable than Ashton had ever seen him as he relaxed in the armchair, one leg tucked beneath the other, his golden curls framing his pale face. It seemed strange to the Texan that this was when Luke was most in his element, agreeing to help with something that could very well get him killed if anyone found out he’d played a part in a betrayal of this magnitude.

He was always surprising and, once again, Ashton found himself counting his lucky stars that he’d stumbled across the blond man that night.

If anyone could help him ensure the safety of Niall and Michael by putting Liam behind bars, it was Luke.

“When do you need the information by?” the taller man asked suddenly, as though it had just occurred to him. “Because I can send word to Ben tomorrow enquiring as to whether he joined the Bureau but, if he didn’t choose to follow that particular career path, it might be a while before I can find someone else who’ll take my requests seriously.”

Ashton hesitated, an unhappy expression twisting his features.

“I don’t have a while, Luke,” he said honestly, his expression downcast as he fought not to recall the horrible things he’d already suffered through. “I can give you a week but no more than that.” He looked worried as he spoke, his face paling again as though he was remembering something that he would much rather forget. “I’ll come back here this night next week, okay? And please don’t mention this to anyone, Luke. I can’t stress how important that is.”

“I’ve got it, Ash, I promise,” the blond man said reassuringly, his tone remaining soothing although the repetition must have been frustrating. He seemed to realise that it was just Ashton’s nerves though and the Texan was grateful that Luke didn’t grow angry at the secrecy. He simply got to his feet instead, a curious expression on his pale face as he crossed the space between them to perch on the arm of Ashton’s chair. The smaller man’s cheeks heated, his eyes fixing nervously on his fedora where he was still turning it absently between his fingers.

“Just friends?” Ashton whispered, his voice hoarse. Luke nodded, his hand settling comfortingly on the Texan’s shoulder.

“Just friends,” he promised. “You just look like you could use a hug.”

Ashton laughed humourlessly, his eyes prickling as a sigh escaped him. He leant back against the taller man’s side unconsciously, soaking in the warmth as a tear slipped down his overheated cheek.

“A hug would be very welcome,” he muttered, wincing a little when his throat ached. Luke hummed, slipping down onto the seat beside the smaller man as he wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“Well, I think we can manage that,” he said warmly, pressing a chaste kiss to the Texan’s honey-coloured curls. “I don’t like it when my friends are sad… and you are my friend, Ashy. I mean it.”

The tears came to the smaller man’s hazel eyes unbidden, almost as though the warmth of Luke's words had melted the ice in Ashton’s chest. He buried his head in his hands as his cheeks flamed, his shoulders shaking with fatigued sobs. He couldn’t have stopped crying even if he’d wanted to but, for some reason, he didn’t.

Luke’s arms stayed wrapped warmly around him, his chin resting lightly on the smaller man’s head as he rocked him. A comfortable silence settled over the flower-filled room and Ashton slumped back against the taller man’s chest as the last of the tension leaked out of him.

“Sorry,” he whispered eventually, his eyelashes spiky with tears as he rubbed the rim of his fedora like a comfort blanket. His palms were itching beneath the bandages and he let out a shaky sigh as his head came to rest on the blond man’s broad shoulder.

“You don’t need to apologise,” Luke said softly, giving the Texan’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Why were you crying, soppy?”

Ashton huffed, a watery smile touching his lips as he glanced at the taller man out of the corner of his eye.

“You were too nice to me,” he said accusingly, making Luke snort with surprised laughter as he swiped the hat from Ashton’s hands, settling it crookedly on the smaller man’s curls.

“Can’t help it,” Luke said, sticking his tongue out. “It’s all part of my charm.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Ashton muttered but they both paused as the words left him, remembering the night they’d met and the jokes they’d shared once it was clear that they were both safe again.

“So are you,” Luke said cheerfully. “It’s why we get on, isn’t it?”

He sobered quickly though, his blue eyes growing serious as he twisted in the chair to hold Ashton’s gaze.

“Earlier when I asked if you needed help…” Luke’s voice trailed away for a moment as he scrutinised Ashton’s face, taking in the trembling of his sore lip and the fading injuries on his skin. “Something horrible happened to you, didn’t it? I can see it.” He took the Texan’s hand gently, his thumb smoothing over the knuckles to ease the shaking.

“You really can tell me, Ash,” Luke murmured. “I promise.”

Ashton tensed, his fingers tightening around Luke’s as the uneasiness welled inside him. He felt like the world was holding its breath; like any words that left his mouth now would be overhead by Liam, with repercussions too awful to consider.

“Actually I can’t, blondie,” he said softly. “But if I could, I would. Thank you for caring.”

Luke shrugged half-heartedly, his blond curls falling into his eyes as he managed a weak smile.

“You think it’s that dangerous?” he asked and Ashton sighed, biting the side of his thumb nervously.

“I know it is,” he muttered. “I’ve put you at enough risk by coming here at all. I won’t implicate you further.”

The taller man was still watching him curiously and Ashton bit his lip, wanting to give Luke something to show that he trusted him but not sure how much was safe.

“My boss is a very dangerous man,” the Texan began uncomfortably, choosing every word with the utmost care. “He treats everyone around him like collateral damage and… maybe it’s time that changed.” Ashton swallowed audibly as he straightened up in the armchair, his hazel eyes growing determined. “I have too much to lose now. I can’t accept the risk he poses.”

“Ah,” Luke said softly, nodding like something had just fallen into place. “You have someone now, don’t you? I thought you seemed different.”

Ashton’s cheeks heated a little as he shot the blond man a guilty look but Luke just shook his head, his lips still curved into a fond smile.

“It’s okay, Ash,” he said reassuringly, his tone wistful but kind. “I’ll still help you and I still want to be your friend. This doesn’t change anything.”

“Thank you,” Ashton said, giving Luke’s hand a gentle squeeze before he finally got to his feet. “Seriously, I know I’ve said it so many times but… if you can do this for me, blondie, you’ll be helping me more than you ever realise.”

“I already told you it’s fine,” Luke reminded him gently, his lips tugging up into a melancholy smile, his blue eyes just a little too wet. “I’ll get in contact with Ben and see if I can arrange a meeting… and you’ll come back this night next week, yeah? I should have something useful to tell you by then.”

“That sounds perfect, Luke,” Ashton said, biting his lip now as he took in the hastily-suppressed sadness on the taller man’s face. “Are… are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Luke said, his eyes drifting back to the table where his books were waiting for him. He didn’t seem able to meet the Texan’s gaze now and Ashton hated so much that he’d managed to hurt Luke again, simply by being here.

“I’ll leave now,” the smaller man said softly, aching at the hopelessness in the blond man’s eyes. “I know you were studying. I’m sorry I disturbed you.”

“That’s alright,” Luke said quietly as he picked his pencil back up, twirling it distractedly between his fingers as he stared down at the floor. “I’m sure you’ve got other things to be getting on with too.”

The atmosphere felt suddenly stilted and Ashton tried one last time to make the blond man happy.

“I don’t think I ever asked you before,” he said, a little chagrined by this revelation as he hesitated in the doorway. “What is it you actually study, Luke?”

“I’m training to be a lawyer,” the blond man said bashfully and Ashton grinned as he buried his hands in his pockets, leaning casually against the frame.

“You’re gonna be amazing, blondie,” he said honestly. “Just like Clarence Darrow or Louis Brandeis.”

Luke grinned at the compliment, his smile lighting up the whole room.

“I was thinking more Richard Henry Dana Jr.,” the blond man said teasingly. “But I guess that’s more of a mouthful, huh?”

“How about you just be Luke?” Ashton suggested, his hazel eyes twinkling. “Just Luke sounds like a pretty swell lawyer to me.”

Luke was beaming now, his cheeks pink as he brushed his golden curls away from his face.

“Thank you, Ashy,” he said and there was nothing but cheer in his eyes now. “I’ll see you in a week.”

*

Ashton still couldn’t sleep properly.

It had been three days since Liam had broken something inside him and the ache of it refused to fade. It echoed in every breath, every touch, every nightmare.

The Texan withdrew without meaning to, avoiding Niall and Harry, and even Michael now, because the doctor knew the truth and Ashton was sure Michael couldn’t look at him without seeing the shame of what Liam had done plastered across his face.

Niall had barely spoken to him since he came back from Luke’s the day before, his blue eyes clouding over with resentment at Ashton’s pointed silence. The Texan wished he could explain that he was holding back the truth to keep his friend safe but even that was too dangerous now, when he was never sure if Liam was listening or not.

The stilted atmosphere with Niall and the memory of Michael letting it slip that he’d fallen in love stung Ashton like a hornet but he was trying to keep the pain off his face. There was no time to wallow in misery now; not when he had to keep up the pretence that everything was normal while Luke worked behind the scenes to contact the Bureau.

Ashton carried his fragile determination with him to the Speakeasy that morning, his shoulders hunched against the cold as the weariness settled in his bones. Niall was silent beside him, his hands buried in his pockets now that his cigarette was gone. Neither of them had had very much to say and it was with a heavy heart that Ashton watched as Harry whisked the Irishman away the moment they skirted past Frank, grimly explaining that they needed to start ‘cleaning up’ after the Vultures had strayed so close yesterday.

With a sinking feeling as he wondered what exactly that meant, Ashton watched the pair leave, the tension in the air infecting him like a virus as a shiver ran through him. He didn’t like standing here alone anymore but, before the anxiety had a chance to begin burning beneath his skin, the door to the storage room behind him opened and a familiar figure appeared.

“Hey, Ash,” Louis said, his brow creasing at how pale Ashton went at the sight of him. “Mr Payne asked me to catch up with you once you got in. Did you hear about what happened yesterday with the Vultures?”

The Texan winced at being reminded of the day before, one hand rising unconsciously to touch the cut on his forehead, finally free of its bandage.

“They wandered over to our side of the city, right?” he asked tentatively and Louis nodded, biting his lip nervously.

“There was a firefight yesterday. We managed to avoid any casualties but Collins is sure to be angry after we foiled his raid,” the older man explained, his blue eyes worried. “Mr Payne asked us to move all of the stock in the storage room down to the tunnels.” He glanced down at Ashton’s sore palms, also uncovered now although he might come to regret that after a hard day of work. “Do you think you’ll be alright to help me, Ash? I don’t want you to hurt any worse.”

The Texan smiled weakly, a lump rising in his throat as the guilt at withdrawing from Louis overwhelmed him.

“I think I’ll be just fine,” Ashton said quietly, his cheeks flaming as he gestured awkwardly towards the storage room door. “Let’s get started now, yeah? No time like the present.”

They worked quietly for a while, both of them focused on shifting the first of the crates down the narrow flight of stairs into the dimly lit tunnels. It was difficult work and they soon realised that it was easier to share the weight of a crate together instead of trying to juggle one by themselves on the steep steps.

“This is going to take forever,” Louis complained after perhaps half an hour, his hair already sticking to his forehead with sweat as he straightened up with a groan, his back sorely protesting the manual labour.

“I don’t mind it,” Ashton said honestly, stifling a yawn behind his hand as he tossed his hat on top of his coat where it had been abandoned in the storage room. “I’d rather be down here than upstairs.”

Louis smiled faintly but his blue eyes still looked as concerned as they had when he’d first encountered Ashton earlier that morning, pale-faced and alone in the dark corridor.

“Ash, I… I hope I’m not overstepping but…” The older man faltered, reaching for Ashton’s shoulder and biting his lip when the Texan flinched automatically. “Yesterday when you dropped the crate…” Louis looked like he felt sick when he saw the dread unfurling in Ashton’s eyes. “He… he hurt you, didn’t he?”

The Texan’s arms came to wrap around himself automatically as his lips pressed together flatly. Dimly, he became aware that he was shaking and Louis was watching him so sadly now that it was all he could do not to break down in tears.

“He calls me ‘slut’,” Ashton croaked unthinkingly, his fingers pressing lightly to where his throat still ached, his eyes stinging. He didn’t realise how dangerous those shameful words were until he looked up in time to see the anger blazing in Louis’ face.

Ashton’s heart sank in his chest as he realised he’d basically confirmed the older man’s fears because… god, why could he never keep his mouth shut? He was going to get the people he loved killed if he kept this up.

“Damnit, Ash,” Louis breathed, his voice strained as he folded the younger man up gently into his arms. Ashton tensed at first but he relaxed after a moment, his shoulders slumping beneath the weight of his guilt and shame as the older man stroked his curls back gently. “I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

The walls of the tunnel felt like they were closing in and Louis seemed to see it in his face because he sat him down on a nearby crate wordlessly, his hands falling to gently hold Ashton’s. The tunnel was quiet for a little while after that, the silence only broken by the deliberately slow breaths Louis took as the Texan copied him.

“There now. That’s much better,” the older man murmured when Ashton finally raised his head, drying his eyes subtly with his sleeve. “I’m sorry, Ash,” Louis said softly, giving his hand a comforting squeeze. “I didn’t mean to upset you. We don’t have to talk about it if it’s too hard but… well, I’m here if you ever do feel ready to talk, okay? I mean it.”

Ashton sighed, his hazel eyes still a little too damp as he forced himself to meet the older man’s gaze.

“That doesn’t seem fair at all,” the Texan muttered, his expression downcast. “I wasn’t there for you when you needed me.” Louis looked confused - almost like this hadn’t even occurred to him - and Ashton felt a lump rising in his throat.

“I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you,” he said, sniffing weakly as he wiped at his eyes again. “I know you must really need people right now and… I just shut down. I didn’t know how to be around you; not after what happened to Zayn.” A flicker of pain rippled across the older man’s face and Ashton entwined their fingers more tightly. “I’m so sorry, Lou.”

A small surprised sound escaped the Texan when Louis rose to sit beside him, his arm slipping warmly around the younger man. Ashton let his head come to rest on the older man’s shoulder, marvelling for a moment at how far they’d come.

“Nothing to apologise for, Ash,” Louis said gently. “We all deal with things in different ways. I’m not going to hate you for that.”

The Texan gave him a watery smile, so shockingly relieved that Louis still wanted to be his friend after everything that had happened. Ashton was so glad they hadn’t lost this bond, even if it did feel like he didn’t deserve the older man’s kindness.

“Hey,” Louis murmured, his lips curving into a smile when he caught the younger man’s attention. “I missed you.”

He bumped their shoulders together amiably, his brow creasing when it made Ashton’s eyes well with tears.

“I missed you too,” the younger man admitted, glancing down at the soreness of his palms as his heart ached in his chest. “How’ve you been coping since…?” His voice trailed away and he bit his lip, thinking of Michael all alone in his apartment, drowning in sadness and grief since the night he lost Jack. Louis must have been hurting just as badly. “Has it been really terrible, Lou?”

There was a long moment of silence before Louis looked away, his blue eyes turned glassy like he was seeing something no one else could.

“I’m… coping better than I was,” he said at length, his words chosen carefully like he didn’t want to upset the Texan more than he already had. “I still miss Z so much but then… maybe I always will. I hurt like hell but… fuck, I can’t let myself wallow. Z wouldn’t want me to sit around pining. He never was one to just accept things. He’d go out; smash shit up ‘til he felt alive again… so I guess that’s what I’ve been trying to do too… just throw myself into work; put everything I have into the jobs… and you know what? It actually helped ‘til Sophia died.”

At Ashton’s confusion, Louis smiled humourlessly.

“Soph was my friend, Ash,” he said quietly. “She knew the truth about my feelings for Z before he did and she told me she was pregnant before anyone else.” Louis shook his head slowly, his face hardening. “We used to talk so much and the stuff she used to tell me about him… well, it’s why I’m not surprised that Liam did whatever awful shit he’s done to you, Ash. Payne would do anything to keep people in line, no matter the consequences.”

Ashton could feel his pulse thundering in his veins now, his heart racing in his chest at how agonisingly dangerous Louis’ words were.

“Y’know, I don’t believe what Payne told us about Soph’s death,” the older man admitted, his tone growing bitter as he flattened his hair shakily, his cheeks heating with suppressed anger. “None of it added up, especially not when I remembered some of the things Soph told me and… fuck, nothing is ever as it seems here, is it?” Louis squared his jaw, his eyes prickling with tears as he knuckled them away carelessly. “I don’t think it was Vultures at all, Ash. I think Liam was to blame. In fact, I’m almost sure of it.”

“Lou -” the Texan interrupted weakly but it was no use. Louis’ anger had set him alight now and Ashton found he couldn’t blame him for it; Louis had lost so much at Liam’s hand and bottling up his rage could never end well for the blue-eyed Hornet. Ashton just wished Louis wasn’t inside the Speakeasy when he lost it like this, where anyone could overhear the traitorous words.

It was like signing his own death warrant.

“He was so cold when Z died too,” Louis continued hotly, apparently not even noticing the younger man’s weak attempts to quieten him. “He didn’t give a fuck. I think Payne always hated Z because he asked too many questions; refused to accept things at face value. Payne didn’t like that. He didn’t like us. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d played a part in Z’s death. Fuck, he’s probably arranging my own ‘accident’ as we speak. I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s insane.”

“Louis!” This time Ashton cut across him more harshly, his hazel eyes wide with fear at how reckless his friend was being. “You can’t say this. Not here.”

Some of the anger bled from Louis’ face as he watched the younger man, his shoulders slumping as a heavy sigh escaped him. Louis’ hands shook when he buried his face in them and Ashton wanted to comfort him but a scuffling sound reached his ears before he could move.

At first he just assumed it was the rats that he’d sometimes spotted down here but he soon realised it was footsteps, growing quieter as though someone was creeping away. His heart clenched in his chest as he processed this because… fuck, what if someone had overheard the things Louis had said? What if Liam found out and punished him?

Ashton darted instinctively towards the stairs, his palm settling on the damp stone wall as he climbed the steps as quickly as he could manage. Louis’ eyes were fixed on his back as he reached the entrance to the storage room and Ashton held his breath as he lurched into the room, his stomach twisting unpleasantly as he saw the briefest flicker of a shadow and the door leading up to the Speakeasy swinging shut.

His nerves made him feel sick as he returned to Louis on leaden feet, almost numb with fear as he sank down onto the crate beside his friend once more. His breathing was ragged, his curls knotted as he tightened his trembling fingers in them. The older man was watching him in silence, his face quite pale as he seemingly realised the gravity of the situation.

“Was there someone there?” Louis asked quietly, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip as he fiddled with the hem of his shirt nervously. Ashton nodded grimly and the older man’s face seemed to cave in on itself as the fear boiled behind his eyes.

“Fuck,” Louis hissed. “Fuck.”

Ashton’s heart was racing too fast in his chest now, his hands growing sweaty as he tried to choke down his panic. He was terrified of the repercussions of this for Louis - of course he was - but he’d be lying if he said there wasn’t a selfishness to his fear too because… fuck, what if Liam thought Ashton agreed with his friend?

What if the mob boss told all of the Hornets Ashton’s secret and they tried to kill him? What if Liam hurt Niall as punishment and it was even worse than the supposed ‘mugging’ the night before?

Ashton couldn’t have that. He couldn’t.

He had to keep his loved ones out of danger until his plan had come to fruition.

He had to keep the people he cared about safe.

“Couldn’t agree more,” Ashton said shakily as he buried his face in his sore hands. “Fuck sums it up perfectly.”

*

After no one came down to apprehend them, they began to convince themselves that maybe the sound had just been rats after all. Maybe the shadow up in the storage room had been a coincidence - someone coming in to check on their progress perhaps. Maybe no one had heard the things Louis had said after all.

Still, the tension didn’t leave them and, by the time the evening rolled round, the atmosphere in the tunnel was strained.

Louis left through the secret passageway at the Texan’s insistence, his expression furtive as he turned his collar up against the cold. The darkness swallowed him quickly and Ashton’s anxiety gnawed inside him as he watched Louis leaving, praying that his friend would escape this recklessness unscathed.

Ashton was tempted to follow his friend into the shadows but the inspection job with Biersack was fast approaching and there was a map he needed to collect from his office upstairs so that he could familiarise himself with the route to the new distillery. It was a pain but Ashton reasoned with himself that at least it would make him look less guilty if he purposefully showed his face in the Speakeasy.

He let his guard down fractionally as he slipped out of the storage room but, before he could reach his office, Liam’s door opened and the mob boss’ hand clamped down hard on his shoulder, freezing him where he stood.

“Not so fast, Irwin,” Liam said coldly, his dark eyes burning into Ashton’s. “I want a word with you before you leave tonight.”

He disappeared into his office without so much as a backwards glance, leaving the Texan alone in the doorway. He thought about running for a moment; thought about channelling all of his hatred, fear, and revulsion into the adrenaline already beginning to course through him but it was no good.

If he ran now, Liam would hurt Niall and allowing that went against everything Ashton stood for.

He could no sooner harm the Irishman than he could wound Michael.

It simply wasn’t possible.

“It wouldn’t do to keep me waiting, Irwin.” Liam’s voice sounded flat and empty tonight - almost like his anger had burnt out - and Ashton felt the hairs on the back of his neck rising as he trailed miserably into the room, his shaking hands twisting behind his back. The door clicked shut ominously and he flinched, trying not to remember the last few times he’d been trapped in here as his sore throat gave a phantom throb.

He wished with all his heart that someone would knock now and cause a distraction but it was no good. Liam had timed this meeting very well and Ashton knew no help was coming. Michael would long since have gone home now, as had Louis, and Harry had taken Niall out on a job with him to inspect one of the brothels where there’d been some trouble recently so the Irishman would be gone for most of the night too.

No one would know Liam had successfully cornered the Texan which meant that no help was coming.

Here was something else that Ashton would have to deal with by himself.

He felt small and afraid as he stood there in front of the mob boss’ desk, a shudder tearing through him at the awful shark-eyed stare Liam levelled at him. His revolver was resting on the polished wood, an empty tumbler of whiskey sitting nearby as he scrutinised the younger man dispassionately.

The fire in the Texan had burnt out now. Liam could see it and there was something incredibly satisfying about seeing Fletcher’s rage - that last lingering remnant of him - extinguished like little more than a candle flame. The innocence in Ashton’s eyes was gone now too, replaced with something too humiliated and twisted to name.

He was a burnt-out, faded wreck and Liam liked that, kind of; liked the bruises ruining Ashton’s pretty mouth and the way his bottom lip wobbled like he was trying not to cry. It made Liam feel powerful when he saw how much the younger man was trembling; made him feel every inch the infamous felon when a mere look from him was enough to send the blood draining from the Texan’s face, leaving him grey and dizzy.

Ashton hated the way Liam’s eyes were raking over him, that dark fire in them threatening to swallow him whole as he fought to contain his panic. At least if Liam was seated behind the desk like that instead of forcing the younger man down onto his knees, the Texan was safe. All he had to do was keep Liam sitting there. That way Ashton might stand a hope in hell of escaping this nightmare in one piece.

“I know,” Liam said suddenly, shattering the silence. He seemed content to replenish his whiskey as the younger man gawped at him in horror, panicking so much that the mob boss had found out about his confession to Michael or his visit to Luke that he was almost relieved when the older man elaborated, at least until he considered the repercussions.

“After so long as a Hornet, I really did think that Tomlinson might have learnt not to run his mouth,” Liam said scornfully, his eyes icier than they’d ever been. “All of that shit he was spouting down in the tunnels? If you ever hear anything like that again, I expect you to defend me, slut, or you’re as good as saying it yourself… and you remember what’s going to happen to you if I find out you’ve started mouthing off too, don’t you?”

Ashton hung his head, his shaking hands curling into fists by his sides as the tears boiled over. He was too afraid to speak and Liam looked away in disgust, shaking his head contemptuously.

The Texan was pathetic now, like he’d been hollowed out almost, and Liam felt quite proud of himself when he watched the younger man sway, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he panicked.

“Sit down before you fall,” Liam said sharply, his hand settling on the revolver as he used it to gesture to the chair across from him. Ashton collapsed into the seat, his movements jerky like broken clockwork, and pain flared inside him as he thought of Jack’s watch lying shattered on Michael’s kitchen table; as he glanced up and realised the mob boss was dissecting him with his dark eyes.

Liam wondered if Ashton realised how openly his emotions blazed on his face these days. He had no idea how the Texan had ever become successful at gambling but maybe that had been because the money didn’t matter to him so it was easy to remain impassive. His bruised, exhausted face was an open book now and Liam was tearing the pages out like a child ripping an insect apart, just to see what would happen.

Ashton was too shrewd and intelligent for his own good, and exceptionally skilled at hiding behind people. The mob boss was determined to destroy that. He was going to set the Texan on fire until there was nothing but a shadow left, the way Liam wished he’d ended Fletcher all those years ago, before the Great War had got there first and finished the job for him.

The mob boss set the revolver back down on the desk with a deliberate thud, hiding his satisfaction at the terrified look Ashton shot at the gun.

“There’s something I need you to do for me, slut,” Liam said, taking a sip of his whiskey and relishing the searing burn of it as it slipped down his throat. “I’ve had enough of Tomlinson whining and spreading lies. You’re going to bump him off for me, slut. I want him dead.”

Watching the alarm spreading on the younger man’s face as he processed what the mob boss had asked of him was undeniably rewarding. Liam sat back more comfortably in his chair to savour it, swallowing more of the burning alcohol as he watched the younger man’s hands shaking violently.

It occurred to Liam that the best part of this situation was that it allowed him to hit two birds with one stone. He’d known that Louis needed to be finished the moment the Hornet’s dangerous words had been overhead down in the tunnels and this presented the mob boss with the perfect opportunity to toy with Ashton in the same vein as he had done the last few months, seeing how deeply he could scrape at the Texan’s nerves until he finally broke.

“I can’t,” Ashton choked out, his hazel eyes damp with tears as he shook his head helplessly. “I won’t. Louis is my friend.”

That was an unexpected bonus. Liam hadn’t realised the pair of them were so close - he’d just assumed that Tomlinson was venting down in the tunnels because he resented the work - but this was going to be so much better.

“You don’t get to protest and you definitely don’t get to make the rules here, slut,” Liam said coldly, a sneer twisting his lips. “You say anything that isn’t ‘Yes, Mr Payne’ and I’m going to go right out into that bar, and see how interested everyone is to learn just how much you like sucking cock, slut. I’m sure they’d all have something to say about that… or maybe I could start with Frank instead. From what I’ve seen, he’d be all over you like a rash, Irwin.”

The tears in Ashton’s eyes boiled over but he didn’t argue, apparently convinced that the mob boss meant to uphold his threats.

“Yes, Mr Payne,” the younger man whispered, his words still rasping painfully even now.

“That easy, huh? Didn’t even have to threaten Horan?” Liam’s sneer became more defined now, his eyes glinting as he threw the rest of his whiskey back uncaringly. “You’re getting easy, slut. It’s almost no fun anymore.”

The younger man’s tears were falling faster now, his chin quivering as he tried to hold in his sobs.

“You’re going to kill him for me tonight,” Liam said quietly, his face hardening. “You’re going to make it look like one of Collins’ Vultures did it. That means you leave a fuck load of blood and no body or weapon for the Bureau to find; got it?”

Ashton pressed his bruised lips together hard, nodding wordlessly. He looked so frightened and small sitting there, his hat sitting crooked on his curls, his cheeks streaked with tears.

The mob boss held his gaze as he pushed the revolver towards the Texan, the warning in his dark eyes clear as Ashton reached shakily to take the extended weapon. Liam grabbed the younger man’s wrist bruisingly tightly, squeezing the fragile bones harshly as Ashton struggled, tugging weakly at the older man’s painfully forceful grip.

“There’s one bullet in this with Louis Tomlinson’s fucking name on, okay?” Liam said harshly. “You don’t even think about using this for anyone else… and then you get rid of the gun afterwards, okay? I don’t want the feds sniffing around.”

The turmoil on Ashton’s face shone like a forest fire as he stowed the revolver unwillingly inside his coat and Liam’s smile was so cold as he watched the younger man’s pain. He was glad the Texan had become fragile enough that he was this easy to read; it made everything he did to hurt him now all the more satisfying, in a way that tormenting Fletcher had never been.

“You finish this tonight, slut, and not a word to anyone,” Liam said harshly. “Now get the fuck out of my office.”

The horror of the situation seemed to have aged Ashton as he staggered out into the shadowy corridor, his hazel eyes wide with dismay as he buried his shaking hands in his pockets. The door swung shut behind him and Liam watched through the crack until the younger man had vanished from sight.

It seemed strange to think about how badly Liam had wanted Ashton to become a Hornet once. The fact that he’d truly believed the Texan could become a replacement Fletcher seemed laughable now, because Ashton’s brutality and bravery were mere shadows of his father’s, and he was far too easily manipulated for it to be any sort of challenge at all.

Ashton had been skating on very thin ice for a long time now, the list of his offences lengthening the more the mob boss thought about it: he’d gone behind Liam’s back and fraternised with a Vulture like a little slut; he’d panicked and almost fucked up the warehouse killing by being completely incompetent; he'd contributed to Harry’s decision to abandon Zayn’s body the night the Hornet had been killed… and fuck, those were only the ones the mob boss knew about.

Liam couldn’t have a liability like that tearing up Chicago while he was trying to keep his city under control. In that regard - and probably in many others - Ashton was just as hot-headed as his wreck of a father.

The mob boss needed to ruin Ashton now before he could cause any more damage; needed to keep the Texan under his foot until he was gasping and desperate to please.

Liam needed damage control… and if ruining the younger man was the best way forwards, that was what the mob boss was going to do.

Liam would break Ashton.

It was just a matter of when.

Chapter Text

The world seemed colder and darker when Ashton stepped out into the evening chill. The gun was heavy in his pocket, weighing him down like shackles as he stumbled down the shadowy streets of downtown Chicago.

He felt sick with the knowledge of what he was being forced to do, his palms slippery with sweat as his heart raced like a hummingbird in the cage of his ribs.

His feet carried him towards Louis’ apartment mechanically, the self-loathing building with every step until Ashton was almost choking on it as the commuters parted around him like the sea crashing against rocks.

He sped up as the seconds ticked by, the night darkening around him as his jaw set with determination. He knew from comments made previously that Louis lived in an apartment near the docks, the lone occupant now that Zayn was dead and gone. The streets there were narrow and winding enough that, once Louis reached them, the Texan knew he wouldn’t stand a hope in hell of finding him again.

Unfortunately for the blue-eyed Hornet, luck seemed to be smiling on Ashton for once.

He caught up with Louis just as the older man was turning down an empty back street, his heart pounding in his chest as he doubled over, clutching at a stitch in his side. It was less than subtle and Louis looked up with alarm at the sight of the Texan, a frown creasing his face as he took a hesitant step backwards.

“Ash?” he asked uncertainly, a nervous laugh escaping him. “Are you lost or something? What are you doing here?”

Ashton wanted to cry but he settled for shrugging instead, forcing a smile onto his bruised mouth.

“I was just worried about you after earlier,” he said honestly, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I wanted to make sure you got home safe… but then I figured maybe we could get a drink instead.” He flushed suddenly, his eyes sinking to the damp ground beneath them. “If you’re not busy obviously,” he amended quietly.

“Oh,” Louis said as a faint frown creased his face. He glanced in what must have been the direction of his apartment before shrugging, a weak smile curving his lips. “Sure we can. I would have been alone tonight anyway.”

The older man fell into step beside him and Ashton tried to keep the conversation flowing but his words kept drying up in his throat, making his eyes prickle with tears. Louis picked up the slack though, talking about his plans for later on in the evening and asking jokingly about the younger man’s love life. It would’ve been a pleasant walk if dread hadn’t saturated every fibre of Ashton’s being.

All of his concentration was spent on trying to keep the horror of the situation out of his eyes but, when he caught Louis shooting him a wary look on several occasions, he wondered if he was managing at all.

“Are you hungry?” the older man asked when they passed a street vendor. “I can get us dinner if you like – my treat.” Ashton shuddered at the thought of eating when his nerves were this bad and Louis nodded, his face going curiously blank now. “Yeah, me neither,” he said quietly.

They walked in silence for a few moments longer before the older man looked at Ashton, his smile slightly strained as he buried his hands in his coat pockets.

“You want to head to the docks?” he asked hesitantly. “Get away from the crowds?”

His words didn’t make sense when it was taken into account that they were already on a relatively quiet street but Ashton wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Sure,” he said, the word coming out breathless as his heart pounded frantically in his chest. The gun was heavy in his pocket, weighing him down as the fear burnt him alive. He hated Liam so much for putting him in this position; hated himself for not preparing a contingency plan for a situation like this.

Louis’ hand settled gently on his elbow when Ashton almost slipped on the damp cobbles and a lump rose in the Texan’s throat as the reality of what he had been ordered to do finally sank in. He didn’t want to do this. The dread of it filled him like ice because… fuck, he hated the idea of hurting his friend but… but if he didn’t do this, he’d lose Niall who was so much more than that.

Ashton didn’t think he could live without Niall anymore.

He just wished there was a way to save Louis too.

They reached the docks in silence, the only sounds the gentle lap of water and the creak of the deserted boats moored nearby. The sky was already dark overhead, the stars faint pinpricks of light.

Louis walked closer to the edge, his shoulders hunched against the cold as he left his back deliberately exposed. The gun was in Ashton’s shaking hand now, the weight of it threatening to drag him down into the icy water as his heart ached.

The silence was deafening as he thumbed at the safety but he couldn’t bring himself to flick it off. All he could think of when he glanced down at it was Zayn’s soft voice and gentle gaze as he helped the Texan that night in the warehouse.

Ashton’s eyes burnt with tears, the shudders tearing through him as he tried to keep his sobs silent. The older man had straightened up now, his arms hanging limply by his sides as he stared out over the moonlit water.

“He wants you to kill me, doesn’t he?” Louis’ tone was mild, his expression determined as he spun slowly to face the Texan, almost like he’d already accepted what was about to happen. His eyes softened when he saw the younger man’s unusually pale face crumpling and he took a measured step closer, one hand rising like he was trying to comfort a frightened animal.

“If I don’t, he’ll… he’ll…” The Texan’s words trailed away as his voice cracked.

“You didn’t take the safety off,” Louis said gently and Ashton lost it, the gun slipping through his shaking fingers as he buried his face in his sore hands. The sobs hurt him as they tore themselves free and he sank down onto his knees, his boiling tears in sharp contrast to the cold night.

“I can’t do it.” Ashton’s jaw slackened with something like disbelief as he fell back into the dust, his fingers curling uselessly around the weapon. “I could never hurt you, Lou. How can he not realise that?”

“Because Liam doesn’t understand humanity,” Louis said bitterly, his eyes sparkling with tears. “Because Liam’s never loved anyone his whole life.”

“Then I’m sorry for him,” Ashton said simply.

He was shaking almost too hard to empty the revolver but he managed it, the single bullet landing in his trembling palm and glinting in the silvery light. No name had been scratched into the casing and Ashton felt unexpected relief at that, like he’d been granted a reprieve almost.

The older man was kneeling down beside him now, his eyes glistening as he reached silently for Ashton’s free hand, their fingers entwining tightly.

“I don’t blame you for tonight, Ash,” Louis said quietly, his expression cast in shadow as the moon shone brightly against the rippling water behind him. “I know he must have something over you or you’d never even consider doing something like this.”

“I couldn’t,” Ashton whispered, his eyes gritty with tears as he squeezed the bullet tightly in his fist. “You’re my friend.”

The lump rising in his throat made him want to choke and his words became strangled as his fear threatened to overwhelm him again.

“Niall’s going to get hurt now,” the Texan croaked, his heart breaking in his chest as he realised with absolute certainty that he couldn’t live with this. He couldn’t accept that the Irishman was going to be collateral damage because… fuck, Ashton loved him. He’d die for Niall, just like he’d proved that night Collins had shot him.

“Liam doesn’t have to find out you didn’t go through with it,” Louis suggested, the concern growing in his own eyes now as he took in the anguish on the younger man’s face. “You can tell him you did it. I’ll go on the run for a while; lay low and –” He faltered, his face falling. “It won’t be enough, will it? If Liam wants me dead, that’s it. I can never go home again.”

Ashton’s fingers curled around Louis’ wrist hesitantly, his eyes overflowing with tears at the pain on the older man’s face.

“I’m sorry, Lou,” he whispered but Louis just shook his head, a watery smile touching his lips.

“It’s not you, Ash,” he said softly. “No one made me say that stupid shit down in the tunnels, did they? Even if this proves that it is true.” He looked crestfallen now, his downcast expression saturated with grim certainty. “This is my fault… mine and Liam’s. Nobody else is to blame.”

They sat in silence for a moment as the night sky spun overhead, sending them further down the path of no return.

“Everything I have of Zayn is in that apartment,” Louis breathed, his voice growing rougher with tears as he hung his head. Ashton reached for him wordlessly, his trembling hand settling comfortingly on the older man’s shoulder.

“Not true,” he whispered, holding Louis’ gaze gently. “You carry him with you, Lou. That’s never going to change.”

Ashton saw the moment his friend accepted this as the truth, his expression clearing as he rose shakily, pulling the younger man up with him.

“Thank you,” Louis said quietly, his hand resting on Ashton’s arm as the determination coloured his expression once more. “We’re all going to survive this, Ash. I promise you that.”

“How?” the younger man asked hopelessly, too tired to be cunning tonight. He’d used up everything he had on his plan – all of his fire, energy, and focus – and he felt hollow without it burning inside him.

He felt useless.

“I’m still thinking about that part,” Louis admitted, drying his cheeks as he began to pace back and forth in the dust. Ashton relaxed his fist as the bullet began to bite into his sore palm, his tear-glazed eyes mournful as he considered what he’d almost done.

“Where did Liam tell you to kill me?” the older man asked curiously, interrupting the Texan’s mawkish thoughts.

“He didn’t,” Ashton mumbled, shrugging wearily. “He just said to do it tonight and make it look like the Vultures were here.” He felt uneasy discussing this in such a mild tone but he could practically hear Louis’ brain whirring beside him. “If Liam’s sent any Hornets out to make sure I follow through with this then they’ll be watching your apartment, not here.”

“Vultures, huh?” Louis frowned as he considered this. “That means no body, no bullet. That’s actually a good thing, Ash. It’ll make this easier for us.” The older man looked animated now, his blue eyes twinkling as he put his hands on his hips. “Throw the gun in the water, Ash. That’s the first step.”

Ashton knelt to retrieve it from the dust, hefting it in his grip for a moment as he looked down at it oddly. Without the bullet inside, it didn’t frighten him anymore. It was just metal.

He launched it off the edge of the docks as hard as he could, the splash satisfying as the icy water dragged the mob boss’ revolver down into its depths. It would never hurt anyone again and he hoped that one day the same could be said for Liam.

“Give me the bullet,” Louis said in a harder voice, reaching inside his own coat for his flick knife. Ashton watched the moonlight reflecting off the blade as the older man scratched Liam’s name into the casing, his blue eyes burning like fire. A shiver ran through the Texan as he looked down at the crude letters, his teeth sinking nervously into his bottom lip.

“You can’t keep it, Lou,” he cautioned. “It’s too dangerous.”

“I know,” Louis said, his eyes icing over as he threw the bullet as far as he could into the water. “It’s enough for me to know it’s out there.” He turned back to face his friend, the hatred in his cold eyes almost hungry now. “Someone will end Liam. Too many people hate him.”

Ashton felt the truth of that in his bones as the bullet sank beneath the surface.

They stood in silence together, Louis’ breathing rough as he struggled to calm himself. The younger man’s heart sank in his chest.

“Liam still won’t believe I went through with it,” he said brokenly, his shaking hands curling into fists. “It isn’t enough. No one will believe the Vultures did this.”

“Not enough carnage, is there?” Louis said thoughtfully before his face lit up suddenly, the cold fury abruptly snuffed from his eyes. “There’s a butchers round the corner. It’ll probably be closed now but I know the bloke who works there. If Sam’s not gone home for the night, I bet I can buy some pig blood off him.” He was rubbing his hands together now, his expression eager. “If we tip it out in the dust, I’ll bet we can make it look like it came from a bullet wound.”

Ashton tried to smother the hope growing in his chest, sure that this would just be another disappointment except… well, he couldn’t see any reason why this wouldn’t work. There was no way of working out that it wasn’t human blood spilt at the docks which meant that they might actually be able to get away with this.

“Lou, you’re a genius!” Ashton gasped delightedly and the older man smiled faintly, his expression self-deprecating.

“Not yet I’m not,” Louis said firmly. “Let me see if I can catch Sam first, okay? Just stay here and make sure no dock workers are around because I don’t want anyone asking awkward questions. I’ll be back soon, alright? I promise.”

The Texan watched him leave, his heart pounding in his chest at the knowledge of what he was doing. Liam would kill him for this defiance but Ashton found it difficult to care when there was a chance Louis and Niall both might actually survive tonight.

The Texan did as the older man had asked, creeping around the docks to ensure that no workers had stayed late for the night. The area seemed deserted though and, after almost twenty minutes of peering in through the windows and checking the boats, Ashton was satisfied that they were alone.

He returned to the place where his friend had left him with a spring in his step, his relief palpable when Louis returned a short while later, his gait awkward as he carried a bucket of blood carefully against his chest. The sloshing sound made Ashton feel a little sick but he was so grateful that the older man’s plan was working that he found he barely noticed the nausea.

“Sam thinks I’m more of a creep than usual,” Louis said as he came to a stop beside the younger man, his cheeks a little flushed from the brisk walk. “But I don’t care. If we actually manage to get away with this, we’ll forever have the knowledge that we tricked Liam with pig blood.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Ashton realised, his eyebrows rising. Louis shrugged, the twinkle in his eyes still very much present.

“A little,” he admitted, smirking weakly. “Life has been shit since Z died. I need a little excitement again.”

“There are easier ways than this,” Ashton said pointedly. “You could go rock climbing. Learn to ride a bike.”

“That’s cute,” Louis said, rolling his eyes as he tipped the blood onto the dusty ground. It spread out in a puddle, some of it seeping through the cracks in the wooden planks of the jetty nearby. It congealed quickly and Ashton shuddered at the gristly sight before him as Louis knelt to push the bucket under the water. It sank after a moment and the older man straightened up, a watery laugh escaping him at the ridiculousness of the situation as he patted Ashton lightly on the shoulder.

“Thanks for not killing me… I think,” he said, some of the humour slipping from him as he looked at the blood dripping through the cracks. It seemed a gristly metaphor for Louis’ freedom and Ashton reached for his hand instinctively, giving it a comforting squeeze when the older man didn’t pull away from him.

There was an idea forming in the Texan’s mind that sent his heart beating faster in his chest as the hope he’d been subduing flared to life.

“I think I know how to fix this,” Ashton breathed, his thoughts racing as he dragged Louis away from the spreading pool of blood, his hands shaking as he set his fedora on the older man’s head because it was the closest to a disguise he could find at short notice. “There are still safe places left in Chicago, Lou; places Liam knows nothing about.”

His heart rose into his throat as Louis fell into step beside him, angling the hat so that his face was cast in shadow. The younger man felt vulnerable without it but he knew his friend had to feel about a hundred times worse.

Ashton’s buried his hands in his pockets against the cold, the flick knife clutched tightly in his fist as Louis followed him through the dark streets. The older man seemed to trust him completely and the Texan prayed that his friend’s faith wasn’t misplaced as he led Louis towards Luke’s bedsit, hoping against hope that they wouldn’t be turned away.

Ashton knew he’d already asked more of the blond man than he had any right to but he prayed that this wouldn’t be the night when Luke came to his senses and slammed the door in their faces.

Ashton needed Luke’s help because – without it – he, Louis and Niall would most likely be dead by sunrise.

He didn’t realise he was murmuring the word ‘please’ under his breath until Louis nudged him gently, his blue eyes concerned beneath the rim of Fletcher’s hat.

“Talking to yourself?” the older man asked mildly, making Ashton flush as he rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably.

“More like praying,” he muttered and Louis sighed unhappily, biting his lip.

“Well, don’t let me stop you then,” he said. “I think we need all the help we can get.”

Luke had always been in awe of the Chicago-Kent College of Law.

He’d wanted to go to school there ever since he was a little kid, standing with his face pressed to the ornate fence edging the building as he watched the students inside. Luke had wanted to fit in there more than anything. He wanted to buy a fancy blazer and a strong satchel like his father carried, and to actually feel that he belonged somewhere for once.

A lot had changed over the years – his ruined relationship with his parents, his loneliness, the tiny bedsit to replace the luxurious house he’d grown up in – but Luke’s drive to help people hadn’t.

He knew being a lawyer was his best shot and that was why Luke had studied so hard; desperate to make the dark world he lived in a little lighter.

The end was almost in sight now too. His finals were this summer and he was already working hard to memorise as many case studies and dates as he could, aware that these would all be coming up in his exams. He was frightened to fail but he was also excited at all of the possibilities finishing higher education would grant him, and that was what Luke held on to when the anxiety almost overcame him and he didn’t feel good enough because, damnit, he was good enough.

Luke had always been good enough and he was proud of himself, and fuck what his parents thought.

He was going to make something of himself, not to prove his family wrong the way it might have seemed but because Luke knew he deserved a chance at happiness. He was going to work hard and succeed because life owed him some good luck now – especially after all of the shit he’d been through – and that was what Luke was striving for.

He ran his fingers lightly through his golden curls as he sat in his favourite armchair, a law manual open on his lap as he sipped at his cooling mug of coffee, trying to stay awake. He’d been studying for hours now and, once he realised he’d been re-reading the same paragraph for the last ten minutes, Luke decided to call it a day.

He tipped his cold coffee into the sink, pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly as he stifled a yawn. It was already gone nine o’clock and he was considering getting an early night when there was a sudden knock on the door. Luke frowned, fiddling with a blond curl anxiously as he tightened the fastening on his slacks and shrugged into an old cardigan, buttoning it over his bare chest as he drifted closer to peer through the peephole.

He wasn’t expecting visitors tonight – truth be told, he rarely saw anyone outside of college at all – but Ashton didn’t seem to have got the message. He was standing on the other side, his hazel eyes flickering anxiously around the corridor. It seemed as though he was speaking to someone out of sight and, frowning in confusion, Luke cracked the door open, keeping the chain in place.

“Blondie, thank god,” Ashton breathed, his face lighting up at the sight of his friend. “I’m so sorry to turn up out of the blue like this. I didn’t know where else to go.”

“It hasn’t been a week yet,” Luke said, his tone a little more pointed than he’d intended in his weariness. He pursed his lips unhappily at the crestfallen expression on the smaller man’s face, folding his arms across his chest and hoping that the cardigan was doing enough to cover him up as he shivered at the chill from the hallway outside. “I haven’t heard back from Ben yet, Ashy. You said I’d have more time. I can’t just drop everything every time you ask.”

“I know,” Ashton said softly, his eyes sad. “And I’m sorry, okay? But that isn’t why I’m here tonight.” He bit his lip, his face unusually pale in the shadows. “I hate to ask this of you but… it’s too dangerous to loiter out here. Can we please come in?”

“We?” Luke repeated, pressing his lips together flatly as he removed the chain and stepped back, making room for the Texan and his mysterious companion to enter the room.

The stranger was small – smaller even than Ashton – with neat brown hair mostly hidden beneath what looked like the Texan’s fedora. He had a pleasing sort of face, handsome without being breathtaking, his blue eyes piercing enough that it distracted from the sharp line of his jaw.

A strange air of mischief and sadness lingered around him like fog, and Luke surprised himself when he realised he was hoping that this wasn’t the man Ashton had fallen for.

The stranger looked exhausted as he followed the Texan into the room, his face prematurely lined with grief and a bone-deep weariness that hinted at a hard life. He seemed skittish, his hands trembling and his eyes flickering anxiously around the unfamiliar surroundings, almost like he was torn between breaking down in tears and feeling gratitude that he was even still there at all.

It became quickly apparent that this was a man who had been through unimaginable pain and Luke’s heart ached for him, even as he buried the emotions as best he could in the face of the distress burning in Ashton’s eyes.

“What can I do for you, Ashy?” Luke asked quietly, saving the smaller man the trouble of asking him. He could see quite clearly that the Texan was struggling and he didn’t want to make things any harder for him than they already were, even if Luke was angry at the disruptions and favours. “Who’s your friend?”

The stranger’s cheeks heated a little and Luke pulled the cardigan tighter around himself, quite certain that he hadn’t imagined those pretty blue eyes tracing the smooth expanse of pearly skin.

“This is Louis,” Ashton said quietly, giving the stranger an awkward pat on the arm. “Lou, this is Luke. He’s a... friend.” He stumbled over the word a little but no one called him out on it and the Texan relaxed a little, his shoulders slumping as he fixed the blond man with the full force of his soft hazel eyes.

“Blondie, you remember me telling you about my bastard of a boss?” he asked. Luke bit his lip, nodding hesitantly. “Well, he’s got it in for Louis here,” Ashton said heavily. “Lou needs somewhere to stay – just while I sort things out the way I promised, yeah? Just until it’s safe.”

“And how long’s that likely to be?” Luke asked uncomfortably, pointedly not looking at this enigmatic Louis to avoid blushing. “I have finals to study for. I’m not willing to jeopardise my career for this.”

“Lou will be quiet as a mouse if you say yes,” Ashton said with a hint of desperation now. “I know this is putting you at risk and I’m so, so sorry for that. You’re my friend – or I’d like you to be anyway, if you’ll have me – but… well, Lou is my friend too… and people want him dead, blondie. They want me to kill him and I refuse to do that. I never want to hurt anyone again.”

Luke felt something softening in his chest and he already knew that he’d agree to this, even if Ashton’s dangerous plan took months to come to fruition. He’d never been good at denying the Texan anything and Louis was watching him anxiously now too, his blue eyes wide like he was hardly daring to hope.

“Of course he can stay here,” Luke said softly. “If it’s life or death in any case.”

“It is,” Louis said, his voice sweeter than the blond man had been expecting, his words lilting as though he was making music. “Thank you, Luke. You might have just saved my life.”

The blond man smiled bashfully, slipping his hands casually into the pockets of his slacks as he leant against the wall. His cardigan fell open a little and Louis’ eyes flickered back to his chest, taking in the smooth line of his collarbone and the broad muscles of his shoulders.

Luke realised then that this wasn’t the man Ashton loved. He was just a friend who’d been caught in the crossfire of a gang war and, although his instincts screamed at him not to get any more involved than he already was, Luke knew he’d never be able to turn away a stray.

He looked at Louis and saw a man who deserved a second chance.

“Thank you, blondie,” Ashton said gratefully, a smile creasing his face when the smaller man returned his fedora with a soft look. “Just while I figure out what to do, yeah? I promise.”

Luke watched the disgraced Hornet carefully; saw the dark bruise-like circles under his pretty, tired eyes and the specks of what looked like blood staining the crumpled material of his shirt. Louis’ soft hair was ruffled and messy from the fedora, sticking up in uneven spikes that he seemed to become aware of when the blond man’s gaze settled there. He flattened it with a sheepish expression and Luke smiled faintly.

“There’s a place for him here, Ashy,” he said heavily. “For as long as you need.”

Possibly against his better judgement, Luke trusted Ashton not to bring someone dangerous to his door. He was frightened but the fear was buried beneath his desire to do the right thing, both to help Louis and the Texan who badly needed all of the support possible, especially in the light of whatever dangerous plan he was concocting.

“Thank you, blondie,” Ashton breathed, drawing the blond man into a hug and apparently taking both of them by surprise if the sudden redness staining his cheeks was any indication. The Texan stepped back quickly in embarrassment, his hazel eyes settling on Louis where the smaller man was standing awkwardly nearby. Ashton reached for his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze as he held the Hornet’s gaze.

“I’ll fix this as quickly as I can,” the Texan said softly. “I promise.”

“It’ll be okay, Ash,” Louis said solemnly. “I believe in you.” A little worry coloured his features though and he tightened his grip on the younger man’s hand, apparently not quite willing to let go just yet. “It’s dangerous to be out alone this late at night. You’re going straight home now, right?”

“Not yet,” Ashton said grimly. “There’s still one more thing I have to do first.”

He left soon after that, his fedora angled low and his collar turned up against the cold. Luke lingered in the doorway as the Texan disappeared, steeling himself before he locked the door and turned to face his unexpected house guest.

“I’m sorry the place is such a mess,” the blond man murmured, his cheeks heating a little. He wished he’d put on a shirt under the cardigan. He wished Ashton had given him some fucking warning.

“Nothing to apologise for,” Louis said firmly. “This was sprung on you! And honestly, if you think this place is a mess, you should see the state of my apartment... well, my old apartment I guess.” His face fell for a moment and he wrapped his arms around himself tightly, looking smaller than ever as he nibbled on his bottom lip.

“You and Ash slept together, didn’t you?” he asked suddenly, apparently keen to change the subject. “That was pretty awkward back there.”

“So what if we have?” Luke tried not to sound defensive but he was fairly certain he hadn’t managed it, especially when the flush spread down his throat and painted his pale skin red. “That’s not going to be a problem, is it?”

“Not at all,” Louis said, shrugging easily. “I was with the same bloke since high school. We were together for almost a decade before he died. I’d be a bit of a hypocrite if I didn’t want young Ashton discovering the joys of Chicago’s delightful queer community.”

“Such as it is,” Luke said a little sourly, although he couldn’t resist smiling a tiny bit at the sparkle in the older man’s soft blue eyes, even as a lump rose in his throat at the sadness on Louis’ face.

“Were you doing something before we turned up here?” the Hornet asked curiously. “I’m sorry if we interrupted you. Just point me in the direction of a corner where I won’t be in the way and I’ll try to keep to myself. I don’t want to be a bother.”

“You’re not,” Luke said automatically, unsure if this was true or not. He bit his lip suddenly as the awkwardness he had smothered made itself known again. “I was actually about to have an early night when you arrived although…. I guess you can take my bed now, right? Never let it be said that I’m not a good host.”

Louis rolled his eyes fondly, looking grateful all the same.

“Nonsense,” he said softly, his lips tugging up into a smile. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“No guest of mine is sleeping on the floor!” Luke disagreed, his tiredness dissipating a little in the light of the older man’s grin. “At the very least, we’re going to build you a beautiful mattress out of armchair cushions.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” Louis said, his lips quirking up warmly. “Better get started, eh? Don’t want to keep you from your beauty sleep.”

“Oi! I don’t need beauty sleep!” Luke said grumpily, grabbing a cushion from the armchair and tossing it in the vague direction of an empty patch of floor. Louis smiled again, his blue eyes glittering.

“No, you don’t,” he agreed amusedly. “If you get any more beauty sleep, there’ll be no chance for the rest of us at all.”

“Nonsense,” Luke muttered, mimicking the older man earlier as a blush coloured his cheeks. “Now let’s get this bed set up for you, yeah?”

They spent the next few minutes assembling a slightly questionable mattress on the floor near the blond man’s sleeping quarters. Luke dragged some of the knitted blankets over from his own bed and Louis accepted them with a graceful smile, draping them over the armchair cushions carefully. They stood back to admire their handiwork once it was done, both of them too hot now after lugging the soft furnishings around.

“That was some unexpected physical exertion,” Luke said awkwardly before he cringed at how weird that sounded.

Louis snorted, a huff of laughter escaping him as he brushed his dark hair back from his forehead. He shrugged out of his coat and draped it over the back of a dining chair, and Luke tried to hide his blush at the smile the older man tossed him over his shoulder.

“Thank you for your hospitality, Luke,” Louis said and, beneath the humour on his face, his eyes were serious.

The blond man smiled, his gaze flickering towards the bouquet Ashton had brought him as he felt a pang of something profoundly sad.

“That’s okay, Louis,” Luke said softly, his words honest. “I just want to help you.” 

This was almost definitely a bad idea.

Ashton didn’t much like walking alone in the dark at the best of times but crossing over to the Vulture’s side of Chicago when Liam already wanted him strung up only worsened his fear. The Texan just hoped this visit paid off because he didn’t like to think about the consequences if it didn’t.

His anxiety coiled like fire in his chest as he hurried through the shadowy streets, his heart pounding and his hazel eyes wide. He was afraid but he was also incredibly relieved because, no matter what happened now, Louis was alive and Niall would be safe. That was all that mattered tonight: his loved ones and the next stage of his plan… and it was one that he was dreading, mostly because he didn’t want to be tortured to death by a furious gangster hell-bent on revenge.

Ashton made it to Calum’s apartment building with a grim expression on his face, his hands curled into fists as he struggled to keep his breathing even. There was no one around and the barman wasn’t home yet so Ashton settled against a low wall nearby to wait, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he counted the cobbles on the road in front of him.

He made it to one hundred and eleven before Calum arrived, clearly tired after a shift at the Speakeasy although he visibly perked up at the sight of the Texan waiting for him.

“Back for round two, are we?” he asked teasingly and Ashton flinched, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment as he fought to ignore the phantom pain in his throat; the weight of Liam’s hands on his shoulders as he forced the younger man down onto his knees; the harshness in his voice as he called Ashton ‘slut’.

“Hey, pretty boy,” Calum said softly as he quickly closed the distance between them. “I’m just joking, yeah? Just joking.” His hand settled comfortingly on the Texan’s wrist, his chocolate brown eyes gentle as he crouched down in front of the younger man. “What’s up, Ash? Has something happened?”

Ashton inhaled deeply, drying his cheeks with his sleeve as he gave Calum a watery smile, his dimple barely creasing his cheek.

“I’m taking a big risk by coming here,” he said quietly, glancing down to where his shirt had slipped enough that the hornet tattoo was visible. “I’m here on business, Cal.”

“Hornet business?” Calum asked, his dark eyes glinting as he straightened up. Ashton rose too, looking up at the older man with a mild expression on his face as he started to wonder just how dangerous this situation was. He didn’t think the barman would turn on him but the Texan wouldn’t have been prepared to lay money on it and the realisation of this sent adrenaline prickling through his veins.

“No,” Ashton said at last, his nostrils flaring with remembered anger as he thought of what Liam had ordered him to do tonight. “This business is my own. Mr Payne doesn’t want me here.”

“Going rogue, are we?” Calum asked teasingly but Ashton didn’t smile.

“You have no idea, Cal,” he said quietly, his voice serious. “Now can we talk or not?”

Calum sat down on the wall Ashton had just vacated, crossing his legs at the ankle as he looked up at the younger man with a curious expression on his tanned face.

“You can talk,” he said calmly. “I’m willing to listen.”

There was a tension rippling in the air between them that had never been present before, mostly because they’d never acknowledged that they were both members of warring gangs permanently at each other’s throats.

“I need to meet with Collins,” Ashton said, blunt and to the point. “Urgently.”

“Not a chance,” Calum said at once, his eyebrows rising as he gawked at the younger man in shock. “Mitchy doesn’t like Hornets. He’d sooner have you shot.”

“Well, he’s already done that,” Ashton said coldly, wrenching his shirt collar aside so roughly that the fabric ripped as he revealed the puckered scar on his shoulder. “This time I need to talk to him. I have some information I think he’d benefit from.”

Calum’s eyes were wider now, his posture tense as he bit at the edge of his thumb.

“You’re serious about this, aren’t you?” he asked, his gaze still glued to the Texan’s scar with a look of morbid fascination on his face.

“Deadly,” Ashton agreed, his hands trembling faintly as he straightened his shirt with a grimace. “I need to talk to him, Cal. As soon as possible.”

“Mitchy won’t like it,” Calum said uncertainly. “He’s going to ask why he should meet with you too. What am I supposed to tell him?”

Ashton tensed, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip as he looked at the older man nervously.

“What do you know about Fletcher Irwin?” he whispered, grimacing when Calum’s mouth twisted into a sneer as he shook his head disgustedly.

“Irwin’s the Hornet who slaughtered Mitchy’s entire family,” the barman said coldly. “He was a fucking monster who wouldn’t know honour if it hit him in the face. He’s the reason the Hornets and the Vultures can’t work together anymore. All of the shit between the gangs in Chicago right now all stems from him.”

Ashton processed this silently, his heart aching unexpectedly at the vehemence on the older man’s face.

“You think we have honour?” he asked quietly, making Calum look up in surprise.

“Of course we do,” the barman said, a little calmer now as he watched the younger man curiously. “There are lines that we would never cross, Ash. Things that are too far even for us… but Irwin never let those things stop him. If this was a story, he’d be the villain. No doubt about it.”

Ashton's heart sank in his chest as he dropped back down beside Calum, the cold of the bricks seeping into his bones as he stared down blankly at the damp cobbles in front of them.

“Fletcher Irwin’s my father, Cal,” he said softly.

Calum sucked in a shocked breath beside him, his entire body going rigid.

“I’m sorry,” Ashton breathed, hating the dawning realisation on the barman’s face as he processed the younger man’s Texan accent for the first time. “But now you see why I need to meet with Mitchy, don’t you?” His voice took on a note of desperation, his hazel eyes prickling with tears. “There are wrongs that need to be righted, Cal. I have to talk to him.”

“He’ll kill you,” Calum said quietly, his own eyes damp as he continued to stare at the younger man in disbelief. “He’ll… he’ll agree to meet you for sure but… Ash, you won’t survive the meeting. How can I arrange that in good conscience? I don’t want you to die, whether you have a monster for a father or not.”

The barman’s hand settled over Ashton’s on the wall and the Texan blinked back his tears, swallowing with difficulty past the lump rising in his throat at this unexpected display of acceptance.

“I have to try,” the Texan said hopelessly. “I refuse to spend the rest of my life trapped here… and fuck, Cal, I wasn’t kidding earlier. I really do have important information for Collins. It could be invaluable if he actually listens to me.”

“And you’re prepared to gamble your life on that?” the barman asked doubtfully.

“I have to be,” Ashton said quietly as the tears burnt in his eyes. “I have too much to lose now to risk letting things continue the way they have been. Will you at least try to convince him, Cal?”

The older man sighed, his shoulders slumping as he stroked Ashton’s knuckle gently with the pad of his thumb.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Calum said miserably. “But I’m making no promises, okay?” He looked serious now, taking Ashton’s hand carefully in both of his own as he twisted to look the younger man in the eye. “Ash, even if he agrees and I can get him to give you a chance… I really think this is a bad idea. He’ll want you dead the moment he sees you.”

Ashton shrugged, his hazel eyes glimmering weakly beneath the inky black sky overhead.

“I’d rather die knowing that I at least tried to save the ones I love,” he said honestly. “That’s enough for me, Cal. Thank you.”

The silence grew between them for a long moment, broken only by the wind picking up and their quiet breaths as they sat together in the darkness.

“The ones you love,” Calum repeated softly, his dark eyes gentle. “Who might they be, pretty boy?”

Ashton’s lips twitched into a tired smile as his thoughts drifted.

“Niall,” he replied gently. “And Michael.”

Calum’s eyes twinkled as he grinned.

“Michael?” he repeated, his face lighting up when the younger man blushed. “Who’s Michael, pretty boy?”

The Texan hid his smile behind his hands, his weariness and the near-constant stress stripping him of his inhibitions as he thought about how complete the doctor made him feel whenever they were together.

“He’s amazing,” Ashton said reverently before his cheeks flushed pink. “He told me he loved me the other day.”

“And you love him back,” Calum said firmly, like it wasn’t a question. “Did you tell him how you felt?”

“No,” the younger man whispered, his face falling. “I was too scared.”

The barman winced good-naturedly, his chocolate brown eyes soft as he squeezed the younger man’s shoulder comfortingly.

“You look happy when you talk about him,” Calum said quietly. “And thinking about him then was the happiest I’ve ever seen you, Ash. That should tell you how you feel, shouldn’t it?”

“I know how I feel,” Ashton said softly. “It’s Liam that I’m worried about. I don’t want to put Michael at risk and… fuck, if Liam so much as touches Mike then…” He faltered, shaking his head in quiet anger. “I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“So you’re trying to find a way out now,” Calum realised, nodding slowly. “That makes sense, Ash, and I promise I’ll do what I can to convince Mitchy, okay? You deserve a chance to be happy.”

“Thank you, Cal,” the Texan breathed, a tired smile spreading across his face when the older man drew him into a warm hug. Ashton tucked his face away into the barman’s neck for a moment, just appreciating the closeness and how lucky he was to have a friend like Calum.

“It’s the least I can do for you, pretty boy,” the barman said fondly. “Now make sure you get home safely, okay? It’s really late now and you look like you need some sleep.”

“Rude,” Ashton huffed and Calum smiled.

“Silly,” he said, his eyes sparkling. “Oh, before you leave, Ash, shall we say you come back this night next week? I work my early shift at the bar on Thursdays and I’ll definitely have spoken to Mitchy by then, I promise.”

“That sounds perfect, Cal,” the Texan said, fighting to smother the anxiety he could feel. “Thank you for doing this.”

He gave Calum one last hug goodbye before he strode off into the darkness, feeling the barman’s eyes on his back until the shadows swallowed him whole.

Ashton hoped so badly that his plan would continue to unfold successfully; that it would come to fulfilment without anyone uncovering the truth until it was already too late to stop him.

He hadn’t even told Niall what he was planning because he didn’t want the blond man implicated and, although their increasingly strained relationship pained him, it was too dangerous to tell him the truth.

At least if it all went wrong now, it would be Ashton’s head on the chopping block and not Niall’s.

The Texan loved the Irishman too much to put him at risk like that.

He’d do anything to keep him safe. 

Niall’s bedroom door was shut when Ashton finally made it back home, shaking from the cold and the growing fear as his dangerous plan slowly became a reality.

He hung his coat and hat up quietly, kicking his shoes off in the hall before he tossed his clothes onto his bed, still unmade from that morning. The rumpled sheets looked cold and unwelcoming as he changed into his pyjamas and, after a moment of hesitation, he stepped back out into the dark hallway, wondering if the blond man was still awake.

Ashton hesitated outside the Irishman’s door, his heart aching in his chest when he heard the painful sound of sobs being smothered in a pillow. The Texan turned the handle hesitantly, his eyes stinging when he caught a glimpse of Niall’s tear-streaked face in the moonlight.

“Oh, Ni,” he breathed, crawling onto the older man’s bed wordlessly as he wriggled under the blankets with him. He wrapped his arms around his best friend’s waist and, after a moment, Niall relaxed back against his chest, letting out another quiet sob.

His cheeks were flaming with embarrassment at having been caught crying, his expression disgraced as he hid his face in the pillow. Ashton was sure it was because of how badly he was treated at the Speakeasy because Niall was being belittled and judged by everyone these days - even Frank - and his fall from grace had hit him hard.

The Texan’s heart broke for his best friend as he cuddled him closer, one hand rising to stroke Niall’s chest gently, his palm resting right over his racing heart.

“Where’ve you been?” the Irishman croaked, his eyes gritty with tears as he reached to hold Ashton’s hand tightly. “I was worried, kid.”

“I’m sorry,” the younger man murmured, avoiding the question as he pressed a firm kiss to the warm skin of his best friend’s bare shoulder. “I’m here now, Ni. You’ve got me.”

Ashton wanted to cry at the pain on the older man’s face but he settled for cuddling him tighter, a contented hum escaping him when Niall twisted in his arms so that they were facing each other. Their heads were resting on the same pillow, the tips of their noses brushing before the Irishman tucked his face away into his best friend’s neck, still ashamed of his tears even now.

“You’re allowed to cry,” Ashton murmured, repeating Harry's words from what felt like a very long time ago. “You’re allowed to get upset. You’re human, Ni.”

“I’m supposed to be strong for you,” the Irishman gasped out, his words choked with the tears he was fighting against. “You’re my kid.”

Ashton’s face crumpled as he pressed a chaste kiss to the older man’s forehead.

“I’ll always be your kid,” he promised into the darkness. “But you’ve been strong for too long. Now it’s my turn to be strong for you, okay?”

Niall watched him hopelessly, his glazed blue eyes utterly exhausted. Ashton reached to gently cradle his cheek, his thumb rubbing the overheated skin as the older man leant into the familiar contact.

Things didn’t feel awkward between them when they were this exhausted and Ashton was grateful for that when Niall pressed a soft kiss to the younger man’s curls, almost as though nothing had been broken between them at all.

“Everything’s going to work out, Ni,” the Texan whispered as he clutched Niall’s hand tightly. “I swear it.”

He wished they could stay safe like this, without fear or resentment.

Ashton wished this moment could last forever.

Chapter Text

Monday didn’t get off to a good start.

The very moment Ashton skirted past Frank and stepped into the Speakeasy, Liam appeared at the end of the corridor, holding his office door open expectantly. The Texan trailed towards him with his heart sinking in his chest, feeling wholly unprepared to lie his way through a debriefing session with the mob boss. The fear must have shown on his face because Liam looked satisfied as he pulled the door shut behind them and Ashton couldn’t quite suppress his gasp when the older man pushed him down into a chair.

“You’re jumpy this morning,” Liam noted, his dark eyes piercing as he searched the Texan’s face, his lips twitching into a smirk when he saw something that appealed to him. “How’s your head healing, slut?”

Ashton winced, his fingertips rising to touch the healing cut hidden beneath his curls. He pressed his lips together flatly, refusing to answer unless the mob boss demanded it, and Liam smiled like a shark scenting blood as his eyes flickered down to the younger man’s bruised wrist where he’d gripped it tightly the night before.

“The feds were called to the docks this morning,” the older man said, his tone suddenly jarringly business-like. “There’ve been reports of large amounts of blood spilt and clear signs of a skirmish. It seems there are suspicions that a body and possibly a murder weapon have been thrown into the water. All signs point to the Vultures.” Liam looked almost approving as he settled down against the edge of the desk nearby, one eyebrow rising in surprise. “Not bad, slut. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Ashton’s hands curled into fists as he remembered the fear that had gripped him the night before; the hollow acceptance in Louis’ face as he stood there defenceless, staring brokenly down the barrel of the gun. He kept his hazel eyes fixed on the floor, his heart racing frantically at Liam’s proximity as the mob boss reached out, his fingertips tracing the faint bruise still evident on the younger man’s cheekbone.

“Good slut,” he said softly, a sneer curving his lips when Ashton shuddered, flinching away.

“Sir, please,” he gasped brokenly, his eyes pressed tightly shut as he fought against the tears. “Please don’t –”

“I’m not going to punish you for doing what I asked,” Liam said coolly, gripping the younger man’s jaw tightly enough that the Texan was forced to look up at him. “It’s only when you disobey me that you get punished.” His thumb pressed firmly against the corner of Ashton’s mouth, forcing its way past his lips, and the younger man’s face crumpled at the humiliation as the tears boiled over.

“You’re a state, aren’t you?” Liam murmured, his gaze narrowing when Ashton gagged at the intrusion. “Look at that pretty mouth, still bruised and swollen. I bet your throat has been hurting too.” The younger man’s tear-filled eyes were glittering with hatred and desperation, and the mob boss nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. “Bet you still feel me every time you swallow, don’t you, slut?”

A sob escaped the Texan without his permission and, apparently satisfied now, Liam drew away, leaving Ashton crying on the other side of the desk as he returned to his own plush chair. The mob boss seemed content to watch for a while, taking in the anguish on the younger man’s face as he struggled to regain control of his emotions.

Abruptly, Liam lost interest in the Texan’s pain.

“Pull yourself together, slut,” he said sharply. “Dry your fucking eyes before I bruise those for you too. You’re pathetic.”

Ashton shakily did as he was asked and Liam’s breath escaped him in a hiss, a frown creasing his face as he watched the younger man silently.

“The job you’re working with Biersack has been brought forward,” the mob boss said eventually, glancing around the office impassively as the Texan sniffed pitifully in front of him. “It’ll be taking place this morning so I want you to find Styles after this. He’s the one who’s arranged it.”

“Yes, sir,” Ashton whispered, his voice thick with unshed tears. He stood uneasily beside the desk, keeping his gaze lowered as he struggled to keep his breathing steady while he waited to see if the mob boss was willing to let him leave. Liam seemed to be enjoying tormenting him but, after a long moment, the older man simply waved him away with a disgusted expression on his face.

“Get out, slut.”

The Texan couldn’t leave the room fast enough, his heart racing frantically as he shut the door behind him and hurried off down the corridor in search of Harry.

Ashton couldn’t wait for today to be over.

*

In the end, the job with Biersack was relatively straightforward.

The distillery seemed to be running smoothly and the moonshine was of a high enough quality that Liam would still be happy to sell it in his Speakeasies. The Texan hung back as they inspected the place, letting Biersack do the talking for once as he watched the nervous workers carefully.

As he looked at the men now - taking in their patched clothing and flushed faces - Ashton realised that they had never had any respect for the Hornets in the first place. It was fear that inspired them to work so hard and the Texan ached as he followed Biersack back up into the sunlight, hating the bounce in the older man’s step at another job completed successfully.

Ashton wanted no part in this anymore.

Seeing the naked fear in the distillery workers’ eyes showed that they’d been tormented by the Hornets before and it only confirmed to the Texan that he was doing the right thing by working to dismantle the gang. He didn’t want to belong to such a bloodthirsty crowd of gangsters. He didn’t want to frighten someone just because of the tattoo on his arm.

Damnit, Ashton didn’t want to be like Fletcher.

“Are you coming back to the Speakeasy now, Irwin?” Biersack asked once they were both standing on the street outside and Ashton frowned, shaking his head.

“Not today,” he said. “I’ve got something else I need to do.” He relaxed when the older man didn’t push him for answers, burying his hands in his pockets against the chill of another cold, bright spring day.

“Fair enough,” Biersack said with a shrug. “I’ll let Mr Styles know that everything’s running as it should be. You’re back tomorrow?”

“I am,” Ashton said and the older man nodded thoughtfully.

“Then I’ll see you then,” Biersack said simply. “Good work, Irwin.”

He strolled off into the bustle of another busy market day and Ashton watched until he was out of sight before he began to walk in the opposite direction, already focused on the next stage of his plan.

It was time to revisit Luke and find out if he’d been able to arrange a meeting with the Bureau.

The Texan’s stomach filled with nervous butterflies as he strode down the street, already deciding on taking a circuitous route on the off-chance that Biersack doubled back to see where the younger man was going. The last thing Ashton wanted was to implicate Luke and have the Hornet discover Louis’ whereabouts, especially when the news of his supposed death hadn’t yet reached all of the mobsters.

The Texan quickly lost himself in the crowds, for once finding comfort in the throngas he let the tide of market-goers carry him away from the distillery. Ashton’s excursion led him unexpectedly past a shop selling hats and, on a whim, he slipped inside. A bell rang over the door and it brought him back to that rainy day when Harry had taken him to Benito’s tailors for a moment, his heart aching as he remembered his bright-eyed innocence and the excitement he’d felt at the prospect of joining the infamous Hornet Mob.

All of that had been extinguished now but the sun was threatening to break through the clouds overhead and it felt like there was hope glimmering on the horizon. All Ashton had to do was keep reaching for it.

“Good morning, dear,” the shopkeeper said warmly as she looked up, her expression pleasantly cheerful beneath her neat silver hair. “What can I do for you today?”

He felt instantly at ease, the calm atmosphere of the shop soothing his frayed nerves like bathwater.

“I’d like to replace my fedora please,” Ashton said hopefully. “Right now if possible. I won’t have time to stop by again later.”

“That’s quite alright, dear,” the shopkeeper said cheerfully. “We have plenty of fedoras this way if you’d like to follow me.”

She led him to a rack at the back of the shop and the Texan looked at the stock thoughtfully, his gaze flickering back and forth before settling on his favourite. He pointed it out and the shopkeeper retrieved it for him, passing it to him so that he could get a closer look.

Ashton liked it at once. The fedora was the colour of slate, with a wide brim and a teardrop crown. There was a small grey feather tucked into the black ribbon sweatband and Ashton brushed it curiously with his fingertip, wondering why it had been chosen.

“Has your life been hectic lately?” the old woman asked, seemingly out of nowhere. The Texan looked up in surprise, an uncomfortable laugh escaping him.

“You could say that,” he admitted and she smiled, her eyes crinkling.

“Well, grey feathers mean that peace is soon arriving,” she said. “It’s symbolic.”

“Then I’ll take it!” Ashton spoke so swiftly that she let out a surprised laugh.

“You’re eager!” she said. “It’s refreshing. Most people who come here are so serious; it can get a little dull.” She took the new fedora back from him, carrying it over to the counter so that she could run it through the till for him. “This is a very smart hat, dear. Businessman, are you?”

“Something like that,” the Texan said wryly, reaching into his coat pocket for his wallet. He counted out the dollars and the old woman watched him for a moment, clearly noticing his age for the first time and assuming that because of his youth, he would also lack money.

“It would be a lot cheaper for me to simply repair your current hat,” she suggested tentatively. “It’s obviously of high quality. If you preferred, I could always take a look at it and -”

“It’s okay,” Ashton interrupted gently, his hazel eyes soft as he passed the old woman a handful of cash. “I’d really prefer a new hat,” he said as he removed Fletcher’s dispassionately, holding the faded material up to the light. “This one has seen better days.”

He left soon after, his step lighter now as he left the hat shop behind. The new fedora sat comfortably on his honey-coloured curls and he liked the idea of the feather bringing peace soon. It was a positive omen and Ashton let that comfort him as he continued on the long trek towards Luke’s bedsit.

He passed a dumpster on the way and, with barely a moment of hesitation, the Texan tossed Fletcher’s old hat inside.

He walked away with his hands buried in his pockets.

Ashton didn’t look back.

*

Luke and Louis seemed a lot more comfortable together than the Texan had been expecting.

They’d been sitting eating lunch at the dining table when Ashton arrived and he felt a little like he was intruding when the blond man ushered him into the room, quickly pulling up another chair. Louis’ sleeves were rolled up, his shirt collar unbuttoned casually as he nibbled at a crust of bread. His blue eyes were warm as he greeted his fellow Hornet but they quickly wandered back to Luke and Ashton wondered if it meant what he thought it did as he looked between the pair of them curiously.

“You two are getting on well,” the Texan noted, his hazel eyes crinkling a little when Luke’s cheeks flushed and Louis blatantly suppressed a smile. It was nice to see the pair of them looking so care-free and Ashton was loathe to bring up business but it was unavoidable. He was running on a strict time limit now - especially following his conversation with Calum a few nights ago - and, he reasoned, the sooner he left the pair alone now, the sooner they could get back up to whatever they’d been doing before.

“We were just debating the pros and cons of different sandwich fillings,” Louis said, changing the subject about as subtly as a sledgehammer through glass. “Luke here thinks crab-meat is better than liverwurst and is clearly wrong. What are your thoughts on this important topic, Ash?”

The Texan wrinkled his nose as Luke shot Louis a weak scowl which did nothing to hide the fondness on his face.

“Can I say neither? I’d much rather just have cheese. Maybe some pickles if I’m feeling daring.”

“I’d be ashamed if you weren’t daring in basically every other aspect of your life,” Louis said, smiling wryly. “I’m going to go against the grain now and say that it’s time to change the subject. Ash isn’t here to talk about sandwiches, Luke. There’s business to attend to.”

There was a long moment of silence during which Louis smirked proudly and Ashton rolled his eyes hard enough that they felt like they were going to fall out of his skull. Luke sighed heavily.

“Was that a bread pun, Louis?” he asked flatly. The blue-eyed man grinned, his cheeks heating a little.

“Possibly,” he admitted and Luke nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful.

“That’s what I thought,” he said before he turned to Ashton, his warm eyes sparkling. “I’ve changed my mind, Ashy. I don’t want this man staying in my house.”

Ashton laughed, his heart feeling lighter in his chest than it had in weeks as he watched their verbal sparring session with increasing amusement.

“I can’t stop the jokes now, Luke,” Louis said defensively. “I’m on a roll.”

“A roll? Goddamnit, Louis! Aren’t these getting a little… stale now?”

“You’ll be nice to me if you know what side your bread is buttered on, Luke!”

“Or you’ll give me a knuckle sandwich?”

“Rye on earth would you think that?!”

“Okay, okay,” Ashton interjected hastily, deciding to interrupt before the ridiculous conversation could descend into a lunchtime brawl. “It’s probably time to actually talk business now… although really, blondie; was ‘knuckle sandwich’ seriously the best you could come up with?”

“I was under pressure!” the blond man said defensively, clearly trying not to smile. “Thinking up bread puns isn’t as easy as you’d think. It takes a lot of brain power.”

“Which you clearly lack,” Louis said smugly, his blue eyes twinkling as he took another bite of the sandwich which had started it all. “I’m the master of bread puns now.”

“I’m not sure that’s something you want to be bragging about, Lou,” Ashton pointed out but his smile faded a little as he straightened up in the chair, his expression becoming more serious as his friends watched him attentively. “Did you hear back from the Bureau, Luke? I’m running out of time now and if you couldn’t get the meeting arranged, I’ll have to find another way of speaking to an agent.”

“You don’t need to worry, Ashy,” Luke said soothingly. “Louis helped me think of the right things to say when I visited the Bureau so that it didn’t sound suspicious.” He paused to shoot the blue-eyed man a warm look before his gaze flickered back to Ashton’s face, lacking the sadness that had been there previously whenever he was with the Texan. “I told them I was writing a paper on the pros and cons of the Prohibition set to be published this summer. Once I said it would have a positive sway towards the Prohibition, they were happy enough to help and they sent me to speak to an agent who happened to know Ben.”

“And they took your requests seriously?” Ashton asked, hardly daring to hope. Luke smiled, his blue eyes warm and encouraging.

“They did!” he said quickly, apparently keen to stop his friend from worrying. “The agent I spoke to is called Gordon. He was nice enough; really keen to help once I told him the true nature of why I was there. When I told him you had invaluable information for him, he couldn’t get the meeting arranged fast enough!”

The Texan bit his lip, hoping very much that this was a good sign, and wasn’t going to lead to him being ambushed and possibly arrested.

“Thank you for doing this, blondie,” Ashton said gratefully. “This plan wouldn’t work without you.”

Luke shrugged, a sad sort of smile playing on his lips as he reached to pat the smaller man’s hand gently.

“Gordon will meet you at midnight on Friday night,” the blond man explained. “He said he’ll meet you by the gates of Graceland Cemetery. Do you know where that is?”

“I think so,” Ashton said, biting his lip nervously as the butterflies returned in full force. He looked between Luke and Louis, his timid smile growing at the warmth on their faces. “Y’know, if the plan goes well, I’m hoping all of this will be over in a few weeks. Then you two can be out of each other’s hair and I’ll stop bothering you quite so much.”

He was fairly sure he hadn’t imagined the disappointment on their faces as they glanced towards each other and Ashton felt a pang as he watched them. Clearly there was something developing between his friends and Ashton hoped it had a chance to flourish; they both deserved to be happy.

“We just want to help you however we can, Ash,” Louis said gently, his hand slipping to cover Luke’s where it was resting over the Texan’s. “I know you don’t want to talk about whatever it is you’re planning but… are you sure there’s nothing else you need us to do aside from arranging the meeting?”

Ashton hesitated, his heart warming at how lucky he was to have friends like them.

“Well, there is one thing,” he said uneasily, swallowing audibly and suppressing the wince that still wanted to escape him even now at the memory of Liam’s horrible words. “Lou, this… isn’t an easy thing for me to ask.”

A tense silence grew as Ashton unwillingly withdrew his hand, his fingers twisting together nervously in his lap as he stared down at them.

“Remember those things you said that day in the tunnels?” he asked the blue-eyed Hornet softly. “Well, I think you’re right, Lou. I agree with everything you said. It wasn’t the Vultures who killed Sophia.”

Louis was watching Ashton with something like fear now, his shoulders tense with stress as he looked at his friend, his hand still resting seemingly unconsciously over Luke’s.

“What are you trying to say, Ash?” the older man asked nervously.

Ashton sighed, a grim smile touching his lips as his plan unfolded around him like the most lethal clockwork.

“In the next few weeks, I’ll be in some really dangerous situations,” he said honestly, his heart picking up in his chest as he thought about what was to come. “Lou, I… I need you to promise me that if I… if I die... well, you need to tell everyone - including the Bureau - that Liam killed Sophia. There’ll be an investigation and he’ll be arrested for her murder, and the Hornets will crumble away. Then you’ll be free to escape from Chicago.”

“Fuck,” Louis breathed, clearly processing just how high the stakes were for the first time. “Of course I’ll help you but… how do you know Payne killed Soph?”

Ashton’s heart clenched painfully in his chest as he fought not to remember that day in the Speakeasy: Sophia’s graceful defiance and her hands protectively cradling her bump; the animalistic hatred twisting Liam’s face into a snarl as he raised his revolver and fired into the back of his pregnant girlfriend’s head.

“I watched it happen,” Ashton said faintly, unable to meet their gazes as Louis froze and Luke gasped in horror. The silence was deafening now as he reached into his pocket, withdrawing an envelope containing several folded sheets of paper.

“I’ve written my account of the events here,” the Texan said weakly as he pressed it into Louis’ shaking hands. “I’d rather you didn’t open it unless the time comes to contact the Bureau. I’m… not proud of that day. There’s so many things I wish I could change.”

“You’ve got it, Ash,” Louis said softly, his blue eyes growing damp like his heart was breaking in his chest. “I’ll do whatever you need. Just say the word.”

“Thank you, Lou,” Ashton said sincerely. “You’re my fail-safe.”

Luke was clearly upset as he turned away to surreptitiously wipe his cheeks but Louis looked determined now, his eyes blazing with newfound purpose as he reached to hold the Texan’s hand comfortingly.

“I swear I won’t let you down, Ash,” he said, his voice rough with suppressed emotion. “This meeting with Gordon is going to go well and… and so will whatever else you’ve got planned… and you’re not going to fucking die, okay? You’re my friend, Ash, and I’ve lost enough friends. I’m not losing you too.”

Ashton dried his eyes as subtly as he could, swallowing past the lump rising in his throat. He was more moved than he could put into words.

“I like the hat by the way, Ash,” Louis said suddenly, kindly changing the subject before the tears in his friend’s eyes could boil over. “It’s much more you than the last one.” There was a knowing look on his face and Ashton’s expression softened.

“Thank you, Lou,” he said, smiling tiredly. “I think I’m gonna leave now before you both make me cry.”

“He always cries when people are too nice to him,” Luke said knowledgeably at Louis’ questioning look. “I made that mistake last time.”

“Well, we’re here if you do need a shoulder to cry on,” the older man said and, beneath the smile on his face, there was a sincerity in his blue eyes that melted the Texan’s heart in his chest.

“I don’t know what I did right to deserve you two,” he said softly. “I can never say thank you enough.”

Ashton left quickly after that, his throat thick with unshed tears as he walked briskly back the way he had come. He glanced over his shoulder every now and then, keen to ensure that nobody was following him who would report his whereabouts back to Liam.

Now that the meeting with the agent had been arranged for Friday, everything suddenly felt frighteningly real.

He was putting himself at so much risk and he prayed that the agent would give him the benefit of the doubt… but, as much as Ashton was loath to admit it, he was a Hornet and he wasn’t sure he deserved the trust.

Maybe he never had done. 

*

Niall and Harry were sitting together at the table when Ashton finally made it back to the apartment. They were drinking coffee in the kitchen, their coats and hats hanging up by the door as they talked in low voices but they both looked up at the sound of the door. The Texan waved awkwardly, a frown creasing his face at how grumpy and unhappy the Irishman seemed.

“Are you two okay?” Ashton asked with concern, surprised that Harry had accompanied the blond man home like this since it was very unusual. Niall shot the younger man a weak, exhausted smile that did nothing to set his best friend’s nerves at ease and the Englishman sighed, patting the blond man’s broad shoulder jovially.

“It’s just been a long day, Ash,” he said. “Don’t think Niall’s been enjoying work much since… well, you know.” Harry’s voice trailed away awkwardly as Niall buried his head in the crook of his elbow, grumbling under his breath. Ashton bit his lip worriedly.

“I thought it might help if I took Niall out for some drinks tonight,” Harry continued in a gentler voice, his palm still resting on the blond man’s arm. “Take his mind off things a little. Seems like he could do with it.”

The Texan watched Niall carefully, his hazel eyes sad as he took in how exhausted and drained the blond man seemed. Privately, Ashton thought Harry probably had a point but, in the interests of preserving what remained of his best friend’s self-esteem, he decided not to voice this out loud.

“That sounds like fun, Ni,” he said, trying to inject a little cheer into his voice. “I think you should go out tonight. It might cheer you up.”

“You mean you’re not coming?” Niall asked, his face falling as he looked up, his blue eyes sad. Ashton’s heart ached.

“Sorry, Ni,” he said heavily. “I’m not feeling it tonight. It’s been a really busy day and I just want to get some sleep to be honest.”

“That’s fair enough, Ash. I’ll look after him,” Harry promised although his green eyes were curious. “How come you were so busy today though? I didn’t see you around the Speakeasy much.”

“Oh,” Ashton said awkwardly, his teeth sinking into his lip again as he waved a hand casually. “I worked a job with Biersack… and I bought a new hat. Just errands really. I needed to sort out something for Mr Payne.” The words hit a little too close to home and he turned away under the guise of fetching a glass of water, not wanting Harry to see the almost-vicious satisfaction in his eyes at the prospect of his planned betrayal.

“Fair enough,” the Englishman said with a shrug. “So, Niall, what do you say? I’m sure Ash can look after himself for one night.”

“Of course I can!” Ashton said sulkily, leaning against the counter with a pout on his face. It was mostly for show and he was glad he’d overreacted when an unconscious smile touched Niall’s lips, encouraging him to grudgingly agree to drinks with Harry.

The older pair were just shrugging into their coats when there was an unexpected knock at the door. The Texan frowned as he squeezed between his friends to open it but his eyes widened when he saw who was waiting for him on the other side.

“Doc!” Ashton gasped in shock, reaching automatically to draw the older man inside out of the cold. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“It was… kind of a spur of the moment decision,” Michael said nervously, his cheeks heating a little as he gave the younger man an embarrassed smile. “I just figured… well, it’s been a while since we last spoke. I wanted to see you.”

“I’ve been wanting to see you too,” Ashton breathed, blushing when he realised he was still holding the older man’s wrist. The hallway was suspiciously quiet behind them now and his face burnt hotter. “Niall and Harry were just on their way out actually, doc,” he said, raising his voice as he tried (and probably failed) to seem nonchalant. “Do you want a coffee or something? I can make us coffee. You… you do like coffee, right?”

“What a calm and collected host he is,” Niall said sarcastically, his blue eyes soft enough that there was no sting in his words at all. “I’ve raised him so well.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Ashton muttered, trying to suppress his smile which proved impossible when Michael laughed in surprise. “Go out and get drunk, Ni. I’ll ask Mike to leave his medical kit - that way I’ll be able to patch you up if you trip over coming up the stairs like last time.”

“Oi! You said you wouldn’t bring that up again!” Niall said sulkily, his blue eyes crinkling with smothered amusement as he buttoned up his coat.

“I’m afraid I’ve let you down there anyway,” Michael said awkwardly from where he was still hovering beside the door. “I didn’t bring my medical kit tonight so you should do your best not to headbutt anything if it can be avoided.”

The blond man grinned, rolling his eyes wearily at the pair of them. He already seemed to have perked up at the mere mention of being able to drown his sorrows and Ashton was grateful for that, at least until Harry looked at Michael with a frown on his face.

“You don’t have your medical kit with you?” the Englishman asked in confusion. “What brings you here then, Clifford? I thought Ash must have got himself into some scrap without telling me.”

“Not that I know of,” Michael said easily, his smile belying the fact that he was uncomfortable. “I’m just doing my rounds, Styles. Horan and Irwin here injure themselves more than the rest of the gang put together. I’m just making sure they’ve healed up alright.”

Harry snorted at that, apparently accepting it without suspicion since he knew how accident-prone his friends could be.

“Well, Niall seems to be functioning as he should be,” the Englishman said lightly, pointedly ignoring the glower the blond man shot at him as Michael blushed at the gentle mocking. “I think it’s time we headed out now. We’ve dawdled too long already.”

“Oh? Where are you both going?” Michael asked curiously and Harry smiled, his eyes flashing a little as they flickered to Ashton’s face.

“We’re going to one of the Hornet-owned Speakeasies on this side of Chicago,” he said and, although he spoke smoothly enough, the Texan was quite sure that was a dig about Calum. Fear gripped him for a moment as he wondered if Liam had already been spreading his secrets but… but Ashton had done what the mob boss said.

There was no reason for Liam to think that anything was amiss at all.

“C’mon then, Niall,” Harry said brightly. “Let’s get going before all of the good moonshine is gone.”

With a hand in the small of the blond man’s back, the Englishman led Niall out into the corridor outside, pausing only to look pointedly between the two men lingering in the hallway behind him.

“You boys have a good night,” Harry said with a wry smile before the door clicked shut and they were gone. 

*

It felt strange to be alone again with Michael now, especially after the last occasion when they’d spent time together by themselves. Ashton’s guilt at abandoning the doctor after he’d confessed his true feelings was soothed when the older man stepped closer to him, his cheeks heating as he reached to take the younger man’s hands in his own. It made the Texan blush, his heart racing at their proximity and the apparent forgiveness Michael was prepared to offer him.

“So… how about that coffee?” Ashton asked awkwardly, almost stammering at how ridiculously flustered he felt at the doctor’s unexpected appearance. Michael’s face softened as he raised their joined hands, pressing a brief kiss to the younger man’s knuckles.

“I didn’t come here for coffee, Ash,” he said gently. “I came here for you.”

“But… but I left you last time,” Ashton croaked, his hazel eyes abruptly welling with tears. “You deserve so much better than me running out on you like a scared little kid.”

Michael sighed, his arms coming to wrap gently around the younger man’s waist as he drew him into a hug. Ashton’s head fit comfortably under the doctor’s chin and it made him feel strangely safe as he cuddled the older man back, more grateful than he could put into words for this second chance.

“You don’t have to say it back and you definitely don’t need to feel bad,” Michael said softly, one hand rising to card lightly through the Texan’s curls as Ashton sighed shakily against him. “I just… I heard the horrible news about Louis and… I don’t know. I just couldn’t be alone tonight, Ash. I’m sorry to turn up out of the blue like this.”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Ashton promised, stretching up on his tiptoes to press a gentle kiss to the underside of the doctor’s jaw. Michael’s fingers tightened in his curls for a moment and the Texan shivered, cuddling closer. “I… I need to tell you something, doc… about Louis.”

The older man’s back was resting against the peeling wallpaper now, his green eyes a little unfocused at how close they were as he peered down at the Texan curiously. Michael’s hands were shaking as they rose to gently cradle the younger man’s face, one thumb stroking soothingly over his cheekbone. Ashton didn’t flinch and the doctor ducked his head to kiss him for a moment, apparently heartened.

“What did you want to tell me?” Michael asked once he drew back, making the younger man bite his lip as the anxiety in his hazel eyes unfurled at the distressing memory of that evening at the docks. Worry grew on the older man’s face as he gazed at the Texan, a frown creasing his brow when Ashton sat down right there on the wooden panels, too tired to hold himself up anymore. “Do you know what happened, Ash?”

The younger man nodded mournfully and, after a moment of hesitation, Michael joined him on the floor, their legs tangling together as they both leant against opposite walls. The space between them seemed fathoms wide for a moment and a lump rose in Ashton’s throat as he scratched idly at a mark on his slacks, his hazel eyes glassy with tears.

“Yeah,” he whispered after a pause, unable to meet the older man’s gaze. “Liam wanted me to kill Louis, doc. He gave me a gun and told me to make it look like the Vultures… but, in the end, I couldn’t do it. Lou’s my friend and… and I don’t owe Liam shit.”

There was a long silence and, when Ashton finally risked looking up again, he discovered Michael watching him with curiosity and confusion plain on his face.

“So… so the Vultures did catch up with Louis in the end?” the older man asked, utterly perplexed. “How else…?”

“No, Mike,” the Texan reassured him, his hazel eyes softening. “No one caught up with him. Louis is very much alive.”

“But the blood -”

“It’s pig blood,” Ashton explained with a half-hearted shrug. “Louis’ idea. The man’s a genius under pressure.” He bit his lip uneasily, unsure how much information to share because he might have trusted Michael with his life but he was afraid someone would find out what he’d revealed. “Lou’s in a safe house right now and I’m working on getting him out of the city. It ties in well enough with some plans I’m already working on luckily.”

“Plans?” Michael repeated, the concern in his eyes growing although he was watching the younger man in awe now. “What plans?”

“I want this fighting to stop,” Ashton said guardedly, taking care with the words he chose so that the doctor couldn’t be implicated. “I’m working on a way to end this war. It’s dangerous but it’ll be worth it eventually. Just don’t mention it to anyone else, okay? That’s including Niall.”

“Of course not,” Michael promised but the hope in his eyes was overshadowing the worry now and Ashton was glad of that.

“I’m just tired of everyone being treated like collateral damage, doc,” the younger man said tiredly, running his fingers lightly through his curls so that they tumbled down messily across his forehead. “Too many people have already been lost. That’s why I’m glad Louis is safe.”

Michael’s emerald eyes were damp but so bright that it took Ashton’s breath away as they held each other’s gaze.

“You really saved him, Ash?” he breathed, the hope in his face blazing as the younger man shrugged embarrassedly, wiping a tear away with his sleeve.

“I just don’t want to hurt people, doc,” Ashton whispered, the tears lodged in his throat almost too thick to breathe past. “That isn’t me, Mikey. I want to make this mess better.”

The doctor shook his head slowly, apparently in wonder at the Texan’s courage and determination.

“You’re the bee’s knees, you know that?” Michael murmured, his cheeks flushing pink at the surprise in the younger man’s hazel eyes. “Every time I think you can’t get better, you do something even more amazing.” The doctor shook his head in awe, his gaze soft as he drank the Texan in, seemingly committing him to memory as the younger man sat across from him, his honey-coloured curls rumpled and his shirt creased from a long day.

“You think I’m that good?” Ashton asked softly, his lips tugging up into an unconscious smile as he wiped his eyes again, suddenly wishing that there was no space between them at all.

“Sure I do,” Michael said, his cheeks heating further at what he was about to say. “That’s why I need you so much, Ash.”

The words made Ashton’s heart melt in his chest as he pushed himself onto his hands and knees, moving shyly closer. He understood why the doctor looked so nervous now because… fuck, he was finally showing himself to Ashton. He was being open and honest, and that was all the Texan had been hoping for.

He could never put into words how much Michael meant to him.

“Thank you for trusting me,” Ashton whispered as he finally came to a stop, blushing prettily when the older man drew him gently onto his lap. The Texan pressed a tender kiss to Michael’s lips, his fingers tangling in the doctor’s sandy hair as he settled down warmly over him. “I’ve wanted you to need me all along.”

Michael was shaking as he reached up to cradle the younger man’s face, coaxing him down for another kiss. This one was deeper and hotter, more reminiscent of that night in the doctor’s bed when Ashton’s anxiety had overwhelmed him. The older man seemed to be thinking the same thing because he drew back suddenly, his cheeks reddened as he struggled to compose himself.

“Is this okay, sweetheart?” he asked gently. “I need you to tell me.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Ashton promised desperately, a groan escaping him when the doctor dropped his head to trail hot kisses teasingly down his throat. “Please, Mikey, I’ll tell you if I need to stop, I swear.”

“Okay, Ash,” Michael whispered, his fingers drifting to unbutton the younger man's shirt before he pushed the crumpled material gently from the Texan's shoulders so that it was caught around his arms. The doctor bit his lip at the expanse of tanned skin slowly revealed to him and Ashton whined when the doctor leant to suck a bruise into his shoulder, his cock hardening between them as his blood flooded south.

Michael drew the younger man closer, his mouth drifting lower as his tongue darted out to swipe hotly over the Texan’s nipples.

“Fuck,” Ashton gasped, his eyes falling shut as his fingers tangled in the older man’s hair. A soft whimper escaped him when the doctor’s hands slipped down to playfully squeeze his arse and his hips rocked forwards unconsciously, making them both moan.

“Really, doc?” the younger man asked breathlessly, his hazel eyes twinkling in the dim light as he drew Michael into another lighter kiss. “Right here in the hallway?”

“Why don’t you show me your bedroom then?” the doctor countered and… yeah, that was probably a good idea. There was no need to give Niall an unwanted eyeful on the off chance that the Irishman came home early and something about the idea of having Michael spread out on Ashton’s mattress seemed too good an opportunity to pass up.

“C'mon then,” the Texan grinned, clambering off of the doctor's lap clumsily before he drew a giggling Michael up with him. “Right this way, doc.”

Their hands remained entwined as Ashton led the older man down the hallway, his crumpled shirt still hanging open around him as the soft light in his bedroom enveloped them. Michael’s face softened when he looked inside, one arm coming to slip around the younger man’s waist as he pressed a gentle kiss to the Texan’s throat, possessive and needy.

“I like your room,” the older man said quietly, his green eyes softening as his gaze drifted over the newspaper articles pinned to the walls and the rickety bookshelf crammed into a corner, overflowing with well-thumbed novels that Niall gifted for every occasion.

“I like you,” Ashton said shyly, letting his unbuttoned shirt slip to the floor through shaking fingers. The timidness on his face faded when Michael drew him in for a soft kiss and he sighed contentedly as he pressed up warmly against the doctor, his hands fisting loosely in the back of the older man’s jacket. “You gonna take this off?” he murmured and Michael smiled against his lips, his eyes fluttering open to show glitter-soft emerald.

“If you help me,” he said lightly, a request that Ashton was more than happy to comply with. The Texan felt pleasantly calm as he made short work of the doctor’s coat and shirt, and something melted in his chest as he stroked over the soft, pale skin of the older man’s tummy, pressing a lingering kiss to Michael’s shoulder when he shivered.

“Bed?” Ashton suggested when he saw the way the doctor’s cheeks had heated with embarrassment as his hands slipped self-consciously to cover his stomach. Michael’s shoulders slumped with relief and he smiled, his arms winding around the younger man’s waist as he pulled them both lightly down onto the single bed. A breathless laugh escaped Ashton when they bounced onto the mattress and the older man relaxed, pressing his smile into the Texan’s skin as he settled down comfortably over him.

“Still okay?” Michael murmured, drawing back a little to search the younger man’s face carefully. There was a faint trace of worry in his eyes that was quickly extinguished when Ashton stretched to kiss him, his hands settling on the older man’s hips as he pulled him close enough for Michael to feel how hard he still was from their eager kissing out in the hallway.

“More than okay,” the younger man whispered, shivering as the doctor cradled his jaw gently. It still frightened him a little - reminded him of things better left forgotten tonight - but Michael was gentle and kind, and Ashton let that comfort him like a blanket as the older man’s thigh slipped gratifyingly between his own, the friction making him gasp in pleasure.

Michael’s tongue slipped into his mouth, stroking hot over Ashton’s as he rolled his hips teasingly, drawing out a soft moan from the younger man’s lips. The blankets were crumpled beneath them but the Texan barely noticed when Michael’s lips returned to his throat, trailing kisses up and down the warm skin as the doctor’s hands stroked comfortingly over his ribs.

“Ash?” the older man breathed, his expression unbelievably soft when Ashton looked up at him through glazed hazel eyes, his lips reddened and kiss-bitten as he clutched at the doctor’s shoulders. “Can I touch you, sweetheart?”

The Texan groaned softly, his eyes fluttering shut as his cock pressed hotly against where Michael was hard against him. His head was spinning now but he was still so much calmer than he’d expected, the burning energy inside barely present at all as he smoothed his hands gently over the older man’s broad shoulders.

“Please, Mikey,” Ashton begged, his voice cracking when Michael pinched his nipple, lightly rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. The Texan arched into the touch as heat unfurled inside him, moaning brokenly when the doctor reached to palm him through his trousers. He was already leaking and he shuddered at the feeling of Michael pressing down with the heel of his hand as he mapped out the shape of Ashton’s hard cock, the pad of his thumb rubbing teasingly over the tip.

The younger man threw his head back with a whine, his curls in disarray as he slumped back against the pillows beneath the doctor’s warmth. The bed was narrow enough that Michael was pressed close against him now, both out of necessity and lust, and the little rocking motions of his hips against the Texan’s thigh proved that he wasn’t unaffected by the sight of Ashton spread out in front of him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Michael breathed, pressing hot kisses anywhere he could reach as he fumblingly unbuttoned the younger man’s slacks. The doctor’s hot kisses were driving Ashton to distraction as Michael eased his trousers and underwear down carefully but he had enough presence of mind to wriggle out of them, a shudder tearing through him when the doctor sucked a bruise into his warm skin.

“Mikey,” the younger man moaned, his voice tight with relief and lust when the older man finally wrapped his fingers around the heat of Ashton’s cock. Michael fisted him slowly, still scattering kisses over the Texan’s chest as he rocked slowly against his thigh, the friction making his usually-pale cheeks flush a pretty pink.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” the doctor breathed, his words a little choked at how turned on he felt watching the younger man fall apart beneath him. “Gonna make you feel so good, yeah? I promise.”

Ashton stretched up to kiss him, his whimper lost in the older man’s mouth when Michael tightened his grip a little, his thumb smearing across the tip. The Texan’s hips rose to meet the doctor’s fist as he spread pre-cum up and down the shaft, the younger man’s lips falling open around a soft moan at the pleasure burning through him. His damp hazel eyes fluttered shut as he tucked his face away into the older man’s neck, pressing hungry kisses there as his hands spread greedily over Michael’s pale skin, wanting him closer.

Ashton could never get enough of this.

Never.

“Mikey,” he gasped frantically, his fingers tangling shakily in the doctor’s sandy hair as the older man kissed down his throat. The Texan’s hips were rocking up now, his eyes burning desperately as he fucked clumsily into Michael’s fist. The friction sent heat coiling irresistibly through him but it still wasn’t enough to push him over the edge and a frustrated sob escaped Ashton as he gazed up helplessly at the doctor’s lust-filled face, his eyelashes spiky with tears.

“You need more?” Michael murmured, his voice low enough that a shudder tore through the Texan as he whined helplessly, his muscles tensing in time with the firm jerks of the older man’s fist.

“Please,” Ashton choked out, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as his chest heaved. “Please, Mikey, fuck, please.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” the doctor said softly, pulling the Texan closer and turning him onto his side as he kissed his throat, his stubble lightly scraping the sensitive skin. “I’ve got you.”

Michael kept the movement of his fist steady but his free hand slipped beyond the curve of the younger man’s hip, sliding down so that he could fill his palm with Ashton’s arse. The Texan shivered delightfully when the older man began to gently knead the warm flesh, moaning brokenly into the doctor’s neck as tears leaked down his cheeks at the lust tightening in his stomach.

Ashton’s back arched when Michael’s finger slipped between his cheeks, a whine tearing out of him when the tip grazed teasingly over his hole. The sounds tearing out of the Texan became muffled when the older man kissed him quiet, his tongue fucking into Ashton’s mouth as the younger man fell apart beneath him, choked moans escaping him as his cock kicked out a spurt of pre-cum.

“This okay?” Michael whispered when he drew back, his green eyes surprisingly gentle beneath the lust as he kept his fist moving, his palm growing slick with how much the younger man was leaking.

Ashton’s answering litany of ‘please please please’ seemed to do the job because the doctor’s eyes twinkled as he raised his finger, wetting it in his mouth and hollowing his cheeks around it as he curled his tongue. The sight of it was enough to make the Texan whimper brokenly, his pulse racing in his veins as he started to near the end.

“Here you go, sweetheart,” Michael murmured, his lips making their way down the younger man’s throat as he returned his attention to Ashton’s hole. He circled the soft skin lightly with his fingertip as the Texan quaked against him, his cheeks damp with tears. It was the most achingly wonderful pressure and the younger man’s breathing was ragged now as he pressed bruises into the doctor’s shoulders, his hips jerking as his balls drew up tight to his body and his cock swelled in the older man’s fist.

The Texan was just seconds away from climaxing when Michael pressed the tip of his finger into Ashton’s hole.

It tore a cry out of the younger man as his muscles clenched down automatically, his hips rocking back as he tried to get more inside him even despite the burn. Heat flared inside him, his breath rasping out of him in panting gasps as his curls stuck to his forehead with sweat, his toes curling at the lust burning through him like fire.

"C'mon, Ash," Michael murmured, his breath hot against the younger man's skin as he ducked his head to suck on his nipple, his finger sliding deeper to brush perfectly against the Texan’s prostate. “Gonna cum for me, sweetheart?”

Ashton fell apart beneath him with a broken sob that he buried in the older man’s neck, his arse clenching rhythmically around the doctor’s finger as Michael scattered kisses over the Texan’s jaw. The younger man whined brokenly as he shuddered through his orgasm, a groan tearing out of him when he began to flinch at the overstimulation as it all became too much.

Ashton pushed Michael’s fist away from his softening cock with unsteady hands, his hazel eyes damp with tears when the doctor met his searching lips with his own. The Texan’s thighs trembled when the doctor gently eased his finger out, distracting the younger man from the slight sting with a deeper kiss as he reached clumsily to unbutton his own trousers, apparently done with waiting.

Michael's jaw slackened at the sudden pleasure burning through him when he curled his fingers around his cock, almost painfully hard now as he fucked his fist. There were tears burning in his eyes and his chest felt tight - full of something too desperate and aching to name - but it was soothed when Ashton reached for him, still limp and breathless although that didn't stop him from drawing the older man down into a hug.

Michael shivered against him, tucking his flushed face away into the damp skin of the Texan's neck as the movement of his fist sped up. His arm ached at the awkward angle, his panting breaths ragged as the telltale heat began to coil tightly inside him, so close to finishing already after the wonderful reality of being this close to Ashton.

“Hey, doc, it’s okay,” the younger man murmured when he saw the alarm seizing Michael as his orgasm caught him by surprise. The Texan reached to stroke the older man’s back soothingly, his lips soft as he pressed a warm kiss to the doctor’s shoulder. “You can let go, Mikey. I’ve got you.”

“It’s… it’s been so long,” Michael gasped out, his words choked with lust and what might have been tears as the younger man cuddled him closer. Ashton kissed his forehead gently, a lump rising in his throat as the older man’s hips stuttered, the flush spreading down his neck as he started to lose control.

“I know, Mikey, I know,” the Texan murmured reassuringly, his voice gentle as the doctor’s muscles tensed and a broken sound escaped him. “I’m here, doc. I’ve got you now.”

Michael’s cherry-red lips fell open around a moan as a wet patch spread on his trousers, curling in on himself as he came. The shivers tearing through him seemed almost violent but they only encouraged Ashton to hold him tighter, his lips brushing the doctor’s sandy hair in gentle kisses as the older man’s body finally stopped trembling.

“Fuck,” Michael said shakily, his glittering green eyes hooded as he raised his head to look down at the Texan. His lips tugged up into a crooked smile at the bliss on the younger man’s face and his heart seemed to melt in his chest when Ashton giggled at the satisfaction saturating the doctor’s expression.

“You’re so beautiful, Mikey,” the Texan murmured, speaking unthinkingly although he couldn’t regret the words for even a moment when he saw the pretty blush colouring Michael’s pale cheeks. The older man smiled, his eyes crinkling as he held the younger man closer, bare skin warm against each other.

“You’re telling me, sweetheart,” the doctor whispered, like he was admitting a secret.

The room was quiet for a moment, the only sounds their gentle breathing as their pulses finally grew calm once more.

Ashton’s head came to rest under the older man’s chin, his honey-coloured curls a mess from Michael’s fingers tangling in his hair earlier, and a contented hum escaped him when he felt gentle shapes being drawn onto the warm skin of his back. He smiled when he felt what was distinctly a heart.

“You’ll stay?” the younger man asked timidly but he relaxed when the doctor pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.

“For a little while, Ash,” Michael promised. “For you.” 

*

When Ashton woke up a few hours later, he was alone.

The bed was empty, the sheets rumpled and cold. He sat up blindly in the darkness, a soft sigh escaping him when he processed sleepily that Michael was gone. They’d continued kissing for a while earlier after they’d cleaned up and Ashton was sad that he’d managed to fall asleep in the doctor’s arms; it felt as though he’d wasted their time together and the Texan was especially bitter upon realising that he had no idea when they’d be able to steal another moment like this.

Ashton reached for his pyjamas nearby, wriggling into them in the pitch black as he shivered at the chill. He had no idea how late it was and he was unsure what exactly had woken him up until he heard a scuffling noise out in the hallway as a key turned in the lock. The sound of stumbling footsteps reached his ears and, when he heard the Irishman murmuring to himself as he staggered along with the accidental loudness of a drunk, the Texan felt his loneliness dissipating as a fond smile touched his lips.

“Ni?” he called, moving carefully through the darkness as he reached to turn the door handle. The blond man stood frozen outside with a comical look of surprise on his pale face, barely visible in the darkness although the scent of moonshine and smoke clinging to his clothes was a dead giveaway. “Have fun with Harry tonight, did you?”

“Kinda,” Niall said, a little slurred as he hopped around in an effort to remove his shoes, almost falling over in the process. “Missed you though, kid. Wish you could’ve come.”

“Maybe next time,” Ashton said with a shrug, feeling guilty at the disappointment his best friend seemed to feel. “You feeling any better now, Ni?”

The Irishman sighed, his shoulders slumping as he finally succeeded in removing his shoes. He wrapped his arms around himself tightly, looking suddenly younger than his years.

“I’m not sad about work anymore,” the blond man admitted, his voice soft as he bit the edge of his thumb unhappily. “Now I’m sad about Louis instead.”

The Texan reached for his best friend wordlessly, folding the Irishman into his arms and feeling startled when he realised that the height difference between them was almost gone now. Ashton had grown up without realising.

“Wanna sleep with me tonight, Ni?” he asked softly. “I’ve missed you.”

The older man followed him wordlessly, stumbling in the darkness until the Texan tugged him down lightly onto the mattress. It creaked under their weight and Niall huffed out a sad laugh, his cheeks growing damp with tears as he snuggled up against his best friend’s chest.

“‘m sorry, kid,” he mumbled, his voice already thick with sleep now that he was lying down. “Wish I’d given Louis a chance for you. Know you liked him.”

Ashton pressed a chaste kiss to the Irishman’s forehead, his arms wrapping warmly around the older man’s shoulders once the blanket had been pulled over them.

“Stop beating yourself up, Ni,” the younger man murmured, smiling weakly when he glimpsed the confusion on Niall’s face through the darkness. “I… I need to tell you something but you have to promise me that you won’t ask any questions, okay? Because I won’t be able to answer them.”

Niall seemed to sober a little as he peered up at Ashton owlishly, his eyes alight with curiosity. The Texan bit his lip worriedly as he watched the older man, aware that there was little information he could safely offer at all. There was no way he could tell the Irishman the truth; not with Liam’s threats hanging over him like a wraith.

“Louis is alive, Ni,” Ashton confessed into the darkness. “I can’t tell you anything else right now but… I promise I will once it’s safe, okay? You just have to trust me.”

Niall’s breath escaped him in a shocked little gasp that he did nothing to smother, too drunk and exhausted to hide his emotions. The relief on his face was clear and Ashton let that comfort him as he cuddled the blond man closer, carding his fingers lightly through the older man’s hair as the pair finally lapsed into silence.

Even despite the mystery of Louis’ survival, Niall soon lost his battle with consciousness and his soft snores were the only sound as Ashton settled back down onto the pillows. His best friend was warm against his chest, a comforting weight that acted as an anchor in the younger man’s arms.

The Texan kept up the gentle stroking of Niall’s hair as they lay there in the dark, his heart beating calmer than it had in what felt like forever as the blond man’s steady breathing began to lull Ashton to sleep.

His last thought that night was that he prayed he could keep the Irishman beside him where he belonged.

The hope filled the Texan like sunlight, reminding him of how desperately he wanted his plan to work so that he could keep his loved ones safe.

That was all Ashton could do right now.

Hope. 

*

The stars looked closer up here, the full moon shining like a silver coin in the dark sky. Luke was cold even despite the coat he was bundled up in but Louis was warm beside him, their arms brushing as they looked up together.

“It’s beautiful tonight,” the blond man said quietly, his tired eyes twinkling as he shot a crooked smile at the ex-Hornet leaning against the chimney stack beside him. “Y’know, I’ve lived here for over a year and I never once realised I could get onto the roof.”

“Well, I’ve always been too curious for my own good,” Louis said with an easy grin, his pretty blue eyes crinkling as the hint of a dimple creased his cheek. “It’s not the safest though. I wouldn’t want you climbing up here by yourself.”

“You’re not worried about me, are you?” Luke asked, trying to ignore the way his heart sped up in his chest when Louis’ hand covered his.

“Only a little bit,” the older man said lightly. “From what I’ve seen so far, you’re not the most graceful human on the planet. I’m not certain you wouldn’t trip over and fall off the edge of the roof.”

Luke huffed, turning away to hide his smile in his broad shoulder. It seemed unfair that Louis could inspire so much amusement and fondness in him after such a short amount of time, especially when there was still so much sadness buried in the older man’s enigmatic eyes… but then, maybe that made perfect sense too.

Luke had always liked ‘fixing’ people and helping anyone he could. He wanted to make them feel loved in a way he’d never been as a child; wanted to dry their tears and make them smile again. He never wanted anyone to feel the way he’d done when he was growing up, and he figured that maybe this was what drove him to try and distract Louis from the pain he seemed to be feeling now.

Luke just wanted to make him feel okay again.

He blushed when he realised that the older man had caught him staring, running a hand ruefully through his blond hair as he dragged his gaze back up to the stars.

“What is it?” Louis asked, sounding wryly amused. Luke’s cheeks flushed hotter.

“Do you like staying here with me?” he asked, the words seemingly taking them both by surprise. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I’m just… curious.”

Louis’ fingers entwined with his and Luke’s heart raced pathetically in his chest.

“Sure I do,” the older man said quietly, a note of something more sincere entering his voice as he gazed out over the sleeping city. “Being here with you has been a very welcome distraction from everything else in my life falling apart, Luke. It’s been like… a safe harbour or something equally poetic.” His lips twitched as he failed to laugh at himself. “I’ll always be grateful for that.”

Luke gave his hand a comforting squeeze, his sad smile slipping away when he saw the forced cheer sliding from the older man’s face like water. He leant hesitantly to rest his head on Louis’ shoulder, his blue eyes fluttering shut when the mobster reached to gently stroke his blond curls.

They sat in silence for a while, their legs stretched out on the roof, their feet hanging over the edge as a light breeze blew. It whistled through the branches of the trees in the park nearby, melancholy and eerie. A cat yowled somewhere in the darkness, accompanied with the distant rumbling of a train. Beside him, Louis let out a quiet sigh.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Luke murmured.

“Oh.” The older man looked embarrassed, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he shivered at the cold. Luke nestled a little closer, the chill from the bricks seeping into his bones as he tucked his head beneath the mobster’s chin. “I was just thinking about Zayn.”

Louis didn’t offer anything further but Luke didn’t push him for more information, instead waiting silently and trusting that the older man would open up when he felt ready. He stroked Louis’ knuckles gently with his thumb, his blue eyes growing a little damp as he gazed up at the stars.

After what felt like a long time, the mobster let out a sad laugh, pressing his lips chastely to the blond man’s curls.

“Zayn is the bloke I told you about the night we met, Luke,” he said quietly, his words almost too soft to hear. “The one I was with for almost a decade who… who died.” His voice thickened with unshed tears as he shook his head slowly, seemingly in disbelief at how drastically his life had changed since losing his partner.

“I’m sorry,” Luke whispered, a lump rising in his throat as his fingers tangled protectively in the front of the older man’s coat. “What… what happened to him?”

"He was killed,” Louis said dully, his blue gaze glassy and damp as a shaky sigh escaped him. “He got shot on a job gone wrong. Ash was with him when he died. He blames himself I think."

Luke’s eyes widened as he processed that, his heart aching as he remembered the hornet tattoo inked into the Texan’s wrist.

“Do you blame Ash?” he asked timidly, his cheeks colouring when Louis looked down at him in surprise, his eyebrows rising.

“No, of course not,” the older man said honestly, his voice soft as he fixed Luke’s collar for him, his touch gentle. “We both knew the risks when we joined the Hornet Mob. Z was just unlucky. I only wish I could've been there for him when the time came."

They lapsed into silence again, a shiver running through Luke at the plummeting temperatures. They would have to go back inside soon, before one of them caught a cold, but for now it was nice to be up here in the fresh air. It felt like they were removed from reality tonight, so far away from anything that could cause them pain or fear.

“He must’ve been a great man,” Luke offered timidly. “For you to love him so much.” He swallowed past the lump in his throat, his blue eyes reflecting the moonlight when the mobster looked at him, holding his gaze. “Will you tell me about him? I’d love to hear about the man who has your heart.”

Louis smiled wetly, his eyelashes spiky with tears as he dried his cheeks subtly with his coat sleeve.

“Z could be a total arse actually,” he admitted, a huff of laughter escaping him as he gazed at the stars, his eyes faraway. “He had the most twisted sense of humour. I’d never met anyone so caustic and sarcastic. He was angry at the way his life had turned out. Tried to project this devil-may-care attitude but I always knew deep down he was just scared of failing. It was drilled into him growing up I think: do better than everyone else or you might as well give up.”

“That must’ve been tough,” Luke breathed but he wasn’t sure Louis even heard him now that he was so caught up in the memories.

“Z was so intense too. Blistering almost. Once he had his heart set on something, that was it. Arguing with him was like talking to a brick wall but I wouldn’t change it for the world.” The older man shook his head again, his eyes glistening with tears. “Y’know, sometimes it felt like I was the only person he didn’t hate but… fuck, we loved each other with everything we had. I’ve never felt that way about anyone before.”

Luke pressed his lips together grimly, his heart breaking at the pain in the mobster’s eyes. Despite how badly he wanted to offer comfort, the blond man remained quiet, aware that this was something Louis had apparently never had a chance to talk through before tonight. There was no way on earth Luke was going to stop him now.

“Z was so beautiful,” the older man murmured, his face crumpling with guilt and love in equal measure. “He came over from Pakistan in my last year of high school. He was supposed to be studying at the college nearby but he met me before his course started and… well, I guess I corrupted him.”

A bubble of laughter escaped him before, suddenly, he was in tears. He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs as Luke’s arm slipped hesitantly around his shoulders. They sat hunched up together in the darkness, all cold noses and hot breath as Louis’ sadness spilled out of him in a torrent.

“Sorry,” the mobster croaked, his words choked as he shot the blond man an agonised look. “I’m sorry, Luke.”

“Don’t be,” the blond man murmured, rocking Louis gently as he brushed the older man’s tears away with trembling fingers. “You can’t hold it in forever and you shouldn’t hide from it. Grief is just love, Louis. Love with nowhere to go.”

Louis didn’t know how to articulate that it felt like the sun had been extinguished when Zayn died but hearing Luke’s words helped to alleviate the pain he was drowning in. It made him feel as though the blond man understood what he was going through and Louis grasped at that like a lifeline, his heart swelling in his chest as he twisted to face the younger man.

They were close like this, their noses almost brushing, the finer details of the blond man’s expression a little blurry through Louis’ tears. He reached out with a shaking hand to tuck a curl behind Luke’s ear, the lump in his throat lessening a little when the younger man blushed.

“Zayn sounds like an amazing person, Louis.”

The older man gave him a watery smile, raising Luke’s hand so that he could press a gentle kiss to his knuckles. He still ached like his soul had been torn from his body but there was something soothing about being in the blond man’s presence - despite how different he was to Zayn - that made the older man crave more of him… some glimmer of beauty and promise hidden in Luke’s lovely eyes, buried beneath trepidation and exhaustion.

Louis wanted to peel back the layers and see the vulnerability underneath, as delicate as gossamer.

He wanted to kiss Luke until the concern and longing were smoothed from his pale face.

“You’re amazing too,” Louis said quietly, his blue eyes blazing with sincerity as his fingertips gently grazed the younger man’s jaw. “I know we haven’t known each other very long but… well, we’ve been living in each other’s pockets recently and I’m starting to…” His voice trailed away as his cheeks flushed but something in Luke’s expression had softened now, his gaze kind and reassuringly hopeful as he entwined their fingers securely.

“I feel the same,” the blond man said shyly, his teeth sinking nervously into his bottom lip for a moment. “You came along at a strange time in my life and… I don’t know. Maybe this can help us heal. It doesn’t have to mean anything more than that.”

Louis frowned for a moment, his brown hair unusually messy from the breeze, his brow creased faintly.

“What if I want it to mean something?” he asked and Luke relaxed as a weight he hadn’t even realised he was carrying slipped from his shoulders.

“Oh,” he breathed, his expression brightening as an infectious smile spread across his face like sunlight. “I do too.”

Louis smiled at him, his eyes soft and warm, and happier with every passing moment.

“No more bread puns for the occasion?” he asked teasingly and Luke snorted, not even trying to disguise the grin on his face as he reached to card his fingers lightly through the older man’s dark hair. He smoothed it back from his forehead, his heart speeding up when Louis caught his hand, pressing a kiss to his fingertips.

“You’re ridiculous,” the blond man murmured but his cheeks were a soft pink now and his heart felt too big for his chest.

“Sure I am,” Louis said with an easy shrug. “But that’s why you like me, right?”

Luke rolled his eyes fondly, his hands rising to cradle the older man’s jaw as he ducked down timidly to kiss him. He drew back quickly, his cheeks flushed at his own daring. Louis hummed contentedly, his fingers tangling in the blond man’s soft curls as his thumb stroked soothingly across his pale cheekbone.

“C’mere, Lukey,” he murmured as he drew the younger man back, their lips meeting as a gentle sigh escaped the mobster. It mingled in the cold air around them, coiling up into the darkness as Luke deepened the kiss with gentle little licks of his tongue. It made warmth unfurl in the older man’s chest, burning away some of the sadness and fear until he could breathe again, like the blond man was the oxygen he’d so desperately been waiting for.

Despite the rush of emotions rocketing through the ex-Hornet, guilt wasn’t one of them because, for all of his flaws and overwhelming love, Louis thought Zayn would want him to be happy now, even if that did mean moving on.

Luke was sure of it.

Chapter Text

Ashton’s hope was extinguished the next day.

He spent the morning updating a carefully-drawn map of the distillery he’d visited with Biersack the day before. He added every exit he could remember seeing; detailed every workstation and trapdoor. He’d always had a good memory for directions and layouts – it was one of the reasons he found it so easy to navigate the tunnels after Niall had taught him how many steps there were for each area – and sketching out the maps for inspection jobs was something he knew he was good at.

He worked on the map as quickly as he could, keen to squeeze in a visit to Michael before he got started on the afternoon’s work. He wanted to thank the doctor for his kindness the night before; to tell him exactly how much it meant that the older man had been so patient and loving when the Texan still felt so raw from being hurt by Liam.

He wasn’t sure he had the words to tell Michael how much he valued him but he was determined to try.

Ashton was so distracted by memories of the previous evening that it took him until noon to finally finish the map. He rolled it up carefully, storing it on one of the shelves where it would be safe until he could ask Biersack to look over it before he gave it to Harry. He couldn’t quite keep the smile from his face as he thought about dropping into the doctor’s office unannounced and the unaccustomed joy was no doubt the cause for his lowered defences as he left the room without checking who might be waiting for him outside.

Liam’s hand clamped down on his shoulder, snuffing Ashton’s hope like a candle flame.

His heart clenched unpleasantly in his chest as he cringed in the older man’s grasp, his pulse racing when the mob boss’ grip became tight enough to bruise. His jacket was crumpling under Liam’s fingers, the starched material of his shirt creasing like paper.

Ashton felt fragile suddenly, like all of the air was seeping out of him like the pig blood dripping through the cracks at the docks.

“Where were you rushing off to?” the older man asked, his tone deceptively light as his dark eyes flickered towards the doctor’s office.

Ashton stopped breathing.

“Nowhere, sir,” he whispered after a moment too long, afraid his voice would crack and reveal that he was lying. Liam’s fingertips were hurting as they bit into the muscle of his shoulder now and the Texan bit his lip hard to distract himself from the pain, his hazel eyes wary in the shadowy corridor.

“Nowhere?” the mob boss repeated, his lips twisting into a humourless smile as he looked the younger man up and down pointedly. “That works out well enough then. I think it’s time we had a little chat, Irwin. Don’t you?”

Little though he wanted to, Ashton was powerless to resist. Liam spoke in the same menacing tone he had adopted that day in the office before he’d forced the Texan onto his knees and torn him apart, and there was something unbelievably frightening about being trapped in the mob boss’ grip again now. All Ashton could do was focus on putting one foot in front of the other, quite certain that the older man would simply drag him along if his legs failed him.

Liam led him towards the storage room and Ashton tensed up, his surprise and fear warring as he glanced helplessly over the mob boss’ shoulder because, although he might hate being dragged into the office, at least there was the constant threat of someone interrupting them. Down in the tunnels, they would be utterly alone, with no chance of rescue.

Ashton would have to deal with this by himself.

He flinched when he felt Frank’s lecherous gaze raking over him from where the Hornet lurked beside the door, his watery eyes following the pair gleefully as Liam shoved Ashton into the storage room. The mob boss collected a lamp from Frank - clearly, this ‘conversation’ had been premeditated - and tightened his clenching grasp on the younger man’s shoulder, his thumb pressing achingly right over the old bullet wound like inflicting pain came naturally to him.

The door leading down to the tunnels creaked when it was pushed open and the Texan felt his dread swelling inside him like a wave as the mob boss led him down into the darkness, his grip unbreakable.

Ashton’s panic flared as the musty air of the tunnels enveloped him and he fought to keep his breathing even, his nails biting into his palms for a moment before he remembered how hard Niall and Michael had worked to fix him up. He uncurled his fists slowly, a shaky sigh escaping him as he struggled to calm himself by counting the steps they were taking.

“Keep going, slut,” Liam snapped when they reached a fork in their path, his fingertips pressing bruises into the Texan’s skin as he pushed him roughly down a branch of the tunnels that the younger man had never ventured down before. They were passing wooden doors with barred windows now, the damp stains spreading across the walls like ink as their shadows jarred in the flickering lamplight.

They walked for almost five hundred steps before the mob boss dragged him round another bend and the silence was deafening now, broken only by Ashton’s strained breathing and the scrape of their polished shoes in the dust as each shadowy stretch of tunnel blurred into the next.

“You’re very quiet,” Liam observed, a nasty smirk playing on his lips as his fingernails bit into the younger man’s shoulder. “I thought you'd be begging by now.” Ashton glared up at him, his lips pressed together stubbornly as the mob boss’ dark gaze suddenly flooded with realisation.

“Ah.” The anger grew on Liam’s face slowly as something occurred to him, his cold eyes zeroing in on the concentration slowly fading from the younger man’s face as he lost track of how far they’d walked. “Counting, were you?” His lip curled back in a snarl as he backed the Texan into the wall, his eyes narrowing at the defiance on Ashton’s frightened face. “Very clever, slut, but I don’t think so.”

The younger man could feel his luck running out. It drained away from him like rainwater and he seemed to shrink as the mob boss loomed over him, his face twisted with fury.

“Take your tie off, slut.”

“My… what?” Ashton’s voice cracked with fear at the unexpected demand and he flinched when Liam twisted the garment in question around his fist, his nostrils flaring angrily. A small choking sound escaped the younger man and the mob boss’ eyes gleamed in the shadows.

“Take the fucking tie off and cover your eyes with it,” he said coldly, each word measured and deliberate, like he was speaking to a particularly slow child. “Well, what are you waiting for?!” he demanded when the Texan seemed content to simply gaze up at him in horror. “I guarantee you’d rather do it yourself, slut, because if it’s left to me, I’m likely to tighten it around your throat.”

Ashton shuddered, his eyes prickling with tears as he shakily did what the mob boss had asked. His fingertips brushed the feather decorating his hat as he fastened the tie around his head and it calmed him a little; reminded him that peace was almost within his grasp now, if he could just keep on surviving.

Any calm he’d managed to gather was lost when Liam began to spin him violently, the Texan’s feet sliding in the dust as the dizziness overwhelmed him. A frightened sound tore out of him before he could stop it and he cringed when the mob boss drew back sharply, content to watch as Ashton staggered into the wall, his head spinning sickeningly.

Apparently satisfied that the younger man now had no way of working out where he was being taken, Liam grabbed a handful of the Texan’s collar and dragged him off at a harsh pace, their passage made all the more difficult by Ashton’s dizziness and the blindfold obscuring his vision.

The younger man had no idea which direction they were travelling in, let alone how many steps they’d taken. He’d long since lost count and he was in too much of a state to try again now, especially with the anxiety tightening around his lungs as the gloom pressed in on him.

He’d always hated the dark. That had been proven the first time Niall had taken him down to the tunnels, only for the Texan to freeze up in horror. This felt a million times worse though, with the taunting flickers of lamplight visible around the edges of the blindfold and only Liam’s cruel presence for company.

“Try to remember the way out now, slut,” the mob boss hissed when he finally dragged Ashton to a stop, setting the lamp on the sandy floor before he roughly dragged the knotted tie down to hang around the younger man’s neck. “I fucking dare you.”

The Texan squared his jaw, fighting to keep his bottom lip from wobbling as his eyes struggled to adjust to the sudden onslaught of light. His vision blurred with tears but he kept right on glaring at Liam, even as his heart tried to pound right out of his chest.

“Why are we here, sir?” Ashton asked, his trembling hands twisting weakly together behind his back. “Why not your office?”

Liam tilted his head to one side curiously, his dark eyes glinting in the shadows as the lamplight cast his features into stark relief.

“I thought we could use a little privacy, slut. You have a problem with that?”

“Not at all, sir,” Ashton said quietly, his hazel eyes blazing with hatred as the fear soured in his stomach; became harder and colder as he remembered the things he’d been subjected to. “You just didn’t seem to care about privacy the last few times we’ve been alone.”

The strike seemed to come from nowhere.

His head snapped back into the wall when Liam backhanded him, the force hard enough that his knuckles cracked against the younger man’s jaw, making stars burst before his hazel eyes. Ashton’s mouth welled with blood as his teeth sank into his tongue but he locked his knees, refusing to fall as the panting breaths tore out of him. His face was stinging, his anger and fear coiling to form adrenaline as his hands shook violently by his sides.

He was frightened and aching but he refused to show it now; not when he knew Liam took so much delight in tearing him apart.

“Usually when I have someone at my mercy, they’re smart enough to keep their mouth shut,” the mob boss said coldly, his dark gaze glinting coldly in the shadows as he looked down at the younger man rising unsteadily from the dust. “Although you’re not very good at keeping your mouth shut, are you, slut? Always on your knees, begging for it.”

Ashton bit his sore tongue to keep silent, only hoping that the anger in his eyes kept his betrayal hidden as he leant back heavily against the damp wall. The older man mirrored the movement casually, a nasty smile playing on his lips as he unthinkingly buried his hands in his pockets, forgetting the bruise blooming across his knuckles where they’d collided with the younger man’s throbbing jaw. Liam’s composure was ruined when he couldn’t quite stop himself from wincing and Ashton took heart from that as his hands curled into fists at his sides.

He was glad the mob boss had injured himself by striking the Texan. It made him seem human and, as Ashton had been learning all his life, humans could be beaten.

Liam was no more powerful than anybody else.

“Nothing to say, slut?” the older man asked softly, his eyes darkening. “That has to be a first.”

Ashton’s growing fear made him bristle defensively as the defiance on his face bled away. He hated how small it made him feel; hated that there was something awfully like awareness growing on the older man’s expression because the Texan was afraid of what it meant. He couldn’t quite shake the horrible worry that perhaps Liam had discovered his treachery; that maybe he knew about the planned meetings with the Bureau and Collins or the fact that Louis was still alive.

It made Ashton feel sick to realise just how much danger he was in and he knew Liam could see the fear in his eyes too. The dread sank in slowly, sending shudders tearing through him as he fought not to dwell on the last time the mob boss had made him feel this vulnerable, when the cost for protecting his secrets had been far too high.

Ashton couldn’t pay that price again. He couldn’t.

He’d rather die than let Liam force himself upon him ever again.

The mob boss watched the play of emotions on the younger man’s face with something that was almost amusement, his dark eyes glinting as he leant there against the wall, his hair as slick as it had ever been, his well-tailored suit hinting at appalling amounts of money. There was a subtle arrogance lingering in the curve of the older man’s smirking mouth and, suddenly, it became almost easy for Ashton to put his worries aside to be dealt with later.

Liam was no different to any other unpleasant businessman who had asked too much of the Texan during his gambling days and, as soon as that realisation made itself apparent, it was no bother at all to wrap himself in his old impassiveness the way he’d had to do when his father’s death was still a fresh wound.

Ashton felt the mask settle over his features like steel as he squared his jaw, his hands balling into fists by his sides. As the strength flooded through him, the mirth in Liam’s eyes flickered out like candlelight as his expression hardened.

“I don’t want to play games with you, sir,” the Texan said softly, his hazel eyes turning stony as the mob boss took a measured step closer, apparently taking great delight in watching the younger man’s back hit the wall. “I’m a businessman,” he added with a touch of desperation, his damp gaze gleaming in the lamplight. “Why can’t you treat me like one?”

Ashton’s confidence seemed to surprise them both but he was glad of it all the same. It wrapped around him like armour, giving him the strength he needed to keep fighting, especially now that he was so close to getting his own back on the mob boss. He just needed to hold on until then.

Liam watched him silently, his lips quirked as he tapped his foot idly in the dust.

“Why don’t I treat you like one?” he repeated, his shark eyes glinting in the shadows. “Because you don’t act like a businessman, Irwin.” His tone sharpened as his hands fisted in the younger man’s shirt, crumpling the material as he dragged him into the light. “You’re too much of a slut, aren’t you? A little whore who only thinks with his cock. How can I trust you to do anything for me when you’re too busy trying to worm your way into Clifford’s arse?”

Ashton’s heart felt like it had stopped beating in his chest as the icy fear spread through him, freezing him in the older man’s grasp. He wanted to deny it; wanted to curse Liam for thinking he had the right to say Michael’s name but… fuck, that would only prove how important the doctor was to him. That would only make it worse.

He pressed his lips together hard, too afraid to say something and put the doctor at even more risk. His hands were trembling as they hung limply by his sides, the starched material of his shirt digging into him uncomfortably where the mob boss was fisting it so tightly.

“The doctor’s better than the Vulture, slut, but not by much,” Liam snarled, his anger growing when the Texan didn’t rise to the bait. Ashton was glaring at him with wary defiance now, his honey-coloured hair in disarray as his lip curled back from his teeth in anger.

He hated seeing the light in Liam’s eyes as the mob boss dug up even more blackmail material. He already had so many dangerous secrets that Ashton was almost powerless to resist him. This might well be the last nail in the coffin.

“You’re not going to deny it? Beg me not to tell anyone? Not even any tears?” Liam looked almost disappointed as he shook his head slowly, that same infuriating smirk still playing across his lips. “You’re boring me, slut. I’ll have no use for you at all soon.”

“What do you want from me?” Ashton demanded, the fear he could feel leeching any anger from his words. “I’m doing everything you ask!” His heart ached in his chest as the pain rippled through him and he hated so much that he could feel the tears burning in his eyes. “Why can’t you let me have this?”

The words slipped out before he could stop them and Liam’s eyes gleamed like a predator tasting blood.

“Because you don’t deserve it, slut,” he hissed, leaning so close that it was impossible to focus as his shadow loomed over the younger man. “Because you’re an Irwin. Because you and Clifford work for me, and the Hornets don’t mix pleasure with work.” Liam’s thumb was digging into the old bullet wound again, his expression suddenly startlingly cold.

“Clifford tried that before, slut,” he murmured. “And do you know what happened then? Do you?” The satisfaction in his dark eyes reminded the Texan of the day when he’d falsely reported Louis’ death and it sent his blood running like ice in his veins. “Well, I wouldn’t want to spoil the story but put it this way: it would be an awful shame if another of his little boyfriends died.”

A nasty smile curved the mob boss’ lips and Ashton shrank back in his grip, the horror welling up inside him as his worst fears were confirmed.

Liam really had ordered Jack’s death and, all along, Michael had been blaming himself.

Ashton’s eyes welled with tears as he processed just how much pain the mob boss had inflicted on the doctor by killing Jack because… fuck, he was Michael’s first love. He was Michael’s first everything and now he was gone, and the sandy-haired man was left drowning in grief and self-hatred… and it all came back to Liam… to just one more sickening move in a game that nobody else wanted to play.

“Don’t hurt Mike again,” Ashton begged, aware that he’d already shown how much he cared by not outright denying the claims so there was nothing to lose. “Please, I’ve done everything you asked. Just… just don’t touch him. Please.”

Liam’s eyes glinted as he watched the younger man fall apart in front of him, his satisfaction impossible to deny. He had no intention of laying a finger on the doctor but Ashton didn’t need to know that, especially not when it made him so pathetically easy to manipulate.

“Then you better stop whimpering and listen to me, slut,” the mob boss hissed warningly. “Or perhaps I’ll pay Clifford a visit after all. Maybe he’ll be smart enough to pay attention.”

Liam liked watching the fear saturating Ashton’s face; liked watching the way his teeth sank into his plump bottom lip as his eyes welled up with tears. There was something incredibly satisfying in wielding that much power over someone and the older man was glad of his ability to tear people apart with little more than words. He’d always been good at exploiting others’ weaknesses to meet his own ends, and his twisted game of cat and mouse with the Texan was no different.

Ashton had been playing into his hands since the moment he’d arrived in Chicago. He just hadn’t known it yet.

“Sir, please,” the younger man whispered, his hazel eyes overflowing now as his shaking fingers wrapped timidly around Liam’s wrists where the older man was holding him up. “I’ll pay attention. I will. I promise.”

Liam’s enjoyment of seeing how far he could push Ashton slowly gave way to anger as they stood there together in the darkness. With the way his fedora was angled on his curls as the shadows flickered across his face, the Texan had never looked more like his father and it unsettled the mob boss enough that he loosened his grip on the younger man’s shirt, putting a little space between them.

Ashton seemed to transform before his eyes as the lamplight settled across his face and Liam’s sneer returned as he looked the younger man up and down, albeit with a little more hesitance than he might have done in the past.

The Texan wasn’t a ghost come back to haunt him. He wasn’t even that similar to his father; not really anyway, especially now that his inherited rage had all but burnt out. Fletcher had never been so quick to give in; wouldn’t have dreamed of being so self-sacrificing for anyone, whether he cared about them or not. He had been so selfish; so consumed by anger and ice, and smouldering hatred.

Liam missed the fire of it; missed locking antlers and fighting to gain the upper hand. In that regard, Ashton was little more than a shadow of his father, delicate and fading. Any day now, the mob boss would finally feel ready to stamp him out… that last remnant of the man he’d loved to hate so much.

“Is that true?” Liam murmured, his thumb rubbing across the younger man’s bottom lip and drawing a shudder from him. “You’re ready to listen to me now, slut?”

A tear slipped down Ashton’s cheek as he nodded silently but he didn’t pull away, not wanting to risk losing the softness in the older man’s voice if there was going to be any chance of him escaping this unscathed.

“Yes, sir,” he breathed and, once again, his easy submission sent the anger curling hot through Liam’s veins. He kept it locked away though; left it boiling like oil under his skin because he had enough presence of mind to know – even after the quantity of whiskey he had imbibed that morning – that exploding with rage now wouldn’t help him. He needed to see if he could trust Ashton and that meant a different approach; required the kind of gentle mocking that scraped away at his defences over time, until the younger man was weak enough that one solitary threat would be enough to rip him apart at the seams.

“Pay attention then,” Liam warned him quietly, his dark gaze fierce. “Because I’ll only say this once, slut. You’re not worth the wasted oxygen.”

Ashton’s panting breaths were tearing out of him harshly now, his hazel eyes sparkling with hatred and desperation as he stared up fearfully at the mob boss, waiting for the hammer to fall.

“You’re going to stay away from Clifford,” Liam said forcefully. “You won’t seek him out again. You won’t lay a fucking finger on him, slut.” He relished the pain rippling across the Texan’s face as he spoke; the way his shoulders slumped as though something precious had been stolen from him. “You’ll do as I say or you’ll regret it, Irwin. I can promise you that.”

A soft sound escaped Ashton; an aborted sob that he tried to smother behind trembling hands as the tears in his eyes boiled over. His back hit the wall, the dust clinging to his suit as he shook his head slowly, his face crumpling. Liam pressed closer, his fingers twisting once more into the Texan’s collar as he jerked the younger man towards him through the shadows.

“You’re not going to breathe a word of what we’ve discussed today,” the mob boss hissed, leaning so close that their foreheads were almost touching as the younger man tried to shy away, his eyelashes sticky with tears. “Can you guess what’ll happen if you do?” Liam asked, softer now, his fists tightening in the Texan’s shirt as one of the buttons clattered free. “It won’t be pretty, slut.”

“Please don’t,” Ashton croaked, his bottom lip wobbling as the tears coursed free. “Please, please.”

“I’ll start with Horan first,” the mob boss said softly, their cheeks brushing as he ducked his head to murmur in the younger man’s ear. “Slit his throat with that handy little knife you carry with you. Hell, maybe I’ll even make you do it.” Liam’s fingers tightened painfully in Ashton’s curls when the Texan tried to turn his face away, his sob loud in the emptiness of the tunnels when he seemed to realise there was no escape from this horrific situation.

“And after that?” the older man whispered, his eyes glinting with madness in the darkness as his lips twisted into an unpleasant smirk. “It will be Clifford’s turn to die next.”

Ashton could hardly breathe past his tears now, his chest tightening with panic and desperate anger as the cold wall he was trapped against made his bones ache.

The older man liked watching the pain on the younger man’s face; liked seeing the light in Ashton’s eyes flicker out. It was a quiet destruction, like a star collapsing in on itself, and Liam could get off on this; on the power he felt at watching the Texan writhe uncomfortably in his grasp, so weak and inferior in the mob boss’ colossal shadow.

“Your dear doctor will die screaming,” the older man promised, raising his hand to touch Ashton’s cheek and smirking when the Hornet flinched away instinctively. “It’ll make what I did to you seem gentle, slut.” There was a smile in Liam’s voice now, painfully apparent even despite the fact that the younger man had squeezed his eyes tightly shut in fear.

“Do you remember what I did to you?” he continued, his voice light and pleasant, like they were discussing the weather. “Do you remember how fucking desperate you were for my cock? You couldn’t get down on your knees fast enough, slut. You’re pathetic.”

His fingers forced their way between the Texan’s lips and Ashton gagged, the tears searing down his overheated cheeks as he squirmed uselessly in the older man’s grip. It felt worse this time - more invasive somehow, like being stuck down in the tunnels made him more vulnerable - and he tried to turn his face away but it wasn’t possible now; not with the way his panic was choking him as Liam pinned him there with his arm pressed against the younger man’s throat.

“You’re dying to be loved, aren’t you?” Liam breathed, his mocking tone making the Texan’s skin crawl as he hung there limply, fighting not to be sick as the older man’s fingers pressed deeper. “But who the fuck could ever love you? You’re just a dirty, useless, broken little slut who can’t keep his legs together… and you know what? You’re gonna die all alone one day - just like Fletcher did - because that’s what happens when you cross me, Irwin. You’ve signed your own fucking death warrant.”

Ashton couldn’t work out what was choking him more now: the mob boss’ fingers in his mouth, the fear threatening to suffocate him, or the sobs building in his burning chest.

“You cry so easily these days,” Liam whispered, his thumb gliding across the younger man’s damp cheekbone as he looked down at the Texan curiously. “Used to be so stubborn, didn’t you? Where’s that fire now?” The older man’s voice became softer, like he was spilling a secret. “It’s almost a shame; pretty little thing like you.” His eyes glinted suddenly as he leant closer, until the younger man’s frightened exhales were washing over his face. “Y’know, once Horan and Clifford are out of the picture, no one will look at you but me, slut. You’re out of time.”

Ashton’s teeth sank unexpectedly into Liam’s fingers, biting down hard enough to draw blood in the moments before the mob boss wrenched his hand away with a startled curse. The tunnel seemed to grow darker around them as an angry flush spread over the older man’s face, his jaw squared with fury as he closed the distance between them.

“You’re gonna regret that, slut,” he promised, smiling flatly as he shoved the younger man hard up against the wall. Ashton spat a mouthful of blood at him and Liam jerked his head back, paling with sudden fury as it dripped down onto his shirt. The livid expression on his face froze the Texan where he stood until it was almost easy for the mob boss to grab hold of the tie knotted around the younger man’s neck. His bleeding fingers twisted in the material, his grip tight enough that it bit into Ashton’s throat as he gasped uselessly for air.

The Texan’s scuffed shoes kicked in the dust, his nails scrabbling uselessly over Liam’s exposed hands as the older man choked him with a look of vicious satisfaction on his face. The younger man could barely see past the boiling tears now, his vision blurring as dark spots bloomed before his eyes. It brought him back to that night outside the Vulture’s Speakeasy for a moment: the panic flaring as he fought in vain; his head spinning sickeningly as his chest burnt with agony.

When Ashton became certain that the mob boss meant to kill him, the older man loosened his grip enough that the Texan managed to draw in a ragged gasp. He didn’t have time to enjoy it though because, the very moment he unconsciously relaxed, Liam rammed his knee as hard as he could into the younger man’s groin.

Ashton crumpled like paper, a weak groan tearing out of him as the pain took his breath away. The nausea overwhelmed him, the terrible cramping sensation sending him curling in on himself in a useless attempt to alleviate the ache.

Liam crouched down beside him, his fingers bleeding, his bruised knuckles still throbbing from the strike he’d delivered earlier. He reached out and the Texan flinched away, his cheeks sticky with tears as he held his folded knees tighter, trying to make himself small as the awful pain ebbed through him.

When all Liam did was gently touch the bruise on the younger man’s jaw, a sob escaped Ashton without his permission because… fuck, he almost preferred it when the mob boss was beating him because at least that way he could try to defend himself. He was used to physical blows after a childhood of growing up with Fletcher but the mob boss never seemed to settle, always flickering between rough punches and his favoured psychological torture; just picking away gently over time until there was nothing left but a husk.

Ashton could feel his walls being torn down around him. Every single time Liam threatened to crush him, only to help him up with a soft word and a veiled threat… it felt like the Texan was being hollowed out; like everything that made him who he was had been scraped away so that Liam could force his way inside and find out what made the younger man tick.

All Ashton could focus on now was the hope his plan gave him; his prayers that the meetings with the Bureau and Collins would go well; his wishes that his loved ones would make it out alive. He had nothing else to hold on to anymore; just dust and nightmares. Liam had destroyed everything left.

In the darkness, the mob boss leant closer, his face cast in shadows as the lamplight shone dully behind him. He pressed his thumb lightly against the younger man’s mouth - maybe as a threat of what had happened that morning in his office; maybe just to thrill himself after the Texan had bitten him earlier - and Ashton couldn’t stop the tears from falling as he tried to turn his face away, the shudders tearing through him as he lay there in the dust, filthy and bruised and aching.

Liam rose so quickly that the younger man recoiled fearfully, still aching with pain as the older man gazed down at him dispassionately.

“Stay away from Clifford, Irwin,” the mob boss said coldly as he picked the lamp up. “There’s a good slut.”

Ashton remained curled up on the floor, still crying and nauseous as he felt his world crumbling apart around him. He could never have anything good in his life; not while Liam was around to rip it from his desperate grasp.

“I’ll send someone down to find you tomorrow if you don’t make it back on your own,” the older man said, a nasty laugh escaping him when he saw the dawning horror on the Texan’s ashen face. “I wouldn’t worry too much though, slut. I’m sure you’ll be able to find your way out. You’re like a dirty little rat, aren’t you? Always lurking where you’re not wanted.”

Liam strode away without a backwards glance, carrying the only light source with him. His footsteps on the uneven ground soon faded to silence, until all that was left were the soft sobs escaping Ashton as he wrapped his arms around himself tightly, shivering violently in the freezing gloom as his anxiety overwhelmed him.

His tears fell onto the dusty floor but he had no energy to wipe them away… and besides, no one would see him anyway.

He had no idea how long he lay there in the darkness but he was sure of one thing: nobody but Liam knew he was trapped in the tunnels which meant that no help was coming.

Ashton was completely alone.

*

The day seemed to take an age to pass.

Niall had gone out to inspect one of the brothels with Harry that morning and he was quite sure the aroma of incense burning to hide more unpleasant smells continued to linger on his clothes. Still, he’d comforted himself with the knowledge that at least he was meeting Ashton for lunch. They’d planned to go for a walk and get some fresh air before they stopped to pick up some of the lemon cakes from the bakery that the Texan loved so much, and that thought had kept the Irishman going whenever the tense atmosphere in the Speakeasy threatened to become too much.

He waited for Ashton in the shadowy corridor for what felt like a long time, his heart sinking in his chest with every passing minute. Frank was lurking nearby, an unpleasant sneer on his lined face as he muttered obscenely under his breath. Niall found it easy to block it out; he’d heard almost every insult possible after Liam had replaced him with Harry and, over time, the sting of those words from people who had once been friends had dulled to little more than an irritating ache.

Niall was more concerned about Ashton than what the other Hornets thought of him. It was so unlike the Texan not to be here on time, waiting with a hopeful smile on his face for the blond man to arrive. The corridor was suspiciously absent now though and Niall waited for as long as he could stand, until Frank was closer and harder to ignore… until the shadows felt suffocating.

Ashton clearly wasn’t coming.

The Irishman strode out into the damp with a heavy heart, a frown creasing his pale brow as a light rain misted in the air around him. The walk was nowhere near as enjoyable without Ashton and Niall was in a bad mood by the time he returned to the Speakeasy, his hair damp from the drizzle, his shoulders slumped with disappointment as he trudged into the warmth of the building.

Harry wanted him working in the main room of the Speakeasy for the afternoon, tidying up the bar and restocking the barrels of moonshine before their patrons arrived tonight. Both chores were simple enough so Niall decided to start on the heavy lifting first, relishing in the burn settling in his muscles as he carried the alcohol carefully up from the storage room. The task took longer than he’d been expecting and it was already almost the end of the day by the time Niall finally started to wipe the bar down in preparation for whoever would be serving there that evening.

His thoughts drifted again to Ashton when the cleaning failed to hold his attention, his lip held between his teeth as the worry reared its head once more. He wondered for a moment if perhaps the Texan had forgotten about their lunch plans because he’d found himself waylaid with Michael instead. That was probably the best option and Niall definitely wouldn’t blame him if that was the case – the pair could barely keep their hands off each other and the Irishman was sure he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed – but he hoped they’d been subtle enough that none of the other Hornets had discovered their relationship.

There would only be trouble if they did.

The concern and love Niall felt for his best friend refused to be bottled-up, and he found it surprising that the reality of his uncontained emotions no longer bothered him. Back in Ireland, Niall had refused to accept that he had any perceived weaknesses at all but, over the years, Ashton had shown him that vulnerability wasn’t something he needed to be afraid of. The Texan had coaxed it out of him during their time spent living in each other’s pockets, gently nudging it into the open where Niall would be forced to give it the attention it deserved.

He straightened up from where he’d been hunched over the bar, surprise colouring his features as the hint of a smile tugged at his lips. It had just occurred to him – possibly far too late – that Ashton had completely changed his life. Niall was a better man with the Texan by his side and he was so grateful for that. He’d never be able to tell his best friend how much that meant to him.

Ashton had given him a home.

Niall’s reverie was broken by the sound of a chair scraping on the polished floor across the room. He looked up in surprise, his eyes narrowing when he saw several hunched figures talking business in a shadowy corner. Judging by the shock of red hair he could see, he knew one was Sheeran but it took him a moment longer to work out that Harry and Biersack were present as well.

Something soured in the Irishman as he watched them sitting there, taking in the serious expression on the Englishman’s face as he leant closer to explain something to the mobsters. That would’ve been Niall once, he knew; actually doing the job he’d travelled across the ocean for and not acting like a glorified cleaner.

Harry met his gaze suddenly, almost like he could tell what the blond man was thinking, and he rose from the table, murmuring a goodbye to the other Hornets before he trotted over to the bar.

“Y’alright there, Nialler?” the Englishman asked warmly, missing the way Niall grimaced a little at the nickname. “Bit down in the dumps today, are you?”

“Nothing a hot meal and some sleep won’t fix,” the blond man said with a tired smile, trying hard not to snap at Harry because it wasn’t his fault that Liam had cast Niall aside like this. “You heading out then, Harry?”

“There’s business to attend to tonight,” the Englishman said apologetically before his green eyes glimmered with something mischievous as he pointed at the bar. “You missed a spot there, Nialler.”

“Oh, fuck off!” the blond man retorted but a faint grin touched his lips all the same and Harry looked proud of himself as he left the room.

Niall found it harder to concentrate after that as he began to clean the glasses, making sure there were no smeared fingerprints visible. There was still an hour remaining before he could justifiably leave for the night and it grated on him a little, only adding to the exhaustion he could feel. He was growing concerned about Ashton again too because, although it wasn’t unheard of for the day to pass without his best friend stopping by to visit him, it was unusual when he hadn’t turned up for lunch either.

The Irishman couldn’t shake his worries away and it made him tense as he turned his back on the room, trying and failing to concentrate on the task at hand. He decided that he’d go and look for Ashton after his shift was over if the Texan still hadn’t turned up; there was no point angering Liam by leaving the job unfinished now… and besides, it was very unlikely that something had happened to his best friend today. As far as Niall knew, Ashton hadn’t gone out on a job and it wasn’t like any of the Hornets wished him ill, except perhaps Frank.

The Texan would be fine. He could look after himself; that was what he was always insisting, wasn’t it?

Niall was just beginning to feel calmer when he caught a snippet of conversation that made him bristle with anger.

“- he says he heard Irwin’s a queer.” It was Biersack’s voice, lowered and twisted with something like disgust. “Shouldn’t be working in a place like this. Not right, is it? He might try something with one of us.” The black-haired man cracked his knuckles menacingly as he spoke and Niall turned to face the room slowly, his face paling with rage.

Sheeran grunted his agreement, his lips quirking into a sneer as a nasty laugh escaped him, and the Irishman felt his temper spark to life. He dropped the cloth he’d been using to wipe the bar, slamming the glass down hard enough that they both looked up at him in shock. Apparently they’d forgotten he was standing there and Niall relished the consternation on their faces; found it so refreshing to see Hornets looking at him with anything that wasn’t contempt or pity.

“Don’t talk about things you know nothing about,” the blond man snapped, stepping out from behind the bar threateningly as his shaking hands curled into fists.

“Not sure this is a fight you want to start, pal,” Sheeran told him placatingly but he paled when he saw the fury on the Irishman’s face. Beside him, Biersack had risen, an ugly scowl twisting his features as he fixed Niall with a harsh stare.

“Well, Horan lives with Irwin, Ed,” the black-haired Hornet pointed out, looking Niall up and down with a nasty sneer. “He’s probably queer too. Probably been fucking him this whole time.”

There was regret on Sheeran’s face now but Biersack’s cheeks were heated with blood and he didn’t seem to care that Niall was closing the distance between them with alarming speed, his protective streak for Ashton burning inside him like the sun.

“Don't talk about Ash that way,” the blond man said warningly, his blue eyes cold as his heart clenched with panic in his chest. What if they'd done something to the Texan? What if that was why Ashton had never showed up?

“Andy -” Sheeran began nervously but Biersack just shrugged, his lips twisting into an unpleasant smile as he beckoned the Irishman closer.

“Don’t fret, Ed,” he said easily, his eyes glinting when the blond man gritted his teeth in anger. “I can take on a daisy no problem at all.”

Niall launched himself at Biersack, fists curled, mouth snarling.

He saw red.

*

Ashton’s exhaustion was bone-deep.

He’d been walking for hours now, his feet dragging in the dust, the tears long-since dried sticky on his cheeks. The bruise on his jaw was still throbbing, his throat aching where Liam had choked him. Ashton’s anger was hard and cold in his chest as he crept along through the pitch darkness, one hand resting on the slimy wall beside him for balance as he kept an arm outstretched to avoid walking into anything.

He was trying so hard to keep his panic at bay but it had been simmering just under the surface ever since Liam had abandoned him that morning and it was growing difficult to breathe past now. The shadows pressed in so suffocatingly that, after a while, Ashton realised it was simply easier to close his eyes. He couldn’t see anything anyway and at least this way he could convince himself that there was nothing to be scared of; that Niall was walking along beside him with a lamp and a soft expression on his face, keeping the Texan’s fears at bay.

The tears came slowly as Ashton stumbled through the darkness but it wasn’t fear or anxiety causing them now; it was how desperately he wanted to be safe in the Irishman’s arms. Things might not have been so easy between them since Liam had started blackmailing Ashton but his relationship with his best friend was slowly beginning to heal despite this and it only made the Texan hurt worse because - no matter what happened - the Irishman was his home. It didn’t matter that they weren’t blood relatives; it was their loyalty and love for each other that made them family.

Niall was the absolute best of him. He brought out the kindness, wonder, and love that Ashton had always tried to hide during his childhood; encouraged him to grow and laugh in a way that Fletcher had never done.

Niall was always by his side. He saved Ashton every single day, whether he knew it or not, and the Texan would never be able to put into words how much that meant to him; that the Irishman kept himself burning in order to keep the younger man safe and warm.

Niall was so much more than just a best friend. He was the man who knew Ashton best; who loved him regardless of every awful thing he’d ever done. The Irishman was his brother and that was the way they were going to stay - together until the very end - and although it was dangerous to have something worth losing, the Texan wouldn’t change it for the world. Niall - and now Michael too - were the best things that had ever happened to him and he would do absolutely anything to keep them safe.

Anything at all.

Ashton was still dwelling on how lucky he was to have two such beautiful souls in his life when his palm finally encountered something that wasn’t the damp wall of the tunnel. He could unexpectedly feel wood under his hand and, even when a splinter caught on the soft pad of his finger, he felt nothing but relief rushing through him, so heady that he was almost dizzy with it as he sped up, his feet sliding in the dust.

He’d made it to the strange wooden doors with the barred windows and, although the hairs on the back of his neck rose as he wondered what possible use the Hornets might have for secret cells down here in the darkness, he was mostly just relieved that he was finally heading back in the right direction.

He could count his steps again now that he had a marker. There were around two hundred to the next fork in the tunnels and then three hundred on a relatively straight stretch that would hopefully take him back to the stairs leading up to the storage room. Ashton was proud that he’d managed to solve this by himself and it gave him a new surge of energy that helped him shake his weariness away.

He was almost back to Niall; to civilisation and fresh air, and fucking light.

He was almost safe again.

He thought he’d done a fairly good job of calming himself down by the time he finally staggered into the shadowy storage room, even if his face was swollen with tears and grime from the tunnels. He hesitated in the room for a second, taking a few deep breaths as he fixed his clothing and tilted his fedora down a little so that the redness of his eyes was hidden.

Liam had no doubt gained enough gratification by leaving him down there alone in the first place. Ashton refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing the evidence of his tears now.

He opened the door leading out to the corridor with a shaky hand and even the dim light out there was enough to blind him for a moment. He groaned, his hands rising to cover his eyes as he leant heavily against the wall. He hoped Frank and Liam weren’t close by because he’d have no way of avoiding them when he was this vulnerable. He hoped Michael wasn’t around too because, after the awful threats the mob boss had made, Ashton was quite liable to break down in tears if he saw the doctor now.

He rubbed his eyes hard in the hope that it might make them adjust to the light quicker but they were still narrowed with pain when a blurry figure appeared in the doorway ahead of him. The Texan squinted but he couldn’t make out much more than the flash of a pale face and an outstretched hand, looming closer and closer.

He would have flinched away if the familiar scent of Niall’s cologne hadn’t suddenly reached him and, by the time his vision had finally adjusted, the Irishman already had a hand wrapped firmly around his best friend’s arm as he towed him towards the exit. They passed Frank without speaking, Ashton’s hazel eyes widening with fear when he saw the Irishman’s sluggishly bleeding nose as he glanced around them furtively.

“Ni?” the Texan asked in a small voice, a lump rising in his throat at the pain and anger on the older man’s face. “Ni, what’s happened?”

“We need to leave, kid,” Niall said softly. “Right now. Let’s just get away from here first, okay? Then we can talk.”

Ashton kept up the pace his best friend had set with difficulty, his face falling when the Irishman unwillingly stepped away once they reached the street outside. It was already getting dark and he was so tired now that his adrenaline had burnt away. All he had left was anxiety, making him feel small and vulnerable as his jaw ached. Beside him, Niall looked over his shoulder fearfully.

“Can we sit down for a minute please?” Ashton breathed, almost too quiet to hear. “I don’t feel so good.”

The blond man tensed up, his blue eyes growing concerned when he saw how pale his best friend was. It seemed to take him far longer than usual to realise that something was wrong; his worried gaze lingering on the bruise staining the Texan’s jaw and the deep bags under his eyes as he swayed. There were tears drying sticky on his cheeks and he looked like he was about to fall, and Niall drew him into a quick hug without caring if anyone saw, so desperate to help his best friend.

“What happened to you?” he asked softly and Ashton shivered against him, his exhausted hazel eyes falling shut as he gripped the older man’s coat like a comfort blanket.

“I can’t tell you,” the Texan whispered, growing tearful as the desperation and weariness he could feel ate away at his common sense. “He made me promise not to.”

Ashton could almost hear Niall’s brain whirring as he processed that, a frown creasing his forehead as he looked down at the younger man anxiously. The light rain was slowly washing away the blood streaked on the Irishman’s face and he looked younger for a moment… lost.

“We need to get home before we discuss this,” the blond man said gently, rubbing Ashton’s arm gently through his jacket as he tried to warm him. “Do you think you can make it, kid? You look exhausted.”

“I can do it,” the Texan murmured, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he steeled himself. Niall kept his fingers wrapped securely around the younger man’s elbow, guiding him safely between the passers-by as he made sure no one was following them.

“Why’re you bleeding, Ni?” Ashton asked softly when the older man deemed that they were far enough away and allowed them to slow their pace. “Why’d you look so worried?”

Niall sighed, his lips pressing together unhappily for a moment as the rain grew heavier and the clouds concealed the moon overhead.

“I heard Biersack and Sheeran talking shit about you today, kid,” he said quietly, his voice bleak although his eyes grew sad at the pain on the younger man’s face. “They know you’re queer, Ash,” he added, his voice dropping even lower so that no one passing would be able to hear. “Someone must’ve said something they shouldn’t. I just can’t work out who.”

Ashton’s fear tightened around his chest as his expression became dismayed. Maybe Liam had let something slip after all - except… well, why would he when his blackmail was working so well? The Texan didn’t understand it and the anxiety returned with a vengeance as he considered this, making his hands tremble in the moments before he buried them shakily in the pockets of his slacks.

Niall looked worried enough about him already. Ashton didn’t need to make things worse.

“Is that why you’re bleeding?” the Texan asked glumly, his heart aching. “You get knocked around trying to stand up for me?”

“They tried,” Niall said scornfully but his blue eyes remained soft as he scrutinised his best friend worriedly. “Try not to worry too much though, kid. I’ll always stand up for you… and I can promise you this: neither of them are going to tell anyone else.”

“How’d you know?” Ashton asked, his hazel eyes glistening wetly as his teeth sank nervously into his bottom lip. The Irishman’s expression softened.

“Because Sheeran’s a fucking coward,” Niall said quietly. “And Biersack’s now missing several of his teeth. They both know what’ll happen if I catch them spreading that shit round again, yeah?” He hesitated for a moment, a watery smile touching his lips as he squeezed the younger man’s shoulder gently. “I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe, Ash, okay? I promise.”

“Thank you,” Ashton whispered, so grateful for the older man protecting him, even though he wished it hadn’t been needed. “I’m sorry you had to do that today. It should never have been necessary.”

“It shouldn’t even be a fucking problem,” Niall said hotly. “I don’t know why anyone gives a shit if you want to kiss blokes or not. You’re hardly gonna wanna kiss them, are you?! You have much better taste than that.”

Ashton let out a surprised snort of laughter and the blond man’s face softened as he gave the younger man’s hand a quick squeeze, apparently making the most of the fact that the street was momentarily deserted. Niall sobered quickly though, his eyes searching the Texan’s face as they passed the empty marketplace, already packed up for the night.

“I need to ask you something, kid,” the Irishman said quietly, his blond hair flat against his forehead with the way the rain was falling. He shivered in the cold, his face pale as he stroked the pad of his thumb lightly over the bruise staining the younger man’s jaw. “Who else knows about you, Ash? Who knows you’re queer?”

The lump in Ashton’s throat was harder to swallow past now, made up of tears and the last dredges of shame that he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to shake away. Niall seemed to see it in his face because the pain in his eyes was unmistakable as he reached to take the younger man’s shoulders gently, drawing him to a stop.

“You need to tell me, Ashy,” he said quietly, his voice firm. “It might be important.”

“Well… you obviously,” Ashton said with a weak smile that quickly slipped away. “Michael knows, as does Louis. Harry too probably - he’s got eyes after all. Luke and Calum know too.” He broke off, suddenly unable to meet the older man’s gaze as a ragged gasp escaped him. “And… and Liam knows,” he finished quietly, staring down helplessly at the ground. “Think that’s everyone.”

There was an appalled silence before Niall’s grip tightened fractionally, his pale face twisting with alarm.

“Liam knows?” the Irishman repeated, his horrified eyes widening. “But… how did he find out, Ash? What happened?”

Ashton’s panic stole the breath from his lungs as his hands balled into fists, the rain soaking him as he tensed uneasily in the older man’s grip. He wanted to escape; wanted to run from Niall before he said something that could implicate the older man and put him at risk.

The Texan’s trembling seemed to be infectious because the Irishman’s hand shook when he reached once more to touch the younger man’s injured jaw, his blue eyes growing damp beneath the stormy sky.

“This bruise,” Niall began slowly, his voice soft and hesitant as a tear slipped free. “The cut on your forehead before…” He bit his lip hard, his thumbs rubbing the younger man’s shoulders comfortingly as he gazed at his best friend in distress. “Was this Liam?”

Ashton’s bottom lip wobbled as he shook his head silently, hating the tears rolling traitorously down his cheeks.

The horror dawned on Niall’s face like the sunrise, burning hot with anger and fear, and agony.

“That night when you came home late…” His voice trailed away dully when Ashton crumpled, a wrecked sob tearing out of him as the older man drew him into a tight hug, tucking the Texan’s head safely beneath his chin.

“No, no, no,” Ashton wept, over and over as Niall stroked his hair softly. He couldn’t catch his breath now; couldn’t stand the thought of the mob boss’ threats coming true because the Texan might not have told his best friend the truth but he’d still guessed correctly and Liam would want to kill him for it.

Ashton could picture it for a moment; those awful threats becoming a reality. He saw Niall in his mind’s eye, choking on his own blood as the flick knife in the Texan’s hand glistened with it. He could picture Michael too, trapped helplessly in Liam’s grip before he… god, before he -

“Breathe, kid,” Niall cautioned gently, seemingly uncaring of the tears rolling down his own cheeks as he rocked Ashton gently in his arms. There was no one else around now - even the roads were deserted as the downpour increased and the hour grew later - and they were both grateful for that as the Irishman brushed a soothing kiss over his best friend’s curls. “We don’t have to talk about it if you’re not comfortable but… I’ll be there when you’re ready, kid. I promise.”

“You’ve got it wrong,” Ashton choked out, lying because it was the only way he could think of to keep the blond man safe, at least until his plan had a chance to come to fruition. It didn’t matter that he’d spoken though because, judging by the sad but knowing look in the Irishman’s eyes, he didn’t believe the Texan’s words for even a moment.

Niall just shook his head sadly as he brushed the tears from the younger man’s cheeks, wishing he could do more but it wasn’t safe out here in the open. His fight with Biersack and Sheeran today had proved that.

Ashton was shivering violently now, both from the cold and how seemingly awful his day had been, and Niall hated the pain in the younger man’s eyes so much. He’d do anything to wash it away.

“Need to get you out of this rain,” the Irishman murmured, shrugging out of his coat and wrapping it warmly around the younger man’s shoulders. He ignored the Texan’s weak protests, his expression soft and very, very sad as his hand settled comfortingly on Ashton’s back. “Let’s go home, kid.”

*

Niall held the younger man’s hand whenever the road was deserted, lending his best friend the strength he needed to make it back in one piece. He kept their arms brushing together as a point of contact whenever he had to let go in order to keep them both safe and, each time he dropped the Texan’s hand, the resentment in Ashton grew. His heart ached in his chest and he found it impossible to keep the bitterness off his face, even when Niall gazed down at him in concern.

Ashton hated so much that they had to hide their affection because other people were scared of love and the foul weather seemed to suit his mood perfectly when their apartment building finally came into sight.

The rain was pounding down by now as each drop hit the ground like a bullet, the steady drumbeat following them inside as they climbed the stairs, both of them soaked to the skin. Ashton felt terrible that Niall had foregone his coat in order to keep the younger man warm which was why he pushed the Irishman towards the bathroom first, determined even despite his trembling as he folded his arms across his chest.

“You’ve got to get into something warm before you catch a cold,” Ashton said firmly. “You want me to start on dinner while you’re washing up?”

“Not a chance, kid,” Niall countered softly, his eyes warm. “I might be cold but your lips have gone blue. You get yourself sorted first, okay? I’m really worried about you. I don’t want you to get sick.”

“But… but, Ni -”

“No arguing, kid,” the Irishman said gently. “Have a bath and get warmed up. You remember I stowed away on a boat all the way from fucking Ireland, right? Being out in the rain for half an hour isn’t going to hurt me now.” His face softened at the worry in the younger man’s eyes and he reached to squeeze the Texan’s hand for a moment, his smile sincere. “I’m fine, yeah? I promise, kid.”

Ashton’s guilt made his heart ache in his chest as he closed the bathroom door hesitantly between them. He wished more than anything that Niall would take care of himself for once, with even a fraction of the love he showed his best friend. The Irishman was worth the whole fucking world but he never seemed to see it and Ashton swore - if they both made it out of this alive - that he was never going to stop reminding him of how important he was.

He watched the water filling the bath slowly, his hazel eyes damp and glassy as he leant against the wall. His clothes were grimy from being down in the tunnels, his slacks torn and fraying at the knee. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he turned away, taking in the way his fedora was slipping a little as the bruise stretched painfully across his jaw.

Just for a moment, he felt like a kid dressing up in his father’s clothes again; felt like he’d stumbled off the path and peered behind a curtain he never should have twitched in the first place… but he knew now that this wasn’t true.

He was always supposed to come to Chicago. There was too much rot and destruction in this city, and Ashton could put an end to it if he fought hard enough.

He could right the wrongs that Liam had inflicted on so many innocent people.

He could wipe Fletcher’s cruelty away like the rain as he extinguished the fire of a gang war that should never have been started in the first place.

Ashton’s mind was racing with it when he finally sank down into the bath, submerging himself until only his head was clear of the water. It felt nice for a little while, the warmth helping to soothe the ache from his muscles as his arms floated limply beside him. He could hear Niall whistling in the kitchen as he cooked and it made the Texan smile fondly, at least until he remembered Liam’s threats.

The lump in his throat returned slowly as he recalled the mob boss’ vicious words; his gristly descriptions and the menacing tone he used to tear Ashton apart. He was too tired to panic now but it fluttered inside him like a hummingbird all the same, too weak to escape the confines of his ribcage.

He felt small as he lay there, curled up in the water as his curls floated on the surface. He hadn’t tried to drown his fears like this since he was a little kid and it hurt a bit to be reminded of that now; to realise how far he’d come and how out of his depth he felt. The silence in the room gnawed away at him as his mind raced, each anxious thought more disturbing than the last until the Texan came to the conclusion that he was foolish for ever assuming his plan would work in the first place.

Collins would kill him on sight or the Bureau would arrest him – or, even worse, Liam would discover his betrayal and punish everyone.

No matter how Ashton looked at his situation, his loved ones were screwed either way.

He couldn’t say he was surprised though. He’d learnt over the years that if you walked around with your heart on your sleeve then it was bound to get broken, no matter how lucky you were… and luck had never been on Ashton’s side to begin with.

He’d just dragged everyone else down into the flames with him.

The tears came unbidden as he pushed himself slowly into a sitting position in the cooling water, his arms wrapping around himself mechanically as he shivered at the temperature of the bathroom. His damp curls were sticking to his forehead and he pushed them away shakily, his fingertips brushing over the scar Liam had inflicted when he’d knocked the Texan down that day in his office.

The sob that escaped Ashton was saturated with exhaustion as he leant heavily against the side of the bath, his legs drawn up to his chest as he buried his face in his knees. The tears were falling faster now, burning hot down his cheeks as the desperation he could feel threatened to swallow him whole.

He didn’t like crying this way, when there was no panic in his veins to cloud his thoughts. He felt too aware of the crushing sadness inside him and he hated the realisation that perhaps it had been there all along. He needed to be brave and strong – for Niall, Michael, Louis, and Luke – but he felt only weak as he hid there in the silent room… just a kid with a hornet tattoo on his arm, getting everyone he loved killed.

The bathroom door swung open so unexpectedly that he didn’t even have time to dry his eyes. He just held his legs tighter to his chest and tried not to cry harder at the way Niall’s face fell as he faltered in the doorway. The Irishman already looked warmer than he had done earlier – clearly his change of clothes and cooking on the stove had helped – but he was still a little too pale in the unforgiving light.

“I remembered too late that there were no towels in here so I thought I’d bring you one,” the blond man said quietly, biting his lip as he took in how sad his best friend looked. “You… you want me to leave it over here, kid?” He gestured to the closed lid of the toilet but he wavered before he reached it, swallowing audibly past the lump rising in his throat as he took in the tears rolling down the Texan’s cheeks.

“You panicking, kid?” he asked softly as he knelt down on the bathmat, setting the towel aside carelessly. Ashton shook his head, his lips pressed together silently as he ducked his head to make himself as small as possible. Niall’s expression softened. “You don’t have to be shy. I can’t see anything,” he added lightly. “Not that I’d be looking anyway, I promise you that.”

Ashton let out a surprised laugh, wiping his eyes uselessly with a hand that was still dripping bathwater.

“The stew won’t be done for a little while yet,” the Irishman continued, keeping his gaze averted when the younger man shifted a little to get more comfortable. “You look like you need to talk, kid. Want me to stay for a little while?”

Ashton bit his lip as he looked up at him with wide hazel eyes, the pain in them impossible to deny. His eyelashes were spiky with tears and Niall reached to stroke his cheek without thinking, just wanting to make the younger man feel okay again. The Texan leant into his palm with a weak sigh and Niall’s heart ached in his chest as he realised just how badly his best friend needed him.

“Stay,” Ashton breathed, shivering more violently as the cold seeped into him. He wasn’t quite ready to leave the water yet though; not when it made his troubles feel so far away. “I need you.”

Heartened, the Irishman sat down hesitantly, leaning against the side of the tub in the opposite direction to his best friend so that Ashton’s head could rest comfortably on his shoulder without the Texan having to feel any more vulnerable than he already did. A soft sigh escaped the younger man as they sat there together, like he’d been craving the contact without realising it.

“Still can’t see anything,” Niall promised and Ashton huffed out another weak laugh, tucking his face away into the safety of the older man’s neck. The Irishman sobered quickly though, a soft sigh escaping him as he pressed a kiss to the younger man’s damp curls.

“What happened to you today?” he whispered. “Why were you in such a state when I found you?”

Ashton shuddered, his eyes falling shut as he remembered the awful suffocating darkness; the terror seizing him as Liam choked the oxygen from his lungs; the mob boss’ knuckles cracking against his jaw and the twisted pleasure in the older man’s voice as he detailed the horrific things he was going to do to the Texan’s loved ones.

Ashton opened his eyes, unable to speak for a moment past the knot of tension growing in his chest.

There was still no panic in his veins. He just felt numb instead but, somehow, it was almost worse.

“I got lost in the tunnels,” he said dully. “Took all day to find my way out again.”

A small hurt sound escaped Niall as he remembered the first time he’d taken Ashton down through the hidden entrance; as he recalled the fear in the younger man’s eyes as the shadows swallowed them and the way the Texan’s grip on his hand had been tight enough to hurt, not that the Irishman would have dreamt of letting go when his best friend was so afraid.

“You were stuck down there in the dark, kid?” Niall asked miserably. “All by yourself?”

“Mostly.”

“Mostly?” The blond man bit his lip hard, his eyes stinging at the forced blankness on the younger man’s face as the Texan refused to meet his gaze. The concern welled up inside Niall as he recalled their conversation on the walk home earlier and pain rippled through him as something horrible occurred to him. “Ash, when you say you were lost…”

Ashton wouldn’t speak, paling visibly as the blood drained from his face.

“There’s bruising on your neck too,” Niall pointed out in little more than a whisper, his jaw tightening with anger as he pressed a harder kiss to the younger man’s forehead, claiming almost… like if he could just love Ashton enough, maybe no one would try to hurt him. “It looks like someone tried to –”

“Ni,” Ashton said helplessly, his hazel eyes growing damp once more as he avoided the older man’s gaze. “Please don’t make me say. I can’t.”

“I’d never force you to do anything, kid,” the blond man said softly but his heart was clenching painfully now, his own eyes stinging with tears as he realised with awful certainty that the mob boss had clearly abandoned the Texan down in the tunnels for little more than a cruel trick. “But… you realise that’s answer enough, don’t you?”

“I can’t say,” Ashton repeated quietly, even as the tears boiled down his cheeks once more. “I’m sorry, Ni.”

Niall twisted so that they were facing each other, his hands shaking as he reached to cradle the younger man’s face between his palms. The Texan looked so tired now, like his exhaustion and guilt were burning him up from the inside out. There was shame in his eyes too, turning the soft hazel cold and sad, and it reminded the Irishman once more of his unbearable realisation in the rain that evening.

Even if Ashton hadn’t confirmed his worst fears, Niall would have guessed exactly what terrible event befell his best friend that day when he stumbled home hours late, suddenly afraid of touch.

The Irishman had inspected enough brothels with Harry to easily recognise the injuries gained during a struggle with someone stronger than you; with someone more powerful and dangerous. He had hated it enough when it was only strangers he was watching trying to piece themselves back together again; those poor trembling girls who’d been beaten and forced by clients who were too demanding; too rough and cruel but… fuck, when it was Ashton with his lips painfully swollen and his nerves shredded, it felt like someone had tried to carve Niall’s heart out of his chest.

It hurt that Ashton was too frightened of the mob boss to admit what was almost certainly the truth because, without absolute proof, Niall couldn’t do anything to help. Although he thought it was unlikely, what if he had misunderstood what had happened? What if someone else had tried to tear his best friend apart instead and the Irishman had wrongly assumed that every horror in Ashton’s life was a product of Liam’s twisted mind?

His thoughts were interrupted when Ashton leant closer, resting their foreheads together gently as a quiet sigh escaped him. His eyelashes fanned out against his cheekbones when he closed his eyes and Niall’s heart ached when he saw the tears still clinging stubbornly to the younger man’s lashes.

“When all this is over,” Ashton began heavily, his tone beseeching. “I’m going to tell you the truth, Ni. I promise.”

He didn’t offer an explanation as to what exactly he was talking about and Niall didn’t ask him. He knew the Texan would tell him when he felt ready and the Irishman needed to accept that. He wasn’t going to push Ashton; his best friend had had enough of that to last him a lifetime.

“I trust you,” Niall said simply, thumbing the tears away gently as he took in how soft the younger man’s eyes were when they fluttered open in surprise. “I really do.”

Ashton turned his head to press a chaste kiss to the older man’s palm, another shiver running through him as the cold water lapped at his skin. He was almost ready to leave the bath now; Niall had made him feel human again.

“You still trust me?” the Texan murmured, almost like he couldn’t quite believe it. “Really? Even now?”

“Of course I do, kid,” Niall reassured him, his tone sincere. “I know you’d tell me if you could. You’re my brother, Ash, and we always keep each other safe, yeah? So if you feel like it’s not okay to tell me right now, that’s all that matters. I believe you.”

Ashton’s eyes welled with tears but this time his expression was grateful and Niall let them fall, aware that the Texan probably badly needed this release.

“I fucking love you, Ash,” he promised. “That’s never, ever going to stop, okay?” He took in the disbelief warring with the fondness on the younger man’s face, and felt his heart swelling in his chest. “I’m so glad I met you, kid. You changed my life; gave me purpose again.” He reached out to lightly poke the frown on the Texan’s forehead, his lips tugging up into a soft smile that refused to fade. “I love you, kid,” he repeated gently. “Never forget that.”

“I love you too,” Ashton whispered, growing tearful now as his cold fingers entwined with Niall’s, shivering weakly. “More than words.”

Niall picked the towel up with a warm smile on his face, pushing it carefully into the younger man’s hands.

“Hop out, yeah? You’re gonna catch that cold we were trying so hard to avoid if you stay sitting in there.” He rolled his eyes fondly when the younger man shot him a pointed look, his lips curling into a tired grin. “Let me out of this room before you emotionally scar me, kid, okay? I don’t want an eyeful.”

“You’re not getting one,” Ashton said grumpily, sticking his tongue out although his expression quickly softened. “Thank you, Ni,” he said in a softer tone. “Thank you for cheering me up. It means a lot.”

“Well, I haven’t finished yet!” Niall said with an easy shrug, his blue eyes twinkling. “You haven’t even tried the stew yet.”

*

The Texan was still smiling fondly when he padded into the kitchen a short while later, dressed in some soft pyjama trousers and one of the blond man’s pullovers. The sleeves fell down over his hands and it made Ashton feel years younger as he leant against the counter, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as his curls began to dry in the warmth of the room.

The stew seemed just about done now and Niall shot it a warning look – almost like he was daring it to burn – before he drifted to wrap the younger man into a comforting hug. He rocked Ashton slowly, the love on his face plain as the Texan gazed up at him, his eyelashes still damp, his lips curving up wearily.

His favourite record was playing quietly – Button Up Your Overcoat by Ruth Etting – and the soft smile that grew on his face seemed to coax tears from the Irishman although he tried admirably to keep them from falling.

“My good boy,” Niall murmured, pressing a kiss to the younger man’s curls as his palm settled warmly on the Texan’s waist. Ashton turned his head so that his cheek was resting on the older man’s chest, a relaxed sigh escaping him when the blond man’s free hand rose to cup his face. Niall traced his thumb lightly over the bruise on the Texan’s jaw like he wished he could wash it away, the touch as gentle as a breeze.

“What’re you thinking?” Ashton whispered, scrunching his face up sweetly when his best friend dropped a kiss onto his nose in an effort to make him smile.

“I just want to make you the happiest you’ve ever been,” Niall said honestly. “That shouldn't be too much to ask, should it?”

He was so gentle as he guided the younger man carefully towards a chair, apparently grasping the extent of the Texan’s exhaustion when he swayed a little after the Irishman released him. The blond man dished their food up quickly, carrying the bowls and their drinks over in one trip, with an ease that hinted at practice.

“You’re going to bed as soon as we’ve had dinner,” Niall said in a tone that would brook no arguments. “I think we could both do with an early night.” His face softened when Ashton bit his lip again and he reached for the younger man’s hand, giving it a warm squeeze. “Wanna bunk down with me after? I’ll read you Oliver Twist if you like.”

Ashton’s face lit up and Niall grinned, pushing the spoon pointedly towards his best friend.

“Finish that first then,” he said warmly, his voice soft. “Got to take care of my favourite person, haven’t I?”

The Irishman was true to his word and, by the time they settled down together beneath the blankets once a chapter of the book had been read, Ashton felt calm and happy once more.

He tried not to dwell on the fact that he would be meeting Calum tomorrow night to discuss Collins; tried not to let it cross his mind that this might very well be the last evening they got to spend like this.

There was no point in ruining the moment now.

He loved Niall with his whole heart and he would die for him a hundred times over, and he absolutely refused to waste any of the time together they had left.

Ashton was even more clingy than usual but the blond man accepted the cuddles without question, their legs tangling beneath the blankets as he curled protectively around the smaller man. The curtains were drawn to keep unwanted eyes out and their door was double-locked, and possibly for the first time since the Texan had been blackmailed by Liam, he felt safe again, held securely in his best friend’s arms.

The moment felt so special and fragile, like a snowflake the second before it melted.

Ashton was afraid of a future when they might not have this anymore.

He’d do anything to save it.

Chapter Text

Thursday dawned bright and cold, one of the last true winter days before spring finally rolled across the city. The hours slipped by in a blur for Ashton – mostly because he was afraid of what the night held – and it was with grim amusement that he glanced at the clock and saw that it was already gone eight in the evening.

Niall was working a job with Sheeran at the secret location where the Hornets ran their cage fighting tonight – clearly Liam was proving once again that he had a twisted sense of humour by forcing the two of them together – and, although Ashton felt sorry for his best friend, he was glad the Irishman was out of the way.

He hadn’t wanted to lie to him about why he was leaving the house that evening. He hadn’t wanted Niall to see the fear in his eyes and uncover the truth: that tonight was the night when he might well come face to face with the notorious Mitchy Collins.

The last time Ashton had been in the same room with the mob boss of the Vultures, he had been shot. He hoped very much that there would be no repeat of that tonight but it was a worrying possibility. Even the smallest misjudgement or wrong word in the presence of Collins could spell the Texan’s end.

This could be Ashton’s last night on the planet if Calum had lied to him or if Collins had agreed to speak to him under false pretences, and yet… there was nothing he could do about it. Although it went against every bone in the Texan’s body, he had to trust them. He had no other option if he wanted his plan to become a reality.

Without trust, there would be no way of him tearing Liam’s criminal empire apart.

Once more he had to put himself at terrible risk in order to keep his loved ones safe.

He only hoped it would be worth it.

*

Calum was waiting for him outside the apartment building when Ashton arrived.

The Texan’s nerves made him jittery as he approached the barman, his hands shaking where he’d buried them casually in his pockets. It was a struggle to keep the fear from his face but he tried hard to remain calm; tried to pretend he was the kind of businessman he’d always imagined Fletcher was when he was a kid… tried to pretend the bravery and intelligence he fought so hard to project were real.

Niall and Michael would have told him off for thinking so poorly of himself but Ashton couldn’t let the unease of that distract him now; not when it was so important that he remain focused tonight.

When he was young, Fletcher had always taught him to act the way he wanted to be; to dress and behave a certain way until it became second nature. It was how Ashton had survived his gambling days, back when shrugging into his golden persona of confidence, intelligence, and charm had been as easy as breathing.

He’d found it more difficult when he joined the Hornets and discovered just how deep Fletcher’s secrets ran but, even then, his confidence and natural enthusiasm for life had returned eventually, too ingrained to stay buried for long.

He used his father’s teachings for other reasons now; to keep himself small and fragile because that was the way Liam wanted him. He became quiet and afraid, always watchful and suspicious, because how else was he expected to stay alive?

Somehow, over the past month, the frightened childlike sliver of Ashton that Liam tried so hard to destroy had become a fundamental part of who he was. The Texan only hoped that his confident mask would be enough to hide that vulnerability tonight and that Collins would be prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt; that the mob boss would view him as a man deserving of a chance and not the child of a murderous ghost.

The plan was too important to fall apart now. Ashton needed to make things right.

“Evening, Cal,” he said quietly as he stepped out of the shadows, the hint of a smile touching his lips when the dark-haired man jumped in surprise. Ashton kept his hands buried in his pockets, his fedora angled down so that his nervous eyes were hidden. Calum rose from the low stone wall he’d been sitting on with a weak scowl, his heart presumably racing with shock if the way he rubbed at his chest was any indication.

“It’s not nice to sneak up on people, pretty boy,” the older man said pointedly but his teasing tone quickly fell away when he peered at the Texan’s face with his dark eyes. “Been getting into scraps again?” he asked, pursing his lips unhappily as his gaze settled on the younger man’s bruised jaw, his expression flickering with worry.

Ashton just shrugged half-heartedly, a weak smile touching his lips.

“Didn’t need you to rescue me this time,” he said lightly and Calum grinned, his eyes twinkling with something that might have been pride.

“Look at you being all independent, pretty boy,” the barman said with a silly wink. His smile faded quickly though and he straightened up, squaring his shoulders as he got down to business. “Mitchy is willing to speak to you tonight, Ash. I’ve arranged a meeting point but unfortunately it’s at a location the Vultures need to keep secret so I’ll have to blindfold you on the drive over. I’m really sorry.” He grimaced, looking suitably embarrassed. “You understand why, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Ashton said grimly, his hazel eyes narrowing when the barman removed a bundled up strip of fabric from his pocket. It seemed ridiculous to the Texan that the last time he’d been blindfolded had only been yesterday morning. Already, the panic he’d struggled with down in the tunnels – alone with nothing but Liam’s unrelenting torture and the suffocating darkness – felt stale now, almost like the torment belonged to someone else.

Ashton was growing used to the abuse, and he was afraid that he might start to accept it if Liam kept chipping away at the things that kept him happy and sane because… fuck, if the Texan lost anything else he cared about, he might not have a reason to follow through with his plan. He might be too tired to fight anymore.

“C’mon, pretty boy,” Calum said grimly, his dark eyes tired and worried. “Let’s get tonight over with, shall we?”

He led the way silently down the otherwise-deserted road, guiding the younger man towards a shiny black motor car parked nearby. Even with Ashton’s nerves and his less-than-fond sentiments towards the vehicles, he could accept that it was beautiful. Harry would have loved it; he was more passionate about cars than Ashton was about reading which was definitely saying something.

“You admiring my ride, pretty boy?” Calum asked with a smirk. The Texan scoffed, rolling his eyes at just how wrong his friend was.

“Hoping I won’t throw up in it actually,” he said, a grin tugging at his lips as he took in the older man’s horrified expression. “I’ve been known to get a bit motion sick, Cal. It’s why I prefer to walk everywhere.”

“I like this plan even less now,” the barman said sulkily, his chocolate brown eyes baleful as he pushed the crumpled fabric into the younger man’s hands. “Although… closing your eyes is supposed to help with motion sickness,” he added, biting his lip awkwardly. “So maybe the blindfold will have the same effect, eh?"

“We can but hope,” Ashton said sourly. He scowled as he climbed unwillingly into the car, his frown deepening when the barman helped him fasten the material carefully so that his eyes were covered. His anxiety rippled under his skin as he fought not to think about how vulnerable he’d felt in this position with Liam but something softened in his chest when Calum settled into the driver’s seat, reaching to squeeze the younger man’s shoulder gently.

“You okay, pretty boy?” the older man asked softly and Ashton sighed, slumping back in the seat.

“I’m okay,” he confirmed quietly as his fingers twisted nervously in his lap. “Just be ready to stop at a moment’s notice, alright? I don’t want to meet Collins covered in vomit.”

“I’ll drive slowly,” Calum promised and that helped a little bit too; the fact that the barman was paying attention to the Texan’s needs and trying to make him feel comfortable. It was one of the reasons Ashton felt so safe with him.

The drive through the city seemed to take a long time but the barman kept his word and, although the younger man remained less than keen on travelling this way, at least he didn’t get sick.

Calum chattered away to him during the journey, almost like his nerves were threatening to get the better of him too. He told Ashton about his week; about what he’d eaten for lunch that day and a stray dog he was trying to befriend that frequented the alley behind his apartment building. It was all relatively sweet and inconsequential until the older man happened to mention that he was Collins’ second-in-command, and Ashton locked onto that with razor-sharp focus.

“Wait, so you’re Collins’ right-hand man?” The Texan turned towards Calum automatically although it was pointless since he couldn’t see and, when the dark-haired man murmured his assent, Ashton frowned behind the blindfold, biting his lip in confusion. “Why do you work as a barman then?” he asked. “Why not get someone else to do it?”

“Because I like it,” Calum said honestly. “I enjoy the work. I like meeting new people… and besides, how can I expect the other Vultures to do a good job if I’m just sitting behind a desk somewhere, plotting and scheming?”

“Oh yeah? Do you do a lot of plotting and scheming?” Ashton asked teasingly, making the older man snort with laughter.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, pretty boy,” the barman said smugly.

They fell quiet for a little while after that but the Texan found he didn’t mind very much. He was still dwelling on what Calum had hinted at about the dynamic within the Vultures. It was interesting to consider that Collins liked even the highest of his mobsters to be seen working hard because it was about as different from Liam’s problematic leadership as it was possible to get.

The mob boss of the Hornets would never have dreamed of encouraging his gangsters to work hard by following his own example. It was the reason he’d sent Niall to work shifts at the bars and inspect the brothels; the reason why Ashton had been stuck with the back-breaking work of lugging crates of moonshine up and down the stairs without rest.

Liam saw hard work as punishment and any rapport between his Hornets as a lack of respect. It was the reason he scorned his mobsters for being curious or showing emotions; the reason he taunted and mocked, always nudging the gangsters around like pieces in a game they knew nothing about.

Liam lacked the grit and the tenacity that Collins’ Vultures seemed to possess, and he treated his Hornets like unwieldy tools who didn’t deserve to be trusted with the truth. It had made Liam solitary and crueller than ever, and the desperate madness in his eyes still burnt like a forest fire even now. The smoke of it had choked away any chance of happiness and he took his resentful anger out on everyone else days, regardless of the consequences.

It was the reason he continued to lose ground to the Vultures; the reason that even his own Hornets were beginning to doubt his capabilities, because his talk of gang war sounded closer to the ravings of a madman on a street corner these days.

Ashton had no doubt at all that he would meet a bloody end if Liam uncovered the truth of the Texan’s plan to betray him. It would make the mob boss’ threats of the horrific things he would do to Niall and Michael seem like child’s play compared to how brutally he would torture Ashton, his very favourite plaything.

The horrors were unimaginable and, for the most part, the Texan was glad of that.

There was no need to torment himself with nightmarish thoughts of whatever agonies were waiting for him if his true intentions were revealed. He would simply worry about it if and when it became a reality, and try to keep his head above the water until then.

There was nothing else he could do.

“We’re here, pretty boy,” Calum said quietly, breaking the silence and startling the younger man from his thoughts. “Thanks for not throwing up in my car.”

“Well, there’s always the drive home,” Ashton replied lightly and, although a huff of laughter escaped the barman, the atmosphere was distinctly awkward. It wasn’t like the Texan could blame him though; neither were sure if he was even going to survive this meeting so planning how he wanted to spend the rest of his night seemed a little too optimistic.

“Is it true?” Calum asked out of nowhere, tense but undeniably curious. “Are the rumours about how Payne treats his Hornets true?”

Ashton wondered if the barman could tell how surprised he was by the question, even with his eyes covered the way they were. He settled for an awkward shrug, his fingers rising unconsciously to touch the bruising on his throat and he realised the older man had noticed when he heard his quiet intake of breath. Clearly, Calum was already drawing his own conclusions, all without the Texan having to breathe a single word.

“I think you can work that out for yourself, Cal.”

He reached blindly for the door handle and the barman sighed, his fingers curling gently around Ashton’s wrist.

“You sure you want to go through with this, pretty boy?” the older man asked hesitantly. “Last chance to back out if you do.”

“I can’t, Cal,” the Texan said quietly, his tone imploring as a shaky breath escaped him. “I’m already in too deep now. I have to see this through to the end.”

“Then you’re a braver man than me,” Calum said with a note of finality in his voice. “Try not to upset Mitchy, okay? I kinda like having you as a friend, Ash, and it’d suck if he killed you.”

Ashton smiled, reaching to tangle their fingers together for one last moment of warmth.

“No promises but I’ll do my best,” he said before a note of teasing entered his voice. “Not growing fond of me, are you, Cal?”

“You can’t prove anything,” the barman said lightly. He chose that moment to leave the car and Ashton bit his lip in the sudden silence as he waited for the older man to help him climb out too. He was trying to decide if he’d imagined the note of wistfulness in Calum’s voice and he found himself hoping that he had.

The Texan hardly needed another broken heart to carry with him.

He was still dwelling on that when the barman opened the passenger-side door and reached in to take his friend’s arm. Ashton stepped out onto the street slowly and the relief he felt at leaving the vehicle must have shown on his face because Calum laughed quietly.

“Normally people look more worried when they’re about to meet Collins,” he said, guiding the younger man safely out of the road as a vehicle drove past. “You look weirdly content.”

“I’m just glad to be out of the car,” Ashton said honestly, rolling his shoulders to relieve the tension he could feel before he cocked his head in the direction he thought the barman was standing. “Can I take this blindfold off yet?”

“Soon,” Calum promised, a rustle of fabric accompanying his words as he reached into his jacket for something. “Once we get inside.”

Judging by the sounds of distant traffic and the faint scent of cooking he could smell on the breeze, Ashton assumed they were in a residential area somewhere; maybe a quiet back street where the Vultures had set up a safe house. He kept his observations to himself as a shiver ran through him at the chill, the temperatures plunging now as the hour grew later.

“You ready to go inside?” Calum asked hesitantly, a heaviness in his voice that hadn’t been there before. Ashton reached out slowly, his fingertips brushing the barman’s wrist before they trailed lower to the gun he was gripping in his fist.

Ah. So that was what he’d been removing from his jacket.

“Ash -”

“It’s okay,” the Texan said quietly, even as the hairs on the back of his neck rose. “If I’m about to die, I’d much rather you were the one shooting me, Cal.” He gestured to his scarred shoulder briefly, his lips twitching into a humourless smile. “Collins doesn’t have very good aim,” he said softly.

Calum gave a tiny, sad laugh as he cocked the gun and Ashton didn’t flinch.

“You’re out of luck, I’m afraid,” the barman said quietly, the watery smile evident in his voice. “I’m not planning on killing you tonight, pretty boy. It just wouldn’t do to look too friendly, yeah? Collins wouldn’t like it.”

“I trust you, Cal,” Ashton said with a shrug and it didn’t surprise him as much as it should have done to realise that his words were true. He’d always trusted Calum; he just hadn’t been able to accept it before tonight.

“Let’s go,” the Texan said quietly, curling his hands into loose fists as he inhaled shakily. “I’m ready.”

Calum gave his arm one last comforting pat before he turned to rap sharply on the door, his tone just a little bit harder when a creaking sound signified that someone had answered on the other side.

“Roy, it’s Calum,” he said quietly. “I’ve got Irwin.” He gestured with the gun to the blindfolded man standing next to him and Ashton tried not to tense up, not wanting to appear threatening. “Step aside, buddy, yeah?”

The sound of shuffling footsteps reached the Texan’s ears before Calum’s hand settled on his shoulder as he led the younger man into the warmth of the safe house. The door clicked shut behind them as the mysterious Roy slid the bolt into place and Ashton felt a sudden pang of sadness that he hadn’t asked to steal one last glance at the stars, just in case he never got the chance again.

There was little point though. The stars weren’t going to help him now. This wasn’t some sweet romance novel with a handsome prince waiting just around the corner, ready to sweep the Texan off his feet and carry him away to safety. This was real life instead. It was gritty and dirty. It fucking hurt and there was no one waiting to save Ashton, prince or not… except, he didn’t need anyone else to save him and the people he loved.

He was going to do it by himself.

Michael and Niall were the last family he had left, and he refused to let Liam take them from him. They were the only two people on the planet who knew the Texan inside out but one he may be forced to kill and the other he’d been sworn not to touch.

Looking at the stars wasn’t going to fix his problems.

Only Ashton could do that.

He squared his bruised jaw, his hazel eyes bright and steely when Calum finally removed the blindfold. The material fell away and the Texan blinked rapidly as he waited for his vision to adjust, his narrowed gaze flickering about the stark hallway as he felt the muzzle of Calum’s gun digging lightly into his back.

He glanced over his shoulder at the barman, meeting the older man’s eye without flinching at the proximity of the revolver. Calum’s lips twitched faintly as the gun pressed in a little harder and Ashton knew it shouldn’t have felt like safety but that didn’t change the fact that it did. It just reminded him that his friend was with him instead; that he didn’t have to go through this most dangerous night alone.

“You got any weapons with you?” Calum asked quietly and the Texan sighed, biting his lip unhappily.

“There’s a flick knife in my jacket pocket,” he confessed, withdrawing it and dropping it into the barman’s waiting hand. “That’s it.”

“No gun?” the barman asked with surprise and Ashton shuddered, that night in the warehouse flickering before his eyes for a moment.

“Don’t like them,” he said. “They don’t feel fair.”

A tall blond man slipped past them, his skin inked with tattoos wherever his suit didn’t cover. He knocked on a door deeper in the house and Ashton’s teeth sank into his bottom lip as he balanced on the balls of his feet, trying to loosen up a little where the tension was making his muscles ache.

“I’ll be with you the whole time,” Calum whispered, low enough that the other Vulture couldn’t hear where he was murmuring into another room at the end of the hallway. “I promise, Ash.”

“Mr Collins is ready for you,” Roy called, his tone carefully blank although his eyes were unfriendly when the barman nudged Ashton forwards. He didn’t step back to give the Hornet room to pass him and the Texan refused to make himself small to satisfy someone else’s need to feel powerful. He bumped into the blond man deliberately instead, making sure to knock Roy in the ribs with his elbow, hard enough that it drew an angry exhale from the Vulture.

“Thanks, Roy,” Calum said quickly before the situation could descend into chaos, his dark eyes flashing warily between the pair. “You can go back to the door now. I’ve got Irwin covered.” He gestured with the gun again and Roy smiled nastily as he stalked back the way he’d come, winding Ashton with a jabbing fist to the stomach as he sidled past them. The Texan groaned, fighting not to double over as he gasped in a ragged breath. Calum rolled his eyes, shooting the Vulture a dirty look.

“Fucking amateur,” he breathed before he took a deep breath, prodding the younger man with the revolver. “C’mon, Irwin,” he said in a louder voice, clearly intended for his boss to hear. “Don’t keep Mr Collins waiting.”

Ashton stepped through the doorway with the gun at his back, his heart pounding so hard that all he could hear was his pulse thundering in his ears. He felt a little dizzy, almost like he was going to fall down with the pressure of just how much was riding on this meeting going well.

His scarred shoulder gave a phantom throb of pain when his hazel eyes settled on the mob boss, his leather gloved hands locked together in front of him, his expression harsh. The wooden panels beneath his polished shoes were scuffed and old, the icy blue paint covering the walls chipped in places as it drifted onto the floor like snowflakes.

Collins’ black clothes gave him the disturbing appearance of a spider lurking in its web, tugging at each delicate gossamer thread as he drew the son of his sworn enemy closer and closer.

“Mr Irwin,” he said coldly, his eyes alight with malice as he took a measured step closer. Calum was standing against the wall now, his revolver still trained on the Hornet standing alone in the middle of the room. Ashton raised his chin, allowing the mob boss’ glaring eyes to trail over him as Collins raised his gun. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I have information for you, Mr Collins,” Ashton said, secretly relieved at how steady his voice sounded. “If you’ll give me the benefit of the doubt, I think it could really benefit you.”

He didn’t flinch as he stared down the barrel of the gun, his hazel eyes locked on Collins’ pale face, twisted as it was with poorly-suppressed rage and hatred. The mob boss flicked the safety off in one smooth motion and Ashton pressed his lips together, refusing to show his discomfort.

He'd rather die on his feet like this – standing tall and strong – than live cowering on his knees in Liam's cruel grasp.

At least if Collins shot him tonight, Ashton’s shame at what Liam had inflicted would die with him.

He would finally be clean.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now, Irwin,” Collins snapped, his hand shaking just a little in the hushed room. Calum looked alert now, his jaw clenched as his nervous eyes flashed between his friend and his boss with growing concern. The silence was so deep that a pin dropping would have sounded like a clap of thunder.

Dimly, the Texan wondered how loud a gunshot would be.

“I can give you several reasons actually,” Ashton said bluntly. “Killing me won’t bring your family back. It won’t return what my father stole from you or make the heartbreak go away.” He took a step closer, until the gun was digging painfully into his chest, and lowered his voice, their gazes locked. “If you let me live, Mr Collins, then I’ll bring you Payne’s head on a plate.”

The silence reached breaking point before the mob boss took a step back, flicking the safety back on so that he could safely fold his arms across his broad chest. His eyes narrowed, a frown creasing his forehead as he fixed the younger man with a hard stare.

“I’m listening, Irwin,” he said flatly. “You have about –” He paused, removing his pocket watch to glance briefly at the time. “– five minutes to convince me. Otherwise you’re leaving here cut up into little pieces, I promise you. I don’t like time wasters and I especially don’t like you.”

“I’ll get right to it then,” Ashton said with a coldness that surprised him, still speaking in the same deliberately careful tone. He didn’t rush, not wanting to stumble over his words and say the wrong thing. This was too important to mess up now. “If I can deliver you Payne, along with all of the Hornet-owned moonshine and weaponry, would that go some small way to fixing things between us?”

Collins’ nostrils flared angrily but he didn’t deny that this was the case. Clearly he had the same selfish streak as Liam and that was why he didn’t defend his deceased family now by swearing that nothing could ever right that wrong because… maybe money and notoriety could. Maybe that was all Collins was focused on anymore, mistakenly hoping that it would be enough to fill the void Fletcher had caused.

“How would you propose to deliver me that?” the older man asked curiously, the fury in his face slowly being replaced with greed. “Can you truly meet those demands or are you just trying to save your own skin?”

“Of course I can,” Ashton said sharply, his eyes flashing. “No one forced me to come here tonight, Mr Collins. I made that choice myself.” He straightened his back, the bruise on his jaw throbbing when he gritted his teeth for a moment to keep from snapping. “I want to right my father’s wrongs and this seems like a good way to do it. It will benefit both of us.”

“That raises an interesting point actually,” Collins said slowly, his eyes gleaming. “How does it benefit you?” The curiosity on his face was undeniable now and Ashton held his breath, praying he hadn’t said the wrong thing. “How could betraying your own boss give you an advantage? What exactly do you get out of this arrangement?”

The Texan smiled thinly, his eyes dropping to the older man’s gun for a moment. Collins’ frown deepened but he slipped the weapon back inside his jacket unwillingly and Ashton counted that as a victory, however small.

“In this scenario, I win my freedom, Mr Collins,” he said quietly. “I plan to leave Chicago one way or another in the next few weeks, be that as a free man or inside a coffin. At this point, I don’t have much preference but what I do know is that I want Liam ruined. I want to tear apart everything he built with my father… and I know you feel the same. That’s the crux of the matter, isn’t it? It’s why I think we should work together.”

Collins’ keenness was painfully apparent in his hungry eyes and, although the hint of morbid fascination and anger at seeing his enemy’s son in the flesh hadn’t entirely faded, he seemed willing to listen now.

“And that’s all true?” the mob boss asked quietly. “You’re not going to decide to deceive me too, the way you’re betraying Payne?”

Ashton tensed infinitesimally, his hazel eyes hardening.

“With respect, you have no choice but to trust me, Mr Collins, and I don’t think I need to tell you anything more than that. You don’t need my life story and I don’t imagine you’d care for it very much in any case.” He grinned suddenly, the flash of hope and amusement he could feel searing itself across his face. “Plus, if I only have a few minutes left before you butcher me, I don’t want to waste them,” he added with just a hint of sarcasm.

A smirk touched Collins’ lips as he processed that and he nodded graciously, allowing the barb.

“Then it seems we’re in agreement,” he said, giving Ashton an appraising look. “Tell me the arrangements you’ve made so that the Vultures can profit. I want to hear how serious you are.”

“I’m deadly serious.” The Texan held the older man’s gaze, determined to make him understand how important it was that the mob boss agreed to work with him, no matter the cost.

When he saw that he had Collins’ full attention, Ashton knew that it was time to play his ace.

“There’s going to be a raid, Mr Collins,” he said softly, deciding not to mention that the details for this were yet to be ironed out. He reasoned that if for some reason the Bureau didn’t agree to his demands, it would already be far too late for the Texan. He knew one of the mob bosses would kill him - after all, they both wanted him dead - and since whoever did it would undoubtedly make it unpleasant, he didn't care which one carried out the gristly deed.

“I have a contact within the Bureau who is willing to offer assistance with this,” Ashton explained when he saw the confusion in the older man’s eyes. “All things being equal, the raid should take place next Wednesday. The only problem…”

“What?” Collins asked sharply. The younger man spread his hands in a placatory gesture, barely aware of Calum’s dark eyes locked on him as he closed in on the mob boss.

“I won’t be able to confirm that the raid is going ahead that day until Monday,” Ashton said grimly. “I need to meet with the agent before then, just to iron down the last details and make sure everything’s in place. I’m learning rapidly that there’s an unfortunate amount of paperwork involved in dealing with the Bureau. I can’t imagine how you have the time for it, Mr Collins.”

“And I can’t imagine what you’re insinuating there, Mr Irwin,” the older man countered. The spark was back in his eyes again though and the Texan relaxed fractionally, almost certain that he was safe now.

“Monday wouldn’t be a problem,” Collins said after a long moment of thought. “It doesn’t take long to mobilise the Vultures. We can be ready for Wednesday. My men are used to working alongside the Bureau; we have our own contacts.”

“So I’ve heard,” Ashton said easily. “If you’re happy to go ahead with this, I can send word to Mr Hood on Monday to confirm that the raid is set for Wednesday. How does that sound, Mr Collins?”

“It sounds like you’ve got yourself a deal,” the older man said, extending his hand although a frown creased his brow when Ashton eyed it cautiously, not reaching to shake just yet.

“There are conditions?” Collins guessed, his nostrils flaring with irritation.

“Only one,” the younger man confirmed. “And it’s only a small thing; barely anything at all when you think about all the guns and alcohol just waiting for you in Payne’s Speakeasies, defenceless and vulnerable once all of the Hornets are behind bars.”

“What is it that you want?” Collins asked sharply but the gleam refused to fade from his eyes and Ashton knew he had him hooked now.

“I want you to swear to me that no harm will come to Niall Horan or Michael Clifford,” he said firmly. “Do what you want with the rest of them but if Niall or Michael have even a single hair out of place, the deal’s off.”

Collins considered this silently, a heavy sigh escaping him as he glanced towards Calum with pursed lips. He seemed to have a silent conversation with his second-in-command before the mob boss straightened up, his gloved fingers lacing together once more.

“Horan’s been involved in a lot of raids against my businesses,” he said blandly.

“And your Vultures tried to beat Niall to death with metal pipes,” Ashton said darkly, the sudden surge of protectiveness burning hot enough to take his breath away as he thought of that awful morning when he’d found the Irishman unconscious and bleeding. “Don’t you think we’re even?”

“Fine,” Collins said abruptly, apparently keen for the meeting to be over now. “No harm will come to Horan or Clifford.”

“Then my only condition is met,” the Texan said smoothly. “Do we have a deal?”

The mob boss of the Vultures reached out once more and Ashton gripped his hand firmly as they shook on it.

“Deal,” Collins said before his tone lightened a little. “And still with a minute left, Irwin. Well done. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“You don’t even know me,” the Texan pointed out and, after a moment, the older man accepted that with a slow nod of his head.

“You’re right,” the mob boss allowed, more hesitant now. “You’re less like Fletcher than I’d imagined.”

Ashton smiled at him tightly.

“I’ll take that as a compliment then,” he said. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Mr Collins.”

He turned to Calum, his lips still curving upwards unconsciously when he saw that the barman had put his revolver away too, the relief blazing in his chocolate brown eyes. Ashton’s smile widened and he couldn’t quite stop it from spreading across his face as the adrenaline finally bled out of his system.

“Blindfold?” he enquired innocently and Collins grunted behind him, burying his hands deep in his pockets.

“Definitely blindfold him, Mr Hood,” he said warningly. “We’re not friends just yet.”

“Of course not, sir,” Calum agreed easily but the twinkle in his eyes almost gave him away.

Almost.

*

The drive back through Chicago was surprisingly peaceful.

The roads were almost empty this late at night and Ashton’s excitement at the deal being struck was slowly ebbing as the weariness inside threatened to overwhelm him. It didn’t help that his eyes were still covered either because the constant darkness was beginning to lull him to sleep. It seemed unavoidable though; he hadn’t slept restfully in so long now and Calum was a soothing presence beside him, his soft humming the only noise in the car besides the Texan’s soft breaths.

“You still awake over there, pretty boy?” the barman asked gently when they paused at a stop sign. He reached over to gently tug the blindfold off and the younger man looked up at him blearily, confused and half-asleep although he smiled a little at his friend. “I don’t know where you want me to drop you off, Ash.”

Calum had driven deeper into Hornet territory than was probably wise but the Texan was too tired for a long walk home now.

“Would you mind dropping me off by my apartment?” he asked hesitantly as he rested his cheek against the cool glass, stealing appreciative glances at the stars in the sky above them. “Today’s been exhausting, Cal, and I don’t think I have a walk in me tonight.”

“That’s okay, pretty boy,” Calum said softly. “You live nearby?”

“Sort of,” Ashton said, his words garbled around a yawn. “If you follow this road for maybe five more minutes, it’s left and then left again. You can drop me off on the corner by the butchers if that’s alright.”

“Sounds fine to me,” the barman said calmly, a tired smile touching his lips. “Shouldn’t be any trouble this late at night although… you’re sure you don’t just want me to drive you all the way home?”

“Liam might be watching my apartment,” Ashton said quietly. “It’s safer if you don’t stop right outside.”

Calum nodded thoughtfully, stealing a quick glance at his friend before he refocused on the road, a faint frown creasing his brow. “You’re playing a risky game, Ash,” he said quietly. “You know that, don’t you?”

“I know,” Ashton confirmed quietly. “I just don’t have any other choice.”

The truth of his words sank in slowly as he relaxed back against the leather seat, for once barely feeling nauseous at all at the slow speed they were driving. He bit his lip as he felt the familiar nerves fluttering to life in the pit of his stomach, aware that his plan was well and truly in motion now. It felt equal parts frightening and exciting to realise that all those painful nights of plotting were finally paying off.

All he needed now was for the Bureau agent to agree to his demands without immediately arresting him… and that was just a matter of luck and Luke’s promise being the truth; that this mysterious Gordon really had agreed to help the Texan and wasn’t secretly planning to ambush him.

“Did you mean what you told Mitchy earlier?” Calum asked tentatively as he broke the silence that had fallen. “You’re really leaving the city once this is all over?”

“I’ve been roaming my whole life, Cal,” Ashton said with a smile that didn’t quite touch his eyes. “I’ve been here too long already. I want to take Niall and Mike somewhere they’ll be safe… and that isn’t Chicago.”

A lump rose in his throat as the tears prickled but he blinked them back with difficulty, too drained to allow himself to lose control tonight. When he considered how raw he felt now, he was quite certain that once he began to cry, he’d never be able to stop.

“What will you do once the gang war ends, Cal?” he asked in a softer voice, his words a little choked around the emotions building inside him.

Calum smiled faintly as he turned left, following the Texan’s directions towards a safe place where he could drop him off.

“I’ll keep doing what I’ve always done, pretty boy,” he said softly. “You’re not the only one with plans.”

Ashton squeezed his friend’s shoulder gratefully when it was time to leave the car, his hazel eyes obviously damp as he tried to make the moment last. Calum’s hand rose to cover his friend’s and they held each other for a little while, just until the younger man had regained control of himself and the barman had surreptitiously dried his eyes with his sleeve.

“I don’t know why this feels so final,” Calum said quietly, a soft huff of laughter escaping him when Ashton shook his head ruefully. “You’re coming to see me on Monday.”

“I know! We’re being ridiculous,” the Texan muttered, his cheeks flushing as he winced when a tear slipped free. “Thank you for driving me home, Cal… and for arranging this meeting. I’m glad you were there with me.”

“Wouldn’t have had it any other way, pretty boy,” the barman said with an easy shrug. “Now how about you hop out of the car, eh? You look like you need some sleep.”

“Alright,” Ashton said softly, too tired to exchange any teasing jibes tonight. “Thanks again, Cal. I really mean it.”

The barman shooed him away with a fond smile on his face and Ashton felt the warmth of it in his chest as he walked home through the darkness.

He hoped Calum would be okay once he was gone.

He hoped he didn’t lose him.

Chapter Text

Ashton’s optimism diminished overnight and, by the time he woke up early the next morning, his nerves were rattling inside him like loose change, impossible to ignore. It was barely light when he kicked the blankets away, his curls in disarray and his bruised jaw aching dully as he yawned.

He’d fallen into bed the moment Calum had dropped him home the night before, asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow, but he was growing uneasy now. He’d been too tired to remember to check on Niall and it worried him that the Irishman might not have made it home safely from the job he’d worked with Sheeran; that maybe things had gone wrong and the Texan had been utterly clueless.

He would never forgive himself if he’d left his best friend suffering somewhere, all because he was more focused on his dangerous deal with Collins and the fact that he was meeting with the Bureau agent tonight.

Ashton bit his lip uncertainly as he padded down the hallway, one hand tracing the peeling wallpaper in the half-light as he hesitated outside the Irishman’s bedroom. He listened for a moment but the growing birdsong outside was too noisy to reveal the sound of snoring and, with a nervous intake of breath, he pushed the door open carefully.

“Thank god,” the Texan breathed, his shoulders slumping with relief when he saw his best friend lying sprawled on the mattress, his bare torso mostly uncovered by the blankets. He had freckles scattered across his back and something softened in Ashton when he noticed them for the first time; some deep desire to keep Niall safe, no matter the cost.

“Kid?” the Irishman murmured, his blue eyes blinking lazily in the soft light. “You okay?”

“Just making sure you are,” the younger man said with a weak shrug, carding his fingers through his curls distractedly. Niall glanced over his shoulder, a smile touching his lips when he saw the hopeful look on his best friend’s face.

“Got time for a hug before work?” he asked and Ashton grinned as he darted over to join the older man under the blankets.

“Definitely,” the Texan said, wrapping his arms around the Irishman as Niall draped the blankets over them sleepily. “It’s still early yet.”

“That’s good,” the blond man mumbled, his eyes sliding shut in contentment at having his best friend safe beside him. “I’ve missed this, kid.” He pulled a face suddenly, pouting a little bit. “I didn’t miss how cold your feet are though,” he added with a grumble although, judging by the way he tangled their legs together warmly, he didn’t really seem to care.

“Oh, please, Ni,” Ashton said teasingly. “You wouldn’t have me any other way.”

“True enough,” Niall said lightly, his lips curving as the younger man curled closer around him, his chin tucking warmly over the older man’s shoulder. It was because of their proximity that it became so obvious that the Irishman had grown suddenly tense and, unsurprisingly, it didn’t take long for him to say what was on his mind.

“You came home late last night,” Niall murmured, his hands slipping to cover the Texan’s where they were resting on his chest. “There was no note. I was worried.” He bit his lip, his blue eyes unhappy as the dawn light settled on his face through the crack in the curtains. “Where’d you go, kid?”

“Please don’t,” Ashton said softly, ducking his head to press a chaste kiss to the older man’s warm shoulder. “Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies, Ni. I thought we’d agreed that I’d tell you the truth only when it was safe. I thought you trusted me.”

His words seemed to scare the Irishman but he respected his best friend enough not to force the point. He seemed to shrink instead; become smaller in the Texan’s arms as he nestled back into the younger man’s warmth.

“I love you, kid,” Niall breathed, more vulnerable than he’d been in a long time. Ashton closed his eyes as a lump rose in his throat.

“I love you too, Ni,” he whispered. “Always have, always will.”

“You promise?” Niall asked, his voice small enough that the younger man entwined their fingers securely.

“I promise,” Ashton said firmly. “That’s never going to change.”

*

As the hours slipped by and his meeting with the Bureau agent grew closer, the nerves battering inside the Texan grew even harder to ignore. His hands were shaking with it by the time he reached the Speakeasy and he kept his new hat angled low, hoping it would hide the fear burning in his tired eyes.

There was a horrible atmosphere in the building these days; some caustic mixture of dread and anger that Ashton was glad Louis had escaped from. The tension that had begun to simmer when the gang war first started had reached boiling point, hot enough to scald if anyone was stupid enough to try and touch it.

The day only got worse from that point on.

Wherever he went, Biersack seemed to be lingering nearby, a malicious glint in his eyes as he muttered under his breath to whoever he happened to be standing with. Ashton didn’t want to hear what he was saying – after the black-haired man’s fight with Niall, he thought he could imagine – but it still felt horrible to know that suddenly nobody could stand him because of something he couldn’t control.

He only hoped that the Hornets hadn’t made the connection between him and the doctor. The last thing Michael needed was for the people he’d cared for to destroy all of the progress he’d made since Jack’s death.

Ashton would never forgive them if they hurt the doctor now.

He’d do anything to keep that from happening.

By noon, the Texan was in no doubt at all that the other mobsters were beginning to cotton on to his sexuality. People either pointedly bumped into him or avoided him like he had the plague, and Ashton felt drained by the afternoon. He was so desperate to be able to put all of this behind him once the plan had finally paid off; to just escape from this hellish place and live out his life in peace somewhere, safe with Niall and Michael, away from prying eyes.

He was sporting bruised ribs and a grazed shin by the end of the day, all of them courtesy of small-minded men who had actually seemed to like Ashton up until they mistakenly assumed he’d want to abscond with them simply because he was queer. Quite honestly, the Texan would have liked to ask them just how low they thought his standards were but that was probably a bad idea. He didn’t want to get properly beaten up on top of everything else that had happened today.

He spent the last hour lurking in the storage room, tidying shelves even though the crates of moonshine bottles had already been stacked neatly. It seemed easier than avoiding punches up in the main Speakeasy and at least he had some peace down here to plan exactly how he was going to word his request for assistance from the Bureau tonight.

By the time he deemed it appropriate to leave for the night, he’d already decided he wasn’t going to wait for Niall the way he usually did up in the main corridor. That was just asking for trouble and trouble was something Ashton tried to avoid at all costs, especially when there was so much riding on him making it to the meeting tonight in one piece.

Unfortunately, he’d barely made it to the top of the stairs when someone roughly grabbed his collar and slammed him back against the wall, their fist cracking hard against his nose. It wasn’t a particularly well-aimed punch – he’d definitely suffered worse injuries to his face, not even including the recoil of the gun that night in the warehouse – but he still cursed as blood dripped hotly between his fingers and a headache began to pound behind his eyes.

Ashton didn’t get a chance to see who’d punched him – too focused on keeping his legs locked as he tried not to fall down – but a door opened further down the corridor and the Hornet emerging quickly put to rest any doubts regarding who his attacker had been.

“Hey, Moreta! What the fuck?!” Michael shouted furiously as he hurried towards them, his face paling when he saw who exactly was bleeding. “Ash?!” he gasped, looking equal parts terrified and confused that the mobsters were turning on the Texan. “Ash, are you okay?”

Ashton’s panic flared inside him as he backed away from the doctor because… fuck, what if Liam came to investigate the commotion? What if he saw the doctor tending to the Texan and followed through on his threats to destroy Michael in the most horrifying way possible?

Ashton had no choice but to run, his heart clenching in his chest as he hurtled past Frank, staggering out onto the dark street. He caught a glimpse of the doctor out of the corner of his eye as the door swung shut – saw the hurt and confusion on the older man’s face as the man he loved escaped from him – and the Texan’s heart felt like it was breaking in his chest as he made his escape.

The further he got from the Speakeasy, the harder he wanted to break down in tears, so full of self-hatred that he had been the cause of the pain on the doctor’s face.

He’d discovered today that if loving Michael was as easy as breathing, running from him felt like wading through treacle.

That was the reason he was so determined for his plan to work.

Ashton never wanted to run from the man he loved again… and he was in love with Michael.

He was sure of that now.

Maybe he always had been. 

*

The bleeding had stopped by the time Ashton finally made it back to the apartment but his nose was throbbing now, in perfect time to his heart pounding nervously in his chest. He’d walked through the approaching darkness alone, his tense shoulders hunched against the cold as the loneliness he felt threatened to overwhelm him.

At times like these, he felt that perhaps Liam’s threats and manipulation were working in the mob boss’ favour after all. No matter how hard the Texan tried to keep his loved ones close to him, Niall and Michael were still being forced out of his grasp, and Ashton couldn’t even fight it… not if them staying away from him was the only way to keep them safe.

He shot a wary glance over his shoulder as he let himself into the apartment building, his hazel gaze flickering over the dreary grey street outside to make sure that none of the Hornets had followed him. The last thing he needed was another beating now – especially so close to his midnight meeting at the cemetery – and it made him angry that this was something he needed to worry about.

It didn’t seem fair that he had to watch his back solely because of the homophobic society he had been unceremoniously flung into and he hoped that things would be easier once he left the city behind; once he had enough privacy to live without constantly overthinking every move he made in order to avoid prejudice.

He found it difficult to believe that Chicago had once felt like home to him because it couldn’t have been further from that now.

These days, Ashton almost missed the burning Texan sun and the empty blue sky, stretching as far as the eye could see. It felt strange to miss his old home again, especially after he’d spent so long wanting to escape it, but he knew things would be different now if he ever had the chance to return. For one thing, Fletcher was gone. For another, he had Niall and Michael in his life.

The Texan would never feel alone there again.

He comforted himself with that knowledge as he let himself into the apartment, his jaw clenched with pain as he hung his coat by the door and kicked his shoes off. A heavy sigh escaped him as he traipsed towards the bathroom, hating the way the blood felt where it had dried in dark streaks down his chin.

On some level, he was sure he should have been used to washing his blood away by now. Years before he’d joined the Hornets, there’d been countless times back on the ranch when he’d had to sneak into the bathroom to fix himself up; whenever a drunken Fletcher lost control or the cocaine dealers proved too violent.

Ashton had spent his childhood learning how to wash blood from his clothes, and which medicinal plants were safe to apply to his countless cuts and bruises. It had been a difficult period of trial and error but he’d survived that; it only stood to reason that he would survive this too.

A softer sigh escaped him as he leant over the sink, his brow creasing at the crimson droplets staining his shirt. He wasn’t sure he had the energy to take a bar of soap and start scrubbing at the garment now, especially since he was hoping he wouldn’t need to wear this sort of thing after he left the city behind anyway. It felt so insignificant that, after barely a moment of thought, he simply unbuttoned the shirt and let it tumble to the floor through limp fingers, already forgotten as he gritted his teeth at the ache.

He had so many more important things to dwell on.

By the time he heard a key turning in the lock outside, he’d already washed most of the blood away but he didn’t move to leave the bathroom. He was fairly sure Niall would be upset once he saw what had happened to his best friend and Ashton wanted to minimise that as much as he could, even if there wasn’t a lot he could do about the bruising beginning to swell on his tanned skin.

“Ash?” the Irishman called hesitantly, his tone concerned as he moved deeper into the apartment. “Kid, where are you?”

“In here,” Ashton replied, wincing a little at how muffled his voice sounded thanks to his rapidly-swelling nose. “Sorry for leaving without you, Ni.”

The door opened a crack and the Texan tensed when his best friend slipped into the room behind him, his pale face falling when he saw the extent of the younger man’s injuries. Niall drifted closer, gnawing at his thumb as the worry consumed him.

“You have nothing to apologise for, kid,” he said quietly, his blue eyes sad as his hands settled lightly on Ashton’s bare shoulders, trying to warm him up. “Michael caught up with me after you left, Ash. He said you got knocked around… and that you didn’t give him the chance to fix you up afterwards.” Niall’s lips twitched into a sad smile as he looked at the younger man curiously in the mirror, holding his gaze. “Normally I can’t keep the pair of you apart for love nor money, kid. What changed today?”

Ashton turned to face his best friend with a deep sigh, his heart sinking in his chest when the Irishman flinched at being confronted with the bruising this close up. The blond man bit his lip worriedly, his eyes growing pained.

“Now we match,” Niall said softly, his fingertips rising to brush his own bruised face after Biersack had attacked him yesterday. “It’s like everyone’s jealous of our stunning good looks. They keep trying to ruin them.”

“Silly,” Ashton muttered but he couldn’t quite keep the smile from touching his lips. It faded quickly though, his shoulders slumping beneath the weariness he could feel seeping through him as he reached to tangle their fingers together securely, trying to find the words he needed to make the Irishman understand just how scared and angry he was right now.

“You know why I got knocked around today, Ni,” he said softly, hating the prickle of tears in his eyes as he leant back heavily against the sink. “Same reason you got hurt yesterday, right?” The lump rose in his throat as he looked at the soreness of the older man’s face and realised with a sinking feeling that it was all because of him. “Ni, if the Hornets have been treating me like this just because of a rumour that I’m queer, what do you think they’d do to Mike if they thought he had feelings for me?” Ashton shook his head slowly, wincing as a tear escaped. “I can’t let him get hurt like that, Ni. He’s been through enough already.”

Niall drew the younger man into a tight hug, his arms wrapping warmly around the Texan’s bare torso as Ashton shivered against him. The lump in his throat was hard to breathe past now but it helped when he felt fingers carding soothingly through his curls as the blond man dropped a kiss onto his forehead.

“Michael cares about you, kid,” Niall said quietly, pulling back a little so that he could meet the younger man’s eye. “It's his life too. Don't you think it should be at least half his decision how much attention he shows you in public?”

Ashton hung his head, his curls falling into his eyes as he let his forehead come to rest on his best friend’s shoulder. He knew Niall was right but that didn’t make hearing the gentle rebuke any easier; not when he was trying so hard to remain in control so that he could keep the doctor safe.

“I only ran because… I care. It sounds stupid but it’s true,” Ashton said softly, his words a little choked as he dried his eyes with the back of his hand. “I just… I can’t talk to him right now. It’s not safe and I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to him. Same with you, Ni. You both need to be safe.”

“But… why wouldn’t we be safe, kid?” Niall’s eyes hardened as he bit his lip, the worry unfurling once more. “Why can’t you talk to Michael?”

“I can’t say,” the Texan whispered, closing his eyes as he buried his head in his hands to smother the anxiety he could feel brewing. “It’s not safe yet, Ni. I’m sorry. Once this is all over then you’ll both know the truth but… but until then...”

Niall’s confusion was painfully evident on his face but he was kind enough not to force the subject, and Ashton was very grateful for that, especially when he could tell how desperately curious his best friend was.

“It’ll be okay, kid,” the blond man murmured, his arms winding around the younger man’s waist as he cuddled him tighter. “Whatever you’re dealing with right now… well, I believe in you, Ash. You’re my brave boy, yeah? You can do anything you put your mind to.”

The Texan let his cheek rest comfortingly against the older man’s chest, his eyes falling shut for a moment in exhaustion, at least until he heard a strange noise coming from the hallway. He jerked up in surprise, his hazel eyes narrowing a little as Niall’s grip tightened fractionally on his waist, keeping him close.

“Someone’s outside,” Ashton said quietly, his heart speeding up a little as his fingers twisted in the Irishman’s shirt. “Ni –”

“It’s okay, kid.” The blond man’s hands smoothed comfortingly over the younger man’s ribs as his nervous blue eyes twinkled a little. “I have a confession to make,” he admitted into Ashton’s curls. “And I’m worried you’ll be upset or angry.”

At the younger man’s perplexed look, Niall smiled faintly, his expression equal parts fond and sad.

“Michael’s waiting in the hallway, kid,” he confessed quietly. “He followed me home. He was really worried about you.”

“What?!” Ashton’s hazel eyes widened, the longing in them warring with his growing panic. “Ni, he can’t be here! It’s too dangerous!”

“Well, try telling him that,” Niall said with a half-hearted shrug, his eyes flickering towards where the door was still open a crack. “Michael’s very tenacious, kid. Have you tried telling him what to do before? Because it doesn’t work.”

Ashton snorted despite himself, even as the nervous butterflies in his stomach threatened to steal his breath away.

“He’s stubborn as a mule,” the Texan said softly, his heart clenching in his chest when the doctor stuck his head round the door to pout at him.

“I’m not that stubborn,” Michael said, his emerald eyes gentle despite his teasing tone. “I always got called headstrong at school… sometimes annoying… but not stubborn.” His face fell as he took in Ashton’s injuries and he sighed when the Texan looked away frantically, too frightened to meet the doctor’s gaze.

The Irishman looked between the pair of them awkwardly.

“I’ll give you two some space,” Niall said quietly, giving Ashton’s shoulder a brief squeeze before he stepped back, taking all of his warmth with him. “I’ll get dinner started. You want to stay for some food, Michael?”

“If it’s no bother,” the doctor said quietly, his tone grateful but sad. “Thank you, Niall.”

A tense silence fell once the Irishman had left the room and Ashton sank down onto the edge of the bath heavily, squeezing his eyes tightly shut so that he wouldn’t have to look at Michael and feel his resolve weaken. He was so frightened to be this close to the doctor now, especially with Liam’s threat hanging over him like a shroud because… fuck, the Texan loved him.

He loved him but Liam had made him swear that he was going to stay away from Michael; that he wouldn’t seek him out or lay a finger on him because if he did then –

A shaky sigh escaped Ashton as he buried his head in his hands, shrinking in on himself as the tears in his eyes threatened to boil over. He felt so small and vulnerable, especially when the doctor knelt down on the floor in front of him, close enough to touch… to kiss.

Ashton wished he was wearing a shirt. He wished Michael hadn’t followed him home. He wished that Niall had never introduced him to the Hornets. He almost wished that he’d never left Texas at all.

“Won’t you look at me?” the older man breathed and, somehow, the hurt in his voice was stronger than Ashton’s fear. He met the doctor’s gaze without considering the consequences, his lips parting silently at the force of his emotions. He balled his hands into fists to keep from reaching for Michael, his hazel eyes damp as he shook his head wordlessly at the older man’s quiet beauty.

“You’re hurt,” the doctor said softly, one of his hands drifting to cover the Texan’s fist. He rubbed the pad of his thumb soothingly over the tense knuckles and the younger man relaxed unconsciously, his hand uncurling like a flower as he entwined their fingers together. “Do you mind if I take a look at the bruising?”

Ashton leant closer in acquiescence, his eyes fluttering shut when Michael’s hands rose to gently cradle his cheeks. He tilted the Texan’s head back carefully, his emerald gaze focused on the swelling as his fingertips brushed the sore skin.

“It’s not broken,” the doctor said with a soft sigh of relief. “Just bruised. It’ll fade soon enough though.” He bit his lip, his concern evident when Ashton stole a glimpse at him through his eyelashes. “It doesn’t hurt to breathe?”

The Texan shook his head silently and Michael’s shoulders slumped with relief as he rose to sit on the side of the bath too. Neither of them spoke for what felt like a long time but the doctor was warm against him and Ashton was cold without his bloodstained shirt, and the space between them diminished naturally.

“Liam told you to stay away from me, didn’t he?”

Michael’s words seemed to come out of nowhere but the younger man stiffened all the same, his hazel eyes widening with alarm as his breath caught in his chest. The doctor was shaking when he reached to take Ashton’s face between his palms but he held the younger man’s gaze, his affection blazing so much brighter than the fear.

“Don’t deny it, Ash,” Michael said quietly. “I know I’m right. I can see it in your eyes.”

“Well, I’ve never been able to lie to you,” the Texan admitted, his words little more than a breath. He slumped like all of the fight had drained out of him, the tears falling faster as he let his head fall to rest on the doctor’s shoulder. Michael’s arm slipped warmly around him as he leant closer, dropping a soft kiss to the younger man’s curls.

“You really are stubborn,” Ashton whispered and the watery smile on Michael’s face broke the Texan’s heart. He could hear the doctor’s breathing this close, steady and even as his pulse beat reassuringly in his veins. Ashton didn’t want Liam anywhere near him.

“It’s too dangerous for you to be here, doc,” he said weakly, trying one last desperate attempt to make the older man understand how serious the situation was. His heart sank when Michael simply shrugged, his sandy eyelashes spiky with tears as he held the Texan’s gaze evenly.

“I don’t care,” the doctor said bluntly. “You need me, Ash. I know you do.” His green eyes were gentle despite the certainty of his words and they softened further when he took in how badly the younger man was trembling, so sick of hurting all the time.

“I’m not leaving you on your own again, sweetheart,” Michael murmured, his own tears welling up when his fingertips briefly touched the healing cut on the Texan’s forehead. His eyes drifted over the bruises and grazes visible on the younger man’s skin, and something in Michael seemed to collapse as the pain rippled across his pale face. “You look like you’re falling apart.”

“Oh?” Ashton murmured, a weak smile touching his lips. “And you’re gonna be the one to put me back together again?”

“I’ll try, sweetheart,” Michael said honestly, his expression softening with tenderness and hope. “All I can do is try. That is… if you’ll let me?” His words trailed away tentatively and the Texan was powerless to resist him.

“Of course I’ll let you, doc,” Ashton said softly, the tears in his eyes boiling over as he drew the doctor into a gentle kiss. “I love you too, you know.” 

*

Michael lingered in the doorway when the younger man went to fetch a shirt, his arms folded loosely over his chest as he watched the Texan rifling through his wardrobe. He drank in the play of muscles in Ashton’s shoulders unashamedly, his gaze warm as it drifted across the tanned skin and messy honey-coloured curls. He had dimples in the small of his back and the doctor’s heart felt too big for his chest when he noticed them, like the Texan was something precious that deserved to be taken care of.

He reached for Ashton unconsciously, his lips curving into an unconscious smile when the younger man twisted in his arms to press a kiss to the doctor’s lips. He was wearing a faded pullover now, the material soft beneath Michael’s fingers where his hands had settled comfortingly on the Texan’s hips.

“You really love me?” the doctor murmured, his tone disbelieving enough that Ashton drew back, the fear in his eyes overshadowed by warmth.

“More than you’ll ever know,” he promised, stretching up on his tiptoes for another kiss. “More than anything.”

The Texan’s fingers twisted gently through the older man’s hair as he pressed closer, losing himself for a moment in the warmth of the doctor’s mouth as the tension leaked from his shoulders.

It felt so nice to be close again like this, even if there was an air of fear lingering on the fringes of Ashton’s consciousness. It only heightened his feelings for Michael though; only made him want to kiss the doctor harder, while they still had the chance.

The Texan sank down onto the mattress with a quiet sigh that was lost in the doctor’s mouth as he settled over him, his hazel eyes falling shut contentedly as the older man’s lips moved against his. Ashton’s cheeks heated when he remembered the last time the pair of them had been alone in his room like this, with Michael’s fingers wrapped perfectly around him and the sounds the doctor made when he was falling apart.

“Need you so bad, Mikey,” the Texan breathed as his hands slid beneath the older man’s shirt to stroke his back. “Missed you so much.”

“Ash,” Michael said urgently, his emerald eyes glitter-soft as he gently stroked the younger man’s bruised jaw. The touch was so fond that Ashton only cuddled him closer, barely even aware of the pain in his nose now that the doctor was so effectively kissing his worries away. “Ash, please –”

“Dinner’s ready!”

Niall’s voice cut through the quiet and they both jumped, the younger man giggling weakly as he moved unwillingly from the doctor’s embrace. Michael’s hair was in disarray now, his usually-pale cheeks flushed with blood as he struggled to catch his breath again.

“Coming!” Ashton called, wincing good-naturedly when the doctor winked at the double entendre. “You’re ridiculous,” the Texan murmured fondly, pressing a chaste kiss to the older man’s lips before he scrambled to his feet. “Now c’mon, Mikey. Dinner’s getting cold and we can’t leave Ni waiting.”

The doctor looked down at himself, fixing his crumpled shirt with a grimace as he shook his head ruefully.

“It's a good thing I love you,” Michael said with a pout that didn't even come close to masking the fondness in his eyes.

Ashton smiled the whole way to the dinner table. 

*

“I had no idea you were such a good cook, Niall!” Michael said appreciatively as they tucked into their meal. “This puts my chicken to shame, doesn’t it, Ash?”

“Your chicken was amazing, doc!” Ashton disagreed mildly as he spooned up another mouthful of vegetable soup, a contented hum escaping him. “This really is great though, Ni. Almost as good as your famous stew.”

The Irishman smiled, clearly pleased with himself as he slumped back tiredly in his chair. He seemed drained after another long and stressful day at the Speakeasy, his shirt creased and his blond hair fluffier than usual. It was nice to see him letting his guard down in front of the doctor. It meant a lot to the Texan that the two people he was closest to were growing this comfortable together.

“Well, I didn’t want to make anything that required too much chewing,” Niall said, his tone a little bashful although the worry in his eyes was impossible to ignore. “I know your jaw hurts, kid. You’ve got far too many bruises right now.”

“They’ll heal,” the Texan said quietly, avoiding catching anyone’s gaze. Michael’s hand slipped into his beneath the table. “Now, if you two are finished being mother hens, I’m trying to finish this delightful soup in peace.”

Niall snorted in response, one eyebrow quirking as he rolled his eyes fondly.

“Life is a lot of things with you, kid, but peaceful isn't one of them.”

“He’s definitely not wrong,” Michael agreed, giving the younger man’s hand a comforting squeeze to lessen any offence his words might cause. “You do have the unfortunate habit of injuring yourself whenever you enter a room, Ash.”

“Not every room,” the Texan said sulkily, his sparkling hazel eyes narrowing as he glared weakly at the pair of them. “I can’t believe you’re ganging up on me. I hate you both.”

“Oh, you do?” Michael asked sweetly. Niall just smirked as he spooned up the last of his soup, clearly enjoying seeing his best friend relaxed enough to be silly for once. Ashton pretended to consider the doctor’s words before his lips curved into an infectious smile.

“Nope, not really,” he said, leaning over to plant a kiss on the older man’s cheek. “Ni, I’m too lazy to move so pretend I kissed you too,” he added, making Michael pout.

“Should I be jealous?” he asked teasingly and Ashton’s answering giggle was the sweetest sound the doctor had been lucky enough to hear. Niall’s eyes glittered as he watched the pair of them fondly, his relief palpable that his best friend had found such closeness in a kind-hearted person like Michael.

“Not at all,” the blond man said lightly, poking his tongue out when Ashton grinned at him. “Now, if you two are finished, I think it’s time I kicked you out of the kitchen. You’re making me feel very single and unloved so maybe you should take yourselves somewhere else – say, how about Ash’s bedroom?”

Niall winked in the least subtle manner ever and Michael blushed comically, a small spluttering sound escaping him that he tried to mask with a cough. The situation was endearing and slightly ridiculous, and it only made Ashton love the pair of them even more.

This was the only aspect of his life in Chicago that he wanted to keep once his plan was complete: this wonderful feeling of family that Ashton only got when he was with these two, blanketed in laughter and safety.

“Michael, don’t even think about helping with the washing up,” Niall grinned, jarring the Texan from his thoughts. “C’mon, you two. Get out of here. I’m sure you can find a way to keep yourself amused.”

“Ni!” Ashton exclaimed, trying hard not to laugh. “Stop being so embarrassing!”

“It’s my duty as your honorary big brother, kid,” the Irishman said with an easy shrug. “So no can do I’m afraid.”

The Texan accepted this with a grin he found impossible to hide, the energy coiling inside him more restful than it had ever been tonight as it washed away the grime on his heart like warm water.

They slipped out of the kitchen together quietly, warm smiles touching their lips whenever their gazes met as the younger man led the doctor shyly into his bedroom. The door closed behind them with a soft click and Ashton’s expression softened when he saw Michael waiting hesitantly on the edge of the bed, his fingers carding nervously through his sandy hair as his eyes drifted restlessly around the room.

He blushed when the Texan sat down beside him and Ashton reached for the older man’s hand timidly, his bruised face softening at the uncertainty in the doctor’s lovely eyes.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t feel like it,” the younger man promised as he tried to read the play of emotions on the older man’s face. “We can just talk instead if you want. I don’t care what we do, doc; doesn’t matter so long as I’m with you.”

Michael held his gaze uneasily, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip as he gave the Texan’s hand a comforting squeeze.

“I do want to be with you, Ash,” he admitted softly. “It’s just…” He faltered, his eyes flickering away again. The atmosphere felt undeniably different now, almost like they were no longer alone in the room, and all at once, Ashton realised what was wrong.

“It’s Jack, isn’t it?” he guessed, his lips soft as he pressed a chaste kiss to the doctor’s cheekbone. Michael nodded silently, his whole body slumping as he let his head fall to rest on the younger man's shoulder. He closed his eyes when the Texan’s lips brushed chastely over his forehead, a soft sigh escaping him as he relaxed in Ashton’s embrace.

“Does it feel strange being close to someone again?” the younger man asked quietly, his tone tentative and encouraging. His expression was so sweetly open when the doctor glanced up at him that it made a lump rise in the older man's throat.

“Not with you, sweetheart,” Michael said honestly, exhaling shakily when the Texan kissed a tear from his cheek. “It doesn’t feel strange but I sort of feel like it should, that’s all.” He shrugged awkwardly, a sad laugh escaping him. “That probably doesn’t make any sense.”

Ashton watched Michael carefully, noting the teardrops clinging to his long eyelashes and the way the older man was still leaning into his warmth, desperate for affection even now. Then he thought of the awful things Liam had done to him and how he still felt safe in the doctor’s arms, and he shook his head sadly as he cuddled the older man tighter.

“Actually it makes perfect sense, doc,” he said quietly, shrugging half-heartedly as his teeth sank into his lip. “If anyone understands how you're feeling right now, it’s me.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Michael said, his tone soft and sad as he squeezed the younger man’s hand tighter. “I’m sorry you’re hurting, sweetheart.” He fell quiet suddenly, almost like he was steeling himself to say something that frightened him. “I meant what I said though, Ash,” he admitted, his voice little more than a breath as he gazed at the younger man beseechingly. “I really do want to be with you tonight...”

He trailed away shyly but the hope in his eyes was painfully obvious now that Ashton knew to look for it and he couldn’t quite stop himself from smiling as his fingers carded gently through the doctor’s soft hair, anchoring them together.

There were still hours to go before the meeting with the Bureau agent tonight and the Texan felt quite certain that spending the time with the man he loved was better than fretting silently alone, especially considering the fact that he wasn’t sure when they’d next have the chance to be together like this.

Time with Michael was too precious to waste these days and Ashton was determined to make the most of it.

“I want that too, Mikey,” the younger man murmured, a contented sigh escaping him when Michael turned to kiss him. The doctor’s lips were soft against his, tugging up into an unconscious smile when the Texan tilted his head to press closer.

Ashton rubbed the pad of his thumb soothingly over the older man’s wrist and he glanced up in surprise when it drew a shiver from Michael, his cherry-red lips parting around a sigh. Curious, the younger man did it again, stroking over the doctor’s pulse point with a little more pressure and feeling his heart skip a beat when Michael groaned softly.

Ashton couldn’t quite suppress his smirk when he raised the older man’s arm and pressed a kiss to his wrist, relishing having the doctor gazing at him with so much helpless lust. He sucked at the sensitive skin just enough that a broken sound escaped Michael as he closed the distance between them frantically, his lips meeting the Texan’s with something bordering on desperation as his fingers tangled in the younger man’s curls.

“You liked that, huh, doc?” Ashton asked lightly, his hazel eyes twinkling when he finally drew back to catch his breath again. Michael’s pupils were blown now, his cheeks flushed with blood as he fidgeted, the hard line of his cock evident through his trousers. “Liked it a lot?”

“So much,” the doctor promised in a small voice, his green eyes locked on the Texan’s face. “Like you so much.”

Ashton’s smile softened as he nudged the older man lightly onto his back, a huff of laughter escaping him as they both shuffled awkwardly towards the pillows. Michael’s hair was soft as it fell across his forehead and the younger man stroked it away gently as he settled down over the doctor, taking great delight in their closeness and how pleasantly calm he felt in the doctor’s embrace.

“Like you so much too, Mikey,” Ashton said softly as the older man’s shaking hands rose to grip his hips. “I love you.”

He let out a soft moan when Michael’s hips rocked up teasingly against his because it only made the fire building in his stomach burn brighter and Ashton was powerless to resist. He just couldn’t get over how incredible it felt grinding against the doctor like this; all panting breaths and ragged gasps as his trapped cock leaked in his trousers.

He wanted more though.

With Michael, he always did.

The older man was thrusting up against him now, his green eyes glittering when Ashton’s bruised jaw slackened around a moan. The temperature in the small room was rising and the Texan’s cheeks flamed at the way the bed was creaking as the doctor’s lips covered his, his tongue slipping hotly into the younger man’s mouth.

Michael’s hands slid down to squeeze Ashton’s arse and the Texan groaned helplessly, so hard he ached as the desperation coiling inside sent him surging in for another kiss. The bed was definitely creaking now and Ashton was just trying to recall why exactly they needed to keep quiet when –

“I’m going out now, guys!” Niall called from the hallway, his words slightly stifled like he was trying not to laugh. “I’m gonna buy cigarettes and I definitely won’t rush back.” There was a long pause before he let out a snort, loud enough to be heard through the closed door. “Try not to go through the ceiling, okay?” he added wryly and, on that delightful parting note, Niall was gone.

Ashton flopped down onto the blankets beside the doctor with a breathless giggle, his cheeks flaming with embarrassment when Michael buried his head in his hands, equal parts mortified and amused.

“How do you ever have sex here honestly?” the older man demanded, his cheeks flushed scarlet now as he rolled over to hide his face in the pillow. Ashton grinned, reaching out to stroke the doctor’s hair soothingly with trembling fingers.

“I don’t,” he said with a half-hearted shrug. “You’re the first.”

He flushed at the doctor’s surprised look, his hazel eyes stinging a little as they fell to settle on the blankets. “I don’t bring just anyone home with me, Michael,” Ashton muttered, more than a little offended but mostly just upset that Liam apparently wasn’t the only one who thought he’d get down on his knees for anyone.

“You’re important to me,” the Texan whispered, his words a little choked. “Why can’t you see that? If I didn’t care about you, we wouldn’t even be here.”

He was embarrassed by the tears suddenly burning in his eyes and he turned away, his legs crossed beneath him as he fiddled with the pullover he was wearing. It had got creased during their kissing and he tried to smooth it without much luck as the blush in his cheeks refused to fade. He hung his head when the first tear slipped free, sliding down his burning face as the awkward silence became strained.

“You’re crying?” Michael’s voice was smaller than it had ever been as he gnawed anxiously at his bottom lip. “Ash, I… I don’t –” He faltered, still a little breathless from earlier as he shuffled closer, keen to fix things. He hesitated for a moment when Ashton stiffened, his green eyes wide and sad as he pressed a gentle kiss to the younger man’s shoulder.

Ashton closed his eyes as the tears boiled over.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” he said bluntly, his tone unusually rough as his fingers twisted in the blankets. His nose was throbbing again now, the bruise on his jaw aching where he was gritting his teeth. “Do you want to fuck me, Michael? Because if you do, now’s the time.”

He hated the words slipping out of his mouth; hated the fact that he couldn’t even control himself anymore.

Maybe everything Liam had said about him was true. Maybe he really was just a dirty, self-sacrificing, desperate little slut who would only ever feel satisfied once he’d been used up and left.

Maybe there was no hope for Ashton after all.

The sobs tearing out of him hurt but he didn’t fight them; not even when Michael’s arms slipped gently around his waist as he drew the younger man down to lie with him on the pillows. The Texan kept his eyes shut, the guilt burning inside when he felt the doctor’s tears falling against the back of his neck.

“No,” Michael said softly as his palm came to rest soothingly over Ashton’s racing heart. “I don’t want that and neither do you, sweetheart. Not when you’re upset. Not when you feel like this.” He pressed a gentle kiss to the younger man’s curls, a soft sigh escaping him when the Texan relaxed infinitesimally in his arms. “I just want to hold you until you feel better, that’s all.”

Ashton tilted his head towards the doctor, his cheeks blotchy and sticky with tears as the older man met his searching lips with a gentle kiss. Michael lingered there for a moment, almost like he was trying to make his love and regret tangible.

“I’m so sorry, Ash,” the older man whispered when the Texan finally felt brave enough to face him. His hazel eyes remained downcast but he was clearly listening hard and desperate for any comfort the doctor could give him, and that was what gave Michael the strength he needed to put his thoughts into words.

“Do you remember that night in my house when I first told you about Jack?” he asked quietly, holding his breath until the younger man gave an uncertain nod. The doctor pressed a brief kiss to Ashton’s curls, holding him a little closer. “Well, what I said then still stands. I’m still terrified at how alive you make me feel… and I still want to be with you for the rest of my life.”

He’d never said those words before and the Texan’s heart clenched in his chest as he gazed up at the doctor in stunned silence. Michael’s face was paler than ever, his eyes glassy with tears as he stroked the younger man’s back absently, still trying to calm him even now.

“I was never really loved before I met Jack,” the older man admitted into the silence. “He showed me how it felt to listen to my heart but… fuck, I feel like I’ve been playing catch-up ever since… like I’m improvising in a play where everyone else already knows the script off by heart and…” His voice trailed away as he shook his head, a heavy sigh escaping him. “I’m doing everything I can not to lose you, Ash, and it’s still not enough, is it? Because, no matter how hard I try, I keep hurting you.”

“Mikey –”

“No, it’s true,” Michael said quietly, his voice firm even as the tears in his eyes boiled over. “You’ll never know how sorry I am for making you feel like this… and it’s all because I love you... because I’m so damaged that my love is making you feel this lost.” He bit at his knuckle as his breath escaped him raggedly, at least until Ashton gently coaxed his hand away with pain clear on his face.

“It’s why I act the way I do sometimes,” the doctor whispered, his eyes falling shut when the younger man stroked the bite mark on his pale skin like he could soothe the sting away. “I loved Jack and I lost him, and then I fell in love with you and now I’m so scared of losing you that I behave irrationally.”

“But… what do you mean?” Ashton breathed, wiping the tear tracks from his cheeks with the back of a shaking hand as he looked up at the older man in confusion. “Irrationally? I don’t understand…”

“You don’t deserve to be treated like this, sweetheart,” Michael said quietly, trying hard to make the younger man understand although the sadness welled inside him as he realised that perhaps Ashton wasn’t very well-versed in love either. “It’s not right for me to act this way around you… that I detach like this or get jealous even though you haven’t done anything wrong. You deserve someone who can love you properly, especially after all the shit you’ve been through.”

“I don’t want someone else,” the Texan said honestly. “You’ve always been more than enough… even if you do have a horrible habit of pushing me away whenever you start to let me in.” He tried to smile but it slipped away quickly and Michael sighed heavily, his eyes falling shut as the shame seared across his face.

“Losing you would tear me apart,” the doctor said in little more than a whisper as he reached for the younger man’s hands, cradling them both between his own. “I’m so sorry for hurting you, Ash,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I made you cry. I’m sorry that you’re too kind to make me deal with my grief and insecurities by myself.”

He hung his head wearily although his eyes widened when Ashton pressed a brief kiss to his forehead.

“I don’t want you dealing with them alone,” the Texan said softly. “We’re a team, Mikey, and… sometimes when we’re together… well, you make me feel like it’s okay to forgive myself.”

“You're so understanding,” Michael murmured, his emerald eyes damp as he pressed a kiss to the younger man’s knuckles. “All I’ve done is hurt you. I’m so bad at love, Ash, no matter how hard I try not to be. I’m just making it up as I go along and you’re getting caught in the crossfire.” He curled in on himself as they lay there together, so close that their noses were almost touching as Ashton’s lips brushed lightly against his.

“I’m so scared to love you,” Michael whispered, his eyes falling shut when the younger man’s fingers curled gently through his hair.

“But you still do?” the Texan asked hesitantly, his hazel gaze soft as it settled on the doctor’s face.

“I do,” Michael promised, his voice thick with suppressed emotion. “I really do. I don’t think I tell you that enough.”

Ashton looked at the sadness and the love mixing in the older man’s eyes; saw the hopelessness and the yearning, and how desperately lost he was as he clung to the Texan like a drowning man.

“What do you want from me, doc?” Ashton asked weakly, wiping his tears away with something like frustration as he gazed at the doctor doubtfully, his heart racing in his chest.

“I want you,” Michael said honestly, his soft eyes wet and more loving than they’d ever been. “For a really, really long time.” He shrugged, his face creasing into a watery smile when the younger man drew him in for a kiss. “You’re all I need.”

The Texan’s arms wrapped around him as he cuddled closer and Michael felt something heal in his chest when the younger man’s lips pressed gently against his. He was warm against the doctor’s chest, the tears drying sticky on his cheeks as he clung to the older man like he was afraid of letting go, and although Ashton was still so afraid of tonight and his life in general, being held securely in Michael’s arms like this sort of felt worth it, so long as they could keep each other safe.

“I want you too, Mikey,” the younger man admitted softly before his hazel eyes twinkled in the dim light. “Niall will still be out for a while yet…” His voice trailed away innocently and it seemed to take the doctor a moment to catch his drift before his gaze settled curiously on the Texan.

“You’re sure?” Michael asked, his tone gentle as he pressed a kiss to the corner of Ashton’s mouth. “You’re really tired, sweetheart, and it’s been a very long day.” His eyes lingered on the bruises marring the younger man's face and a sad sigh escaped him. “I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret.”

“I want to be close to you,” Ashton said, shrugging wearily as his sore nose ached. “I don’t care how.”

The doctor considered this and his expression softened as he ducked his head to kiss the Texan, relatively chaste until the younger man’s fingers twisted through his sandy hair and drew a gasp from him. Ashton’s tongue slipped into his mouth and Michael groaned as he held the Texan closer, relaxing visibly when he saw the satisfied glint shining in the younger man’s beautiful eyes.

“I have something we could try,” the older man murmured, leaning close enough that his kiss-bitten lips brushed the younger man's throat. He lingered there when he saw the hint of an older bruise, his eyes loving and sad as he nuzzled the sensitive skin gently, almost like he could take the pain away. “All you have to do is lay there and let me take care of you, Ash. I promise it’ll feel good. Do you trust me?”

“Always,” Ashton confessed shakily, the sincerity in his eyes blazing. “Always, Mikey.”

“Good,” the doctor breathed, a pretty blush colouring his cheeks as he glanced at the Texan shyly from beneath his eyelashes. “Gonna ride you, sweetheart, yeah? Think you’d like that?”

“Yeah,” the younger man groaned, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment when Michael sucked the faintest hint of a bruise into his throat, possessive and needy. The heat in Ashton’s stomach was tightening now, impossible to deny as he gasped at the feeling of the older man’s hands slipping beneath his pullover to stroke the warm skin covering his ribs. “Fuck, please, doc.”

“Okay,” Michael breathed, shivering as he scattered kisses over the Texan’s bruised jaw. “Okay, sweetheart.”

Ashton was shaking when he reached to unbutton the doctor’s shirt, his heart clenching with nerves and arousal as the crumpled material fell to the floor. The doctor didn’t seem self-conscious tonight which was a pleasant surprise; maybe because of the love saturating the younger man’s face as he reached to stroke the exposed skin; maybe just because he was so turned on and desperate to be close to Ashton.

Either way, an unconscious smile touched Michael’s lips as he ducked back to kiss the Texan and his hands were steady as they fell to unbutton his slacks, a relieved sigh escaping him as he released some of the pressure.

The younger man wriggled out of his own trousers clumsily, his cheeks flushed red and his curls in disarray when the doctor helped him out of the pullover. Goosebumps rose on Ashton’s bare skin when Michael shifted away to remove their underwear but any unease was lost when he felt the older man’s lips trailing hotly over his thighs.

A whine escaped the Texan when the doctor sucked a kiss to the head of Ashton’s cock and he shuddered, his fingers fisting in the blankets when Michael slowly raised his head, cherry-red lips curved into a slight smirk. He crawled up the younger man’s body slowly, golden eyelashes fluttering against his pale cheekbones, love-bites staining the pearly white skin of his torso.

He kissed Ashton hot and slow, swallowing the Texan’s groan when he tasted himself faintly on the older man’s tongue.

“Wanna ride you, sweetheart,” Michael repeated, his voice cracking when he felt the younger man reach fumblingly for where his cock was leaking against his thigh. The doctor shuddered, his eyes falling shut for a moment as he lost himself in the wonderful feeling of being touched again after so long, his hips rocking forwards gently into Ashton’s fist.

“Ash,” he whined, his lips falling open around a moan as his head fell to rest on the Texan’s scarred shoulder. A soft kiss was pressed to his forehead and Michael shivered, his pupils blown now as his heated gaze settled on the younger man’s face. Ashton’s expression was an endearing mixture of lust and awe as his hands eased timidly down the doctor’s back to squeeze his arse but he relaxed visibly when the older man let out a groan, pressing back into the contact as his sandy hair tumbled forwards messily.

“You look so hot,” Ashton whispered, his hazel eyes darkening at the moans Michael let out when the younger man’s finger lightly touched his hole. Their cocks were sliding together teasingly now, both of them leaking as the doctor sucked a bruising kiss onto the Texan’s collarbone, coaxing out a desperate groan.

“Do you have anything to help –?” Michael’s voice was so gravelly that it took Ashton a moment to even process his words, although a blush coloured his cheeks when he realised what the older man was asking.

“Sure, doc,” he mumbled, his hands slipping back to the doctor’s hips comfortingly as his cock leaked against his stomach. “Top drawer. If you just – yeah, there you go.”

After a few moments of rummaging, Michael slumped back down onto the bed with a quiet groan, his fingers slick as he reached behind himself, out of sight. He tensed up with a whine and Ashton reached for him shakily, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he pressed warm kisses to the older man’s throat, trying to calm him.

The doctor’s cheeks were flaming as he fingered himself open, his green eyes heavily-lidded as he rocked against the Texan’s thigh for some much needed friction. The sounds pouring out of Michael were distractingly hot and Ashton couldn’t help himself when his hand slipped down to wrap around his cock, fisting himself idly as he watched the play of emotions on the older man’s flushed face.

“You wanna help?” Michael murmured, his voice lower than it had ever been. His cock was leaking onto the younger man’s thigh, the tip flushed red as he rocked forwards more insistently. “Please, sweetheart. Want your fingers.”

Ashton moaned before he could stop himself, his hazel eyes squeezing tightly shut for a moment like he was trying to convince himself he wasn’t dreaming. Michael sucked a biting kiss onto the Texan’s chest, his tongue stroking teasingly over the younger man’s nipples as Ashton arched his back, a broken sound tearing out of him.

“Yeah, Mikey,” he groaned, almost ridiculously turned on now as he smoothed his hand down the older man’s ribs. “Just… I’m scared I’ll hurt you.” His wary embarrassment faded when the doctor stretched to press a surprisingly gentle kiss to his lips, his green eyes twinkling through the dim light as he tucked his face away into the Texan’s neck.

“You won’t, sweetheart,” he promised, his teeth grazing the skin just hard enough that Ashton’s cock stirred against his hip. “I’ll tell you what to do, yeah?”

“Yeah,” the younger man murmured as the heat spread inside him like flames. “Yeah, I like that.”

Michael quirked an eyebrow, clearly filing that away for a later date as his lips caught the Texan’s in a heated kiss, his free hand rising to cradle Ashton’s overheated cheek.

“You like being a good boy, Ash?” the doctor asked softly, his words barely audible over the younger man’s suddenly panting breaths. “You like doing what you’re told?” He pinched Ashton’s nipple gently, rolling it between his thumb and finger as a whimper tore out of the Texan, his soft lips parting at the pleasure. “You gonna be good for me, sweetheart?”

The younger man could barely speak, his hazel eyes glassy with tears as he drew Michael down into a desperate kiss. It was no secret that Ashton liked praise – it felt good coming from anyone if he was being honest with himself – but something about hearing the doctor murmuring those words was nothing short of magic.

“Please,” he moaned, his eyelashes spiky with tears as his cock leaked between the warmth of their bodies. “Want that so bad, Mikey, please.”

“C’mon then, sweetheart,” the older man murmured, struggling to catch his breath as the flush of arousal spread across the pale skin of his throat. “You really wanna be a good boy for me? Slick yourself up then.” He watched as the Texan did what he was asked, his hands shaking as he concentrated on making sure his fingers were properly covered.

He looked so sweet sitting there with his curls tangled and the bruising kisses blooming on his tanned skin, and Michael felt his heart melting in his chest when Ashton looked up at him with wide hazel eyes, his tongue darting out unconsciously to wet his lips.

“You’re perfect,” the doctor said softly, taking in the sunny glow on the younger man’s face as he leant back in for a clumsy kiss, his slick hand sliding over the older man’s hip. Michael hissed at the emptiness when he carefully removed his fingers but he didn’t have to wait long to feel full again. Ashton stroked over his hole teasingly before he let his finger sink into the heat, tentative and cautious as his cock twitched at the doctor’s moans.

“Ash,” Michael whimpered, clenching down around him reflexively as he rutted against the younger man’s thigh, a whine tearing out of him. “You don’t have to be so gentle, sweetheart. I can take more than that.” He rocked his hips back to prove it, his eyes rolling a little when he felt the younger man’s fingertip just barely brush his prostate. “Fuck,” he moaned, panting into the Texan’s bruised neck. “Do two now, yeah? I can take two, Ash.”

“Okay,” Ashton breathed, his breath escaping him in a groan when the older man ducked his head to suck kisses onto his collarbone. “Hold on to me, Mikey, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Michael gasped, whining softly when the younger man carefully pressed two fingers into the doctor’s tight heat. Their lips met in a hot kiss that was quickly broken when the older man let out a moan at the stretch, his sandy hair sticking to his forehead as a ragged gasp escaped him. His head hit the pillows with a whine when the Texan rolled closer, curling his fingers experimentally and feeling satisfaction unfurl inside him when Michael let out a sob, his cock leaking pre-cum onto his soft tummy.

Ashton left his fingertips pressed teasingly against the older man’s prostate as he scattered distracted kisses over the pale skin in front of him. He was more focused on carefully spreading his fingers in order to stretch the tight ring of muscle without causing any pain, quite certain that the doctor would prefer his ‘slow and steady’ approach to any alternatives.

“More,” Michael gasped out, his eyes falling shut to show soft lavender lids as he tucked his face away into the younger man’s shoulder. Ashton kissed his cheek as he carefully eased a third finger in, hating himself for the way the older man winced at the slight sting.

“Sorry, doc,” the Texan murmured, his voice chagrined as he leant back to hold the older man’s gaze carefully. “You okay? Need a minute?”

“Please don’t stop,” Michael breathed, his pupils blown as he drew the younger man down into a hungry kiss. The doctor’s slight frown smoothed away when Ashton’s fingertips returned to his prostate and he let out a raspy moan, his hips rocking up automatically as pre-cum welled at the tip of his cock, just begging to be licked away.

Maybe later, if they didn’t run out of time before Niall came back.

The Texan kissed Michael harder, like the knowledge that this moment couldn’t last forever had spurred on some desperate urge in him to show the doctor as much love as he was able.

“Fuck, Mikey, opening so well for me, aren’t you?” Ashton breathed, his cheeks flushing at the words although he couldn’t deny that watching the doctor melt beneath him was undeniably hot. The lust was coiling tight in the younger man’s stomach now, making him pant as he spread Michael on his fingers, relishing in the feeling of the older man shuddering helpelssly around him.

It reminded the Texan of the evening the doctor had done this to him for a moment; the achingly wonderful pressure of Michael’s finger pressing against his prostate; the way the pleasure lit Ashton up from the inside out as he fell apart in the older man’s arms.

The moans pouring out of the doctor were almost constant now, his lips swollen and kiss-bitten as he arched up against the younger man helplessly. He seemed restless, his cheeks stained red as he panted, clenching down around the Texan’s long fingers with a whine.

“I’m ready,” the older man gasped, his eyes fluttering shut when Ashton spread his fingers experimentally, his thumb working over the soft skin behind Michael’s balls. “Fuck,” he groaned, his hips jerking away from the stimulation, even as he whimpered at the loss when the younger man’s fingers slipped free.

“Didn’t want to finish too soon,” the doctor mumbled in response to the Texan’s questioning look. “Want you inside me when I cum, sweetheart.” His green eyes twinkled when Ashton whined softly, his hazel eyes hopelessly turned on. “You’re ready too, yeah? You want it?”

“So bad,” the younger man breathed, wiping his shaking hands on the sheets before he reached for Michael’s face, cradling his cheeks as he drew him in for a brief, desperate kiss. “How do you want to do this?” His words were little more than a mumble as his cheeks heated but he relaxed when the older man stroked his jaw gently with his thumb, his green eyes softening.

“Not sure,” Michael said honestly, raking his fingers through his sandy hair and leaving it sticking up messily as he pursed his lips. “Haven’t done this in so fucking long.” He shook his head, the thoughtful expression on his face growing gentler when Ashton reached to squeeze his hand comfortingly.

“If you’re lying down, it won’t be so easy to kiss you,” the doctor said with a pout. “And I really want to kiss you.” His tone was so steady that he seemed proud of himself as he tilted his head to the side curiously, his gaze drifting over the bed as he weighed up their best option. “Why don’t you sit up against the headboard?” he suggested, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip nervously as he gave the younger man a shy smile. “Best of both worlds then, yeah?”

“Whatever you say, doc,” the Texan murmured, his hazel eyes twinkling as he wriggled back as he’d been asked. He was so hard he ached now but any urgency he felt had been extinguished in the light of Michael taking control of the situation. Ashton definitely preferred sex like this, when he could be soft and docile, and trust that he wouldn’t be asked for more than he was willing to give.

Maybe that was the reason that being in this moment with the doctor felt so safe and easy.

The restless energy in the Texan’s veins had seared itself away to nothing tonight and the fear that had been plaguing him since Liam had tried to destroy him was all but stamped out… nothing but burning cinders.

With the doctor beside him, Ashton knew he was safe.

He could feel it saturating the empty space around them as his heart beat calmly in his chest, his hands no longer trembling. Michael’s lips pressed lightly against his as he reached between them to slick the younger man up and it tore a moan from the Texan, the sound soft and weak as the older man settled down in his lap, swallowing the sounds he made.

The doctor’s pale thighs were pillowed warmly over Ashton’s as he sank down slowly onto his cock and, in the quiet of the bedroom, Michael felt like home.

The Texan's vision whited out when he felt the older man wrapped so perfectly around him and he moaned helplessly, his hands settling on the doctor's arse as they desperately kissed.

Michael's fingers tangled in the younger man's curls, anchoring them together as he lifted his hips awkwardly before sinking back down again, the burn of pleasure breath-taking.

The doctor sounded good but he felt better, clenching around Ashton’s cock so hot and tight that it made the Texan see stars.

When the older man finally settled into a rhythm – his hands resting on the younger man's shoulders, his cock leaking between their stomachs, his lips parted around whimpers as he fucked himself full, again and again – it was almost enough to finish Ashton off.

There was something about being close like this that had him unravelling faster than he ever had. He thought maybe it was their proximity; that he was close enough to count each individual golden eyelash as Michael pleasured him in a way he'd never experienced before.

God, he never wanted this to end.

Ashton planted his feet on the bed as his grip tightened, his fingertips marking the pearly skin as he thrust his hips up to meet the doctor's. Michael clenched down tightly around him, a broken sob tearing itself free when the younger man's cock hit his prostate, sending sparks exploding behind his emerald eyes.

The Texan loved this so much; adored the way Michael's arms wrapped weakly around his shoulders as he rode Ashton, his cheeks damp with tears as he pressed grateful kisses to the younger man's throat. The doctor's arched back was sweaty under the Texan's palms when he stroked him soothingly and he let out a whine when Ashton sucked a kiss into the soft skin beneath his ear.

Feeling the older man quake around him as he grinded down on the younger man’s cock was incredibly satisfying, like nothing Ashton had ever felt before. Michael’s hands were gentle as they rose to cradle the Texan’s bruised face and he kissed him like he was trying to make a home inside his mouth, deeper and more loving than anything the younger man had ever felt.

He’d never made love with anyone before – he’d never wanted to – and it made Ashton’s eyes prickle with tears as he held the doctor closer, the sheer vulnerability of the moment stealing the breath from his lungs as his arms wrapped around Michael protectively. He wished so badly that they could stay like this, so soft and warm and perfect. He just wanted to keep the older man safe.

Michael’s eyes were damp with tears too, his sandy hair falling down across his forehead as they rocked against each other, moaning brokenly as the heat inside threatened to set them alight.

The Texan was nearing the end now, his toes curling as his hazel eyes fluttered at the pleasure spreading through him. All he could focus on was the doctor; the tenderness of his gaze and the pretty blush staining his cheeks; the sounds he made when the younger man fucked up into him and the way he tossed his head back as he lost control, his movements no longer slow and deliberate but bouncing, like all he wanted was Ashton’s cock buried inside him when he came.

Michael’s climax hit him unexpectedly, his body curling in on itself as he panted raggedly into the Texan’s neck, his expression nothing short of overwhelmed as he shot cum between them with a strangled whine. He shuddered as the pleasure took him, the tears finally boiling over as he clenched down around the younger man’s cock, dragging him over the edge too.

Ashton fell apart harder than he ever had, his hips jerking as a moan escaped him. The sound was loud enough that it drew a giggle from Michael where he was still trembling in the Texan’s lap, his fingers tangled securely in the younger man’s honey-coloured curls. Ashton thought it might have been the laughter that finished him off, maybe; all that fondness and delight sparkling in the doctor’s eyes as he coaxed him into a kiss, his teeth grazing the Texan's bottom lip lightly as he shivered, apparently overcome at how wonderful this experience had been.

“So perfect for me,” Michael murmured, his voice more gravelly than it had ever been as he pressed his lips lightly to the younger man’s bruised jaw. “Such a good boy for me, weren’t you?” He kissed the Texan gently, once on each blushing cheek as the fondness he felt made his heart swell. “My best boy,” he said in a softer voice, his emerald eyes twinkling. “Never want to let you go. Gonna love you forever.”

He kindly pretended not to notice Ashton wiping his eyes with the corner of the blanket, instead taking the opportunity to climb unwillingly from the younger man’s lap. Michael winced a little but his expression remained satisfied even when he peered hesitantly into the hallway, making sure they were alone before he went to fetch a flannel from the bathroom.

By the time he came back, Ashton had pulled himself together a little, his hazel eyes still gleaming with tears but happy now; happier than they’d ever been.

“I love you, doc,” he said sincerely and his face blazed with it; with how deeply he meant those words.

“I love you too,” Michael promised as he crawled back onto the bed, a contented sigh escaping him when he slumped down against the younger man’s chest. The Texan’s fingers rose automatically to stroke his hair and the doctor buried his smile in the younger man’s tanned skin as they lay there together. “I always will.”

The silence was comfortable and relaxed, broken only when Ashton suddenly raised his head, smiling down crookedly at the older man as his dimples creased his cheeks.

“I don’t think I can ever move again,” he said and Michael snorted, his eyes crinkling with laughter as he dropped a chaste kiss to the younger man’s collarbone.

“You’re so ridiculous,” he said fondly, making the Texan stick his tongue out in response.

“If you've only just noticed, I'm not sure what to tell you, Mikey,” he said smartly, a smirk curving his lips that Michael gently kissed away.

“Never change, sweetheart,” the doctor said softly. “I've never loved someone like this before. I don't want to lose it.”

“You won't,” Ashton whispered, pressing a kiss to the older man's forehead like a promise. “Not if I can help it.”

*

They were still lying tangled together when Niall came home a short while later. The temperature in the bedroom had dropped by now and the pair of them were tucked beneath the blanket as Michael carded his fingers through the younger man’s curls absently. Ashton’s cheek was pressed to his bare chest, his palm resting on the fine silvery hairs as he nuzzled closer, trying to lose himself in the warmth of the doctor’s skin.

“You’re very quiet,” Michael said softly, his concerned green eyes flickering to the Texan’s tired, bruised face as Niall let himself into his bedroom next door. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Ashton shrugged half-heartedly, biting nervously at his bottom lip as he tried to pull himself together in time for his meeting tonight with the Bureau agent. He wasn’t exactly sure how long it would take him to walk to Graceland Cemetery but he needed to be at the gates by midnight and he wanted to give himself an hour to get there which, unfortunately, meant that he’d have to make his excuses to disappear fairly soon.

“Nothing’s wrong exactly,” he said slowly, when Michael’s worried eyes scrutinising him became too difficult to ignore. “There’s just… something I have to do tonight. Something important.”

Ashton hadn’t given Niall any indication at all that he was meeting with the Bureau. He was still of the opinion that the Irishman would be safer if he wasn’t implicated but the necessity of lying to his best friend every waking moment definitely didn’t sit right with the Texan. He’d grown very adept at skirting around topics which might become problematic and Niall was usually easy-going enough to accept that occasionally Ashton didn’t feel able to discuss something with him.

Michael’s curiosity was keener though. He was much more shrewd and less likely to accept what he was told at face value because, whereas Niall might have been good-natured enough to accept everything Ashton told him without question, the doctor had been hurt too many times before to trust easily now.

The evidence of that was in the way he raised his eyebrow inquisitively when he saw the deceit in the younger man’s eyes.

“You’re doing something dangerous tonight, aren’t you?” Michael asked quietly, his tone carefully emotionless. “It’s why you were nervous earlier.”

“I can’t tell you, Mikey,” Ashton said guiltily, his hazel eyes dropping to the love-bites he’d sucked into the doctor’s skin before a frown slowly creased his face as he looked back up at the older man curiously. “How’d you know I was nervous, doc?”

Michael simply shrugged, dropping a kiss onto the younger man’s forehead as his hands rubbed comforting circles into the Texan’s back.

“You only picked at your dinner, even though you thought it tasted really good,” the doctor said calmly. “Plus, you have this tell when you’re getting stressed about something. You tug at one of your curls and it ends up sticking out to the side - it’s really adorable but probably not the most subtle thing ever.” His lips twitched a little when Ashton gaped at him in surprise. “Don’t tell me you never noticed that before, Ash.”

“Never.”

“Well, I did,” Michael said and it might have been smug if he hadn’t looked sad all of a sudden. He reached out with one small hand, stroking the aforementioned lock of hair gently as his eyes softened. “You’ve been doing it a lot lately. You must have a lot on your mind.”

“Maybe…” Ashton shook his head, mulling this over silently as he stroked the older man’s sides comfortingly beneath the blankets. “It’s still not safe to tell you though, doc. I’m sorry.”

“Niall doesn’t know about tonight either, does he?” the doctor guessed, his expression becoming distinctly unhappy when the Texan climbed unwillingly from the bed and headed for his wardrobe. Michael pushed himself up wearily, keeping the blanket pooled around his waist as he watched the younger man beginning to slip into one of his nicer suits, courtesy of Benito.

He felt better once his bruised ribs and grazed shin were hidden from sight because then he could pretend that today hadn’t happened; that no one had tried to hurt him because of who he loved; that he really was worth the pride and love Niall and Michael showered him with.

The doctor was still undressed but he was leaning back on his hands now, his legs dangling off the edge of the bed as he watched the younger man with a flattering mixture of want and love, which made the Texan just a tiny bit smug. Ashton tossed the older man his shirt from the floor, grinning when Michael stuck his tongue out in response.

“C’mon, Mikey,” the younger man said unwillingly although his hazel eyes twinkled a little when the doctor reached for him, his arms winding around his waist. “I’ve gotta get going soon.”

“I know,” the older man said regretfully as his lips twisted into a pout. “This has just been really nice. I’m not ready for tonight to be over yet.”

“Me neither,” Ashton admitted with a sigh. He cradled Michael’s face gently in one palm, smoothing his sandy hair back with his free hand as he dropped a kiss onto his nose. “But I still need to leave soon, doc. Can’t be helped.”

“Fair enough,” Michael said heavily, finally deeming it time to get dressed. Ashton watched him unashamedly, his gaze trailing over the bruises he’d left behind and the way the doctor shivered just a little at the ache he could feel when he stepped into his slacks. The older man rolled his eyes fondly when he saw the Texan watching him but he didn’t look unhappy at the attention; on the contrary, a blush heated his cheeks as he slipped into his jacket.

Already, Ashton missed having him naked in his bed.

“How were you planning on slipping out without Niall asking questions?” Michael asked curiously, a slight smile touching his lips when the younger man settled his fedora on the doctor’s head at a rakish angle. It made them both snigger for a moment but the amusement faded when Ashton sighed, his fingers raking through his curls nervously as the older man gave him a knowing look.

“Told you the hair thing was a tell,” he mumbled but the Texan only rolled his eyes, choosing not to rise to the bait as his nerves returned in full-force.

“I’ll tell Ni I’m walking you home, doc,” the younger man decided tiredly, already feeling guilty for the necessary lie. “That way he won’t question where I am.”

“Am I allowed to question it?” Michael asked, trying his luck one last time. Ashton sighed, giving the older man a gentle, reprimanding poke on the nose. The doctor tangled their fingers together swiftly, pressing a kiss to the Texan’s knuckles.

“Nice try but no cigar,” the Texan said with an easy shrug, the phrase his father had always recited slipping off his tongue as easy as breathing. His hazel eyes widened a little and he shivered at how uncomfortable it made him to realise that he still carried so much of Fletcher’s ghost inside him even now. “I won’t put you at risk like that, Mikey.”

He grimaced when he saw the doctor watching him sceptically, the fedora falling over his pretty eyes as a quiet sigh escaped him.

“Y’know, Ni usually just accepts my bullshit,” the younger man said pointedly as he folded his arms over his chest.

“Well, I’m not Niall,” Michael said with a tiny smirk although he eyed the distance Ashton had put between them with a weak scowl. “You better come over here and kiss me again before we leave, Ash.”

The Texan hummed, pretending to consider it for a moment before he darted closer to press his lips lightly against the doctor’s.

“I love you, doc,” Ashton murmured, his words little more than a whisper.

Michael smiled against his lips as his eyes fluttered shut.

“I love you too,” he promised. “Even if you are still incredibly stressful to be around.”

“But that’s why you like me, right?” the Texan asked teasingly, a startled laugh escaping him when Michael slapped him lightly on the arse.

“I wouldn’t hate it if you were a tiny bit less stressful,” the doctor said honestly. “But you’re right.” A smile grew on his pale face, his lips tugging up at the corners. “That’s one of the many reasons I like you.”

“You’re being very sappy tonight,” Ashton commented, his tone decidedly affectionate.

“And that’s why you like me,” Michael replied smugly.

The Texan was smiling fondly when he slipped out into the hallway, his hat still balanced precariously on the doctor's head as he lingered behind him. Ashton knocked lightly on Niall's bedroom door, making sure to keep his suit hidden when he leant around the doorframe so that he wouldn't raise suspicion.

“Alright, kid?” the older man asked, his blue eyes twinkling when he saw the satisfied expression on his best friend's face.

“I'm good,” the younger man said honestly, his cheeks heating just a tiny bit at the Irishman’s growing smirk. “Stop looking at me like that!” he added in a hiss, cringing when Michael let out a snort of laughter behind him, still hidden by the door.

Niall gave Ashton his signature thumbs up, his lips tugging up into a broad smile as he mouthed: “Happy for you, kid!” It was a ridiculous inside joke by now and it made a lump rise in the Texan's throat; made him want to cry and laugh, his heart bursting with love.

Niall made him feel like that.

He always had done.

“I'm gonna walk Mike home now, Ni,” Ashton said, hating himself for the lie even if it was necessary. “I'm not sure how long I'll be.”

“Fair enough,” Niall said, stifling a yawn as he settled back against the pillows propped up behind him. A book lay open on the blankets covering his legs and he looked so soft like that, with his blond hair falling across his forehead and his warm gentle blue eyes sparkling as he watched his best friend fondly.

Ashton loved him so much it hurt.

The desire to close the distance between them and pull his best friend into a hug was almost overwhelming then but there was no time now. He was already running late and he didn't want the older man asking any awkward questions about why he was dressed for a job so late at night.

Niall was watching him thoughtfully now, his blue eyes soft in the warm light as he tilted his head to one side curiously. Ashton simply smiled at him as he hoped that it would be enough to keep his best friend from worrying.

“We'll head out now,” he explained as he reached back to entwine his fingers with Michael's. “I'll see you later, Ni.”

He pulled the bedroom door shut with a gentle click, hating the note of finality as the doctor leant to press a gentle kiss to his shoulder.

“C’mon, Ash,” he murmured, giving the younger man’s hand a soft squeeze. “I thought you said you were going to be late.”

Ashton pressed one last kiss to the older man’s knuckles before he unwillingly put a little space between them at the front door. It wouldn’t do for any of the neighbours to suspect anything; the last thing the Texan needed was to have to dodge punches at home as well as work.

As they descended the stairs and headed out into the darkness together, Michael set the fedora gently on the younger man’s curls. Their arms brushed chastely as the cool wind stirred around them and Ashton smiled, faint and tired.

“I can only walk with you to the corner, doc,” he said, his tone regretful as he buried his hands in his pockets against the cold. “Will you be okay getting home by yourself?”

Michael watched him evenly, his green eyes soft as he drew the Texan to a stop in the silvery moonlight.

“I’ll be fine,” he said quietly, his expression quite serious as he let his palm rest lightly on the younger man’s shoulder. “Please take care of yourself tonight, sweetheart.”

Ashton’s hand rose to cover the doctor’s, his lips pressing together as the lump rose in his throat.

He wanted to promise the older man that he’d be fine; that he’d make it back safely, with his plan unrolling perfectly around him but… the Texan couldn’t lie to Michael too.

He just couldn’t.

“Thank you for tonight, Mikey,” Ashton said instead, his voice soft as his hazel eyes sparkled with tears. “I love you more than you’ll ever know.”

Michael sniffed, drying his eyes subtly with his sleeve.

“Now who’s being sappy,” the doctor murmured, his lips curving into a crooked grin.

He glanced around warily before he stepped closer, his hands cradling the younger man’s bruised face as he drew him in for a soft kiss. The stars shone in the sky above them and Ashton sighed softly, losing himself in it for a moment until his senses returned to him and he took a hesitant step back, little though he wanted to.

“Keep yourself safe for me,” Michael whispered into the space between them. “Please.”

“I will if you do,” the Texan countered and the twinkle in his eye made the doctor smile faintly. “Goodnight, doc.”

They parted at the corner, both of them huddling up in their coats as the cold wind howled down the deserted street. Ashton straightened his fedora, his bruised jaw squared against the nerves he could feel as he walked away in the opposite direction.

Something made him pause though; some sixth sense as his heart clenched with anxiety in his chest. His step faltered when he reached the end of the street and he turned instinctively, his hazel eyes fixed on the doctor’s back.

Their goodbye kiss still lingered on Ashton’s lips and he touched his mouth briefly in the darkness of the night, reliving it.

It wasn’t until the shadows had swallowed Michael whole that the Texan realised he could feel the unsettling sensation of being watched. He wanted to call the doctor back; wanted to walk with him so that he didn’t have to do this by himself but the older man was already gone.

It was too late. 

*

Graceland Cemetery was a lot larger than Ashton had been expecting. The graves and statues jutting out of the damp grass rose like broken teeth and, although he knew there must be thousands here, they were quickly lost in the darkness.

He lingered by the gates, the hairs on the back of his neck rising as the hour crept closer to midnight. The temperature had plummeted now and he folded his arms against the chill, his shoulders hunched as his injuries ached.

Maybe the worst part was that Ashton still felt like he was being watched.

The paranoia sent his heart racing in his chest as he pressed his back deliberately to the stone wall, comforting himself with the knowledge that at least no one would be able to creep up behind him now. He had his flick knife in his pocket and that helped too; at least he'd have protection if things took a turn for the worst, although perhaps a gun might have been more useful.

He gritted his teeth when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps through the darkness. It was a confident, steady pace and, as he turned towards the sound, his eyes narrowed at the sight of a man closing the distance between them swiftly in the darkness.

He towered over Ashton - he was even taller than Luke - and his long black coat fell below his knees. He wore leather gloves and a neat grey derby hat over smooth brown hair. He smiled pleasantly enough when he came to a stop in front of the Hornet but there was a nervous energy flickering in his dark eyes that made the Texan tense a little.

“Ashton, I presume?” the Bureau agent asked, his gloves hands sinking into his pockets as he leant against the gatepost opposite. He had a Brooklyn accent and the younger man considered this silently, a slight frown on his face as he remembered his own time in New York.

It seemed he wasn't the only wanderer far away from home in the cemetery tonight.

“Gordon,” the Texan said pleasantly, making sure not to suppress the twang of his accent as he straightened his shoulders. “I appreciate you coming out here to speak with me.”

“I'm willing to listen,” the agent said calmly, his expression inquisitive as he watched the younger man curiously. “I've been told you have invaluable information for the Bureau... or was Mr Hemmings exaggerating?”

“Not at all!” Ashton said quickly, his tone sharp as his heart clenched in his chest. The last thing he wanted was for Luke to get in trouble for lying to the Bureau, especially when all the blond man had ever tried to do was help him and keep him safe. “It's true. I have an offer for you.”

“What kind of offer?” Gordon asked sharply, his dark eyes hardening. "What do I get out of this little arrangement, Hornet?"

The Texan smiled flatly as the last of the nerves drained away. This meeting felt a thousand times safer than his conversation with Collins and Gordon's greed was clear. The younger man could definitely play this situation to his advantage.

“There are bigger fish than me to fry in Chicago,” Ashton said, shrugging casually as the breeze picked up around them, stirring his curls where they were escaping the fedora. “Imagine the praise you'd get if you managed to bring down Liam Payne and dismantle his gang.” He pretended to admire his fingernails as the agent watched him hungrily. "You'll probably get a medal, Gordon," he said pleasantly.

“You're very confident, Ashton."

“And for good reason,” the Texan countered flatly as his expression hardened. “I've arranged a raid with the Vultures on Wednesday. Mitchy Collins himself is willing to help me, Gordon. He wants Payne gone from the city as much as anyone else, and the only price Collins cares about is all of the Hornet-owned moonshine and weaponry.”

He could practically hear the cogs turning as Gordon processed this information, his eyes narrowing although the hungry glint in them never entirely faded.

“This raid going ahead without involvement from the Bureau would be a wasted opportunity,” Ashton said firmly. “The Hornets will never be that vulnerable again. Payne's already losing control. Between the combined force of the Vultures and the Bureau, the Hornets would be torn apart.”

Gordon had taken a step closer now, his leather-clad hands curling into loose fists. Absently, the Texan wasn't sure how Luke had ever found the agent standing in front of him nice.

Ashton was quite certain he couldn't trust Gordon as far as he could throw him.

“What makes you think the Bureau would be willing to work with the Vultures?” the agent asked and Ashton smiled coldly as he pushed away from the wall.

“Oh, come now," he said softly, made bold by the greed he could see in the taller man's eyes. “I thought you agents were used to working alongside Collins.”

He remembered that frightening job with Harry for a moment; remembered the night they'd been betrayed by Collins and how Ashton had used his flick knife for the first time to cut down two agents.

“Well...” Gordon pursed his lips, allowing the tiniest hint of a smirk to touch his features. “I'll admit we have an arrangement.”

“I'm sure,” Ashton said, baring his teeth in some loose approximation of a smile. “The Hornets will be sitting ducks, just waiting to be caught,” he repeated in a harder voice. “Don't let this be a waste, Gordon. They'll never be such an easy target again.”

The night was inky black around them, the wind whistling through the trees as the moon slipped behind a cloud. The shadows cast by the gravestones seemed to creep across the grass like ink and the Texan shivered in the windy Chicago night as he squared his bruised jaw, holding the agent's gaze defiantly.

“I'll take this information back to the Bureau,” Gordon said at length. “I'm sure they'll be very interested to learn more, Ashton, but that doesn't mean I can guarantee that we'll be able to assist in a raid on Wednesday. That's very short notice and -”

“No! There's no way the date can be changed now,” Ashton said with quickly-suppressed desperation. The hairs on the back of his neck were rising again and his hands shook as they twisted together anxiously. “It has to be then. Payne's too dangerous to wait any longer than that. Too many people have been hurt already. Are you really willing for more innocents to be caught up in this gang war? In warfare that you can prevent with this information?”

Gordon considered this silently, his lips pressed together flatly as he mulled it over.

“Payne has to be stopped,” Ashton said softly, suddenly feeling ridiculously out of his depth.

Everything was starting to feel very real now and, although he was afraid of what Liam would do to him and his loved ones if he discovered this betrayal, the Texan knew this was the only option left open to him.

Somebody needed to dismantle the criminal empire that Liam and Fletcher had worked so hard to build, and it seemed fitting that it should be Ashton, who had suffered so much at both of their hands.

“Alright,” Gordon said calmly, clearly deciding to take pity on the younger man. “Let's say that - theoretically speaking - I agree to arrange for the Bureau to assist with the raid on Wednesday. What would you want in return, Ashton? Or are you just doing this from the goodness of your heart?”

Ashton smiled like the breath wasn't rasping painfully in his chest.

“I want you to promise that you'll grant immunity to four Hornets,” he said quietly, the hope in his eyes impossible to extinguish. Gordon folded his arms over his chest, the derby hat tilted just enough that his expression was hidden in shadow.

"Which Hornets might those be?" he asked curiously.

Ashton bit his lip, hating that he'd actually have to trust the agent now. It didn't sit comfortably with him at all and his hand was shaking when he raised it to count the names off on his fingers.

“I need immunity for myself - that is, Ashton Irwin - and for three others: Niall Horan, Michael Clifford, and Louis Tomlinson.” His voice was stronger than he'd hoped and the younger man straightened his shoulders as a sigh of relief escaped him.

At least he'd done everything he could now.

The rest was up to Gordon and, by extension, the Bureau.

“Tomlinson?” the agent asked curiously, his expression perplexed. “I was under the impression that he was dead.”

The Texan simply smiled tightly and Gordon raised an eyebrow, looking mildly impressed despite himself.

“My, my, Ashton. You have been busy.” The agent smiled slightly as his hands returned to his pockets, the casual pose mirroring his stance when he’d first arrived at Graceland Cemetery earlier in the night. “Fine,” he said suddenly, startling the younger man. “I’ll see what I can do to help you. I’ll need to meet with you nearer the time to confirm though.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Ashton said, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he watched the agent hopefully.

“How does ten o’clock on Monday morning sound?” Gordon suggested. “You think you can get away then without causing suspicion?” The Texan nodded hesitantly and the taller man pursed his lips, clearly thinking hard. “Washington Square Park would be a good place to meet undetected. Do you know it?”

“I do,” Ashton said quickly. “We can meet by the fountain.”

His heart ached a little as he considered this meeting place. It was the park he’d visited with Niall on Christmas Day, lovingly nicknamed Bughouse Square by the locals. They’d built snowmen and made snow angels together, and it was one of Ashton’s favourite memories with the Irishman.

The park was a place that meant safety to him.

“That works for me,” Gordon said. “Just to clarify, if the raid is successful then the Bureau take the Hornets, the Vultures take the liquor and weaponry, and immunity is granted for you and the three men you mentioned earlier.” He tilted his head to the side curiously, taking in the play of emotions on the younger man’s face, ranging from relief to fear. “How does that sound, Ashton?”

The Texan stepped closer, the weight falling from his shoulders as he realised just how close he was to ending this once and for all. Safety for himself and his loved ones was almost within his grasp now.

All they had to do was hold on for just a tiny bit longer.

“That sounds like a deal, Gordon.”

They shook hands firmly but it wasn’t until Ashton had already left the cemetery that he saw a shadowy figure slipping down an alleyway nearby. His heart clenched in his chest, his hazel eyes widening in horror as he realised that he’d been followed here tonight.

Whoever had been spying couldn’t have been close enough to overhear them but the Texan wasn’t foolish. He knew how this must have looked, and there was no defence he could think of that would excuse his whereabouts and questionable company.

Liam was going to find out the truth.

“Fuck,” Ashton breathed uneasily. “Fuck.”

He wrenched the flick knife free from his coat, his heart pounding in his chest as he hurtled into the alley. The figure was long gone and his panic threatened to overwhelm him as he took off running, his shoes sliding on the rain-wet cobbles as he raced through the midnight streets.

The weapon in his fist did nothing to make him feel calmer. Every shadow he saw was a Hornet waiting to strike him; every rumble of a distant engine was the sound of a motor car approaching to mow him down; every solitary passer-by was someone poised to shoot him dead.

He needed to make it home in one piece. He needed to warn Niall; needed to get him somewhere safe so that he could get word to Michael, and Louis and Luke too.

The city was too dangerous for them to stay here now. They had to leave tonight, regardless of whether the raid went ahead on Wednesday.

The prize of defeating Liam was no longer worth the cost; not when the lives of the people Ashton loved most were hanging so precariously in the balance.

The Texan realised now that he’d been reckless to keep this a secret from Niall and Michael. With his warning, they could have prepared themselves for an eventuality like this; could have hidden somewhere safe while the younger man tried to beat the mob boss at his own dangerous game.

Ashton’s hubris was going to get them all killed.

He could barely see past the stinging tears as he stumbled up the stairs leading to the apartment, his injuries aching as the air clawed its way free in panting breaths. His heart felt like it was trying to escape the confines of his ribcage, his pulse so panicked that his head swam with it as the world seemed to sway beneath him.

He stopped breathing completely when he finally staggered to a stop outside the front door.

It was already open, gaping wide into the darkness like some horrible toothless monster. The lock was broken and there were scuff marks on the walls inside which meant -

“No. Ni, no.”

Ashton’s knees weakened beneath him as the flick knife slipped from his limp fingers to clatter noisily onto the ground, the only sound in the otherwise silent apartment.

He crumpled slowly, his head buried in his hands like he could hide from the horrific reality of what had happened because… fuck, it was already too late.

He was too late and his best friend had paid the price.

Niall was gone.

Chapter Text

Ashton walked to Michael’s place on autopilot.

His exhaustion and panic had seeped him of energy, and he staggered through the darkness like broken clockwork, his cheeks sticky with tears, his heart barely beating.

He’d planned to pick the lock with his flick knife once he reached the old house but there was no need. The door was already hanging open; there were even scuff marks on the walls where the struggling doctor had clearly been dragged out roughly into the night.

Ashton squared his jaw, fighting against the rising pain he could feel as he stepped into the shadows. The stairs creaked beneath his tired feet and he was already halfway up the last flight leading to Michael’s rooms when a door on the landing below swung open. It startled the Texan badly and he froze as a young woman appeared, her blonde hair in a messy plait as she peered into the shadows, wary and tired.

“Can I help you?” she asked him uncertainly, her face tightening when she took in the younger man’s grief with worried eyes. “It’s very late to be visiting.”

“I’m checking on Michael,” Ashton said in little more than a whisper, even though he knew it was too late… even though he didn’t know why he was confessing this to a stranger. The woman’s expression crumpled as she leant heavily against the doorframe, her hands rising to rub at her face in stress.

“They took him,” she said quietly, her voice thick with something deeply unhappy. “They broke the door down, not long before you got here. I heard the shouting; came out to see what was happening.”

“Did you see who it was?” Ashton asked, his words oddly devoid of any emotion now although the shaking in his hands was worse. The woman shook her head unhappily and the Texan sighed, his teeth sinking into his lip as he watched her wipe her eyes bashfully with her sleeve. “Are you alright, miss?”

“Yeah, just… shaken up,” she said softly, her tone surprised but grateful. “I knew Mike. Always said morning to each other when we were going to work. He seemed like a nice man.”

“He is,” Ashton said softly, refusing to use the past tense. He fought back the tears he could feel rising inside with something like panic. “What’s your name, miss?”

“Oh.” She looked at him in surprise. “I’m Laura.”

“Well, it’s good to meet you, Laura. My name’s Ashton,” the Texan said, trying hard to keep his emotions under control so that he could make the most of this chance encounter with a woman who might have useful information for him. “Any friend of Michael’s is a friend of mine.” He faltered, biting his lip unhappily as something unpleasant occurred to him. “They didn’t hurt you, did they? When they knew you’d spotted them?”

“No, I… I’m fine.” Laura shuddered, her arms wrapping around herself tightly as the chill swept in through the open door downstairs. “It was more threats…”

Ashton nodded, having expected that.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” he said honestly, his hazel eyes growing damp with tears as he realised just how many people had been hurt tonight. “Did you see anything that could help me identify them? I’m sure they were Hornets but anything more than that would be very useful.”

The blonde woman pursed her lips, clearly thinking hard as she wiped another tear away with a soft sniff.

“One of them had an accent,” she said hesitantly. “I couldn’t work out what it was though; it all happened so fast. Their faces were covered and it was so dark. It was hard to see any more than that.”

Ashton’s mind was racing now and, although he wasn’t certain of who she meant, the information she had provided would definitely be worth considering at a later date.

“Thank you, Laura,” he said quietly, speaking faster now as the adrenaline in his veins reminded him of just how urgent this situation was. “I’m going to check Mike’s place; see if I can find any clues as to where he’s been taken. Then I’ll be out of your hair.” He wasn’t sure why he was telling her all this; he figured that maybe he just needed to talk it through with someone before he lost it completely and broke down in tears on the stairs.

“I hope he’ll be alright,” Laura said quietly, her soft eyes damp in the darkness. Ashton gave her a watery smile that did absolutely nothing to hide the despair he felt.

“I hope so too,” he whispered. “More than you know.”

He took the remaining stairs two at a time, his heart juddering in his chest when he reached the final landing and saw with dread that the door had been torn off its hinges. The apartment was deserted and the signs of a struggle were painfully evident as he looked around the room, taking in the overturned kitchen table and the smashed crockery on the ground.

Clearly the doctor hadn’t gone down without a fight and Ashton let out a sob as he stumbled through the darkness, his foot catching on a chair that had toppled over. He fell down onto his knees hard enough that the breath was knocked out of him and he stayed like that for what felt like a long time, the tears rolling down his bruised face onto the dusty floor as his heart crumbled to dust in his chest.

When he finally found the courage to open his eyes again, a startled gasp escaped him as he saw something painfully familiar through the gloom. The pieces of the broken watch were lying on the ground beside him, spilling out of their handkerchief although it was easy enough for the Texan to gather them together again.

His hands were trembling as he stowed the last tangible relic of Jack Barakat in his jacket pocket. He knew Michael would be devastated if he lost the pieces of the watch and an agonising rawness seared through Ashton as he thought about the doctor then; of how frightened he must have been when he was dragged away in the dead of night.

The Texan prayed so badly that he could get Michael and Niall back before it was too late… that maybe Liam would accept Ashton’s life in exchange for theirs, if he could only convince the mob boss that the swap was worth it. This possible reality only made his panic worse though and, by the time he’d stumbled to his feet, his head was spinning again, his eyes gritty with tears as he staggered into the doctor’s bedroom.

The blankets had been dragged onto the floor, the bedside table overturned. Michael must have been sleeping when they came for him and that only made Ashton’s guilt burn worse as the tears rolled down his cheeks.

He walked closer to the bed unthinkingly, his legs weakening with every passing moment, but he was roused from his despair when he heard the sound of crunching glass beneath his feet. He looked down slowly, his lips parting with pain when he saw the doctor’s beloved picture of Jack shattered on the floor. He was barely vigilant enough to avoid cutting himself when he crouched to carefully ease the creased photograph out from beneath the jagged shards.

Jack’s expression seemed different now, although of course that couldn’t be the case. His confident smile looked harder and colder, and the glint in his dark eyes appeared to say: ‘It’s your fault he’s gone’. Ashton shuddered, his heart clenching painfully in his chest as he tucked the picture away in his jacket, out of sight. He couldn't find it in himself to disagree but there was no time to wallow in self-pity and regret now, because Niall and Michael needed him, and Ashton refused to let them down again.

He hurtled back out into the darkness with his thundering pulse roaring in his ears. It was all he could hear as he pounded down the road, the moon shining through the drifting rain clouds up above. It had to be well gone two in the morning by now but the Texan barely noticed his exhaustion as the adrenaline flooded through once more, his sheer desperation lending him wings.

He still had time to get his loved ones back. He was sure this was the truth because, if Liam had wanted them dead, he would’ve ordered them killed on sight and Ashton would have come home to their bodies instead. That meant his plan wasn’t over yet and, as he recalled his last conversation with Luke and Louis what felt like a million years ago now, he realised that he could still fix things.

The knowledge armoured him; made him run faster than ever as he splashed through the puddles.

He was going to save them. He was because it was the only option he would accept.

Ashton would not stop fighting until they were safe.

He made it to the Speakeasy faster than he’d ever managed before, his hands rising to cover his mouth at how loud his panting breaths sounded in the silence. He stood frozen for a long moment, waiting for his pulse to calm as he tried to decide what to do next. The road seemed deserted though and he felt his heart sinking in his chest because… god, he’d been so certain that they were going to be taken here.

He didn’t know what he’d do if he was wrong.

His anxiety was just beginning to rear its head once more when he heard a soft sound coming from the alleyway nearby, leading towards the secret entrance. He crept into the darkness unthinkingly, one hand resting on the rough brickwork as he followed the noises deeper into the darkness.

He could hear struggling now that he knew to listen; choked noises and frantic scuffling, and the dull crunching sound of a punch or kick that made him cringe automatically. He was glad he'd overheard them in the alleyway though because that meant there was really only one destination that made sense: they were being taken down to the tunnels and, as that became apparent, Ashton remembered those strange barred doors he’d discovered when Liam had deserted him down there.

That was where Michael and Niall would be taken, and it was where Ashton would rescue them from too.

He hesitated in the darkness, so close to the people he loved most in the world. It hurt not to go to them but it would do no good to give his position away by creeping closer now.

His flick knife would be no use against the Hornets’ revolvers, and getting himself killed wouldn’t help Niall and Michael. Only Ashton sticking to his guns and following his plan would manage that.

He began to back out of the alley slowly, his exhausted gaze locked on where he could still hear the sounds of his closest friends being dragged down into the bowels of the Speakeasy. His weariness was beginning to overwhelm him and he knew he’d be no good to anyone in the state he was currently in. He needed to be firing on all cylinders; ready for anything Liam might throw at him.

His realisation was only cemented when he swayed suddenly, his bruised ribs sorely protesting the abuse when he stumbled sideways into the wall. He bit his lip to keep the grunt of pain in, hoping the soft thud had been quiet enough that no one had overheard him.

He glanced around warily, his hazel eyes narrowing as he tried to find a place he could rest for what remained of the night. He had no intention of going back to the apartment now; not when it was so painfully empty and devoid of anything that had made it feel like home in the first place.

He would have to linger here instead, somewhere blatant enough that Liam would have no option but to demand to speak to him the very moment he arrived at the Speakeasy.

Ashton was done with hiding now.

He just wanted this over.

The confidence he felt surprised him as he strode round to the front of the building, a path he had walked so many thousands of times before. Unsurprisingly, the place was shut up at this time of night and the Texan was grateful for the brief reprieve this granted him as he sat down beside the door with a heavy sigh. He folded his legs beneath him and crossed his arms loosely over his chest, tilting his hat to keep the moonlight out of his eyes.

He shivered through the hours as he waited for the sun to rise, the energy burning in his veins once more now that he had purpose again.

It was a relief to know that his plan would come to fruition regardless of his continued survival and that he had not lost the chance of rescuing his chosen family, and Ashton comforted himself with that knowledge as he finally succumbed to sleep, wielding his hope like a shield.

He felt alive.

*

When he next woke, it was to a horrible stiff neck and Frank leering down at him like some grotesque gargoyle. Ashton gritted his teeth, not even glancing at the doorman as he climbed painfully to his feet and shouldered past him. He adjusted his fedora and straightened yesterday’s clothes as best he could, trying to shake the chill from his bones as he headed for the open door.

“You’re fucked, Irwin,” Frank said from behind him, his tone gleeful. The Texan didn't turn to look at him.

“Maybe,” Ashton said mildly. “We’ll see.”

Harry was passing through the corridor inside and he balked at the sight of the younger man, unusually pale as he stared at his friend in horror. The Englishman looked exhausted as he stood there – clearly the Texan hadn’t been the only one to have an unpleasant night – but he seemed to be struggling to pull himself together as he took a hesitant step closer.

“Mr Payne is waiting for you, Ash,” he said quietly, his face tight with worry as he reached to lay a shaking hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I can’t believe he…” His voice faded away suddenly – almost like he realised how dangerous his words were – and Ashton bit his lip nervously as he stepped away from the older man because the last thing he wanted to do was get Harry in trouble too.

“It’ll be okay,” the Texan said softly, even though he was quite certain those words weren't true. “Thanks for trying to warn me.”

The Englishman slipped away towards the bar with little more than a strained smile, leaving Ashton to walk through the shadows to the mob boss’ office alone. His palms were sweaty, his heart racing in his chest. He went willingly though because, no matter how uncomfortable the idea made him, this was something important he needed to do.

The next stage of his plan involved manipulation and the only way the Texan could achieve that was by tackling the mob boss head on. It didn’t matter how much he hated the thought of it because Liam deserved a taste of his own medicine and Ashton would force-feed him it if he had to. He’d do anything – no matter how horrendous – if it kept Michael and Niall safe.

The office door was open for once and the Texan squared his shoulders when Liam beckoned him in silently, his gleaming revolver lying on the polished wood in front of him. It was a blatant threat and his expression was saturated with absolute fury as a muscle twitched in his temple. He was more volatile than he’d ever been today but Ashton hoped that might make the mob boss more predictable as he backed himself into a corner of the younger man’s making.

It was time for the Texan to play his ace.

He didn’t get the chance to speak though because, the very moment he stepped into the room, the door slammed shut behind him and a figure lunged forwards to grab him. Ashton didn’t struggle – there was no point – but his face creased with pain when Biersack twisted his arms painfully behind his back. The black-haired man’s savage pleasure faded to confusion when the Texan didn’t try to escape and he dug his fingers spitefully into the younger man’s skin, pressing bruises viciously through the younger man’s jacket when Ashton still refused to fight back.

He kept his hazel gaze locked on Liam when the mob boss silently rounded the desk, his shark eyes drinking in the pain and grief on the Texan’s face as he came to a stop in front of him. Thankfully, he’d left his revolver behind and the younger man had barely had a chance to feel grateful for that when the older man suddenly leant closer, taking in the bruising marring Ashton’s face after he’d been beaten yesterday.

“Somebody else got there first, did they?” Liam asked quietly, his words twisted around his gritted teeth. “Can’t say I’m surprised. You have a face that just begs to be punched.”

Ashton simply smiled faintly, his eyes fluttering shut when the mob boss reached to grip his face, his thumbs digging hard into the bruised skin.

“I know all about how busy you were last night, Irwin,” the older man said coldly and, before the Texan had time to do much more than tense up, Liam punched him hard in the face. Ashton felt his bottom lip burst under the mob boss’ knuckles as his head snapped back painfully, his hazel eyes rolling at the awful sting. Blood poured hotly down his chin as the world lurched sickeningly beneath him and, quite suddenly, the Texan was almost glad that Biersack was holding him up because his legs didn’t seem to want to support him anymore.

He hung there in the older man’s grip like a dead weight, his tongue moving gingerly around his mouth as he felt to see if any of his teeth had been knocked loose… not that it really mattered now. Losing a tooth was going to be the least of his worries if he couldn’t make it out of this office without the next stage of his plan successfully underway.

“Who’s going to fix you up now?” Liam asked softly, his voice almost lost beneath the ringing in the younger man’s ears. “Not your protectors Horan and Clifford, that’s for sure.” His smirk faded when Ashton refused to rise to the bait and his expression hardened; turned stony as Biersack gripped the Texan’s arms tighter. “Your little friends are dropping like flies, Irwin.”

If Liam had been hoping for an emotional response, he was sorely disappointed. Ashton simply watched him blankly, his hazel eyes glassy with pain and weariness as he refused to cry or shout. There was no need anymore. He knew how the mob boss worked now and Liam’s taunting always had a pattern.

If Niall and Michael were already dead, the mob boss would have been flaunting it to torture him; would have had Ashton staring at their broken bodies as Liam mocked him for not having been able to prevent it.

That meant the Texan had been right last night. They were down in the tunnels, underneath his feet at this very moment… so he had to keep fighting for them. That was all there was to it.

“Why are you doing this?” Ashton asked quietly, his tone perfectly calm.

It only seemed to enrage the mob boss further.

“Because this is my fucking game, Irwin. Not yours.” The older man’s voice was icy as he leant closer, until his breath was washing over the younger man’s throbbing face. “Never for a moment think that you can outwit me.”

Ashton said nothing at all because he already had but the triumph must have shown in his eyes because Liam chose that moment to punch him in the stomach, hard enough that he doubled over with a wheezing groan as the pain took his breath away. The tears rolled down his cheeks automatically as he struggled to draw in oxygen and, although there was a growing ache in the Texan’s shoulders as he hung limply in Biersack’s grip, he didn’t have the strength to get his feet under him again.

“That’s better,” Liam murmured, almost too soft to hear, and Ashton felt revulsion unfurling inside him as he glared up at the mob boss through his tears, his bleeding mouth twisted into a grimace. The words made perfect sense and they disgusted him because Liam had always liked to watch him cry.

It stood to reason that he’d enjoy it now, when the Texan was showing such weakness in front of an audience.

Biersack tightened his grasp, more to keep the younger man from falling than to cause him further pain. Ashton’s head was spinning sickeningly as he spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor and Liam watched him with distaste as he crouched down, close enough that he could maintain eye contact with the Texan who was still fighting to regain control of his ragged breathing.

“Do you want to hear a secret, Irwin?” the mob boss asked softly, his hand rising to achingly squeeze the younger man’s bruised jaw. “I know everything that goes on in this building, one way or another.” His tone became taunting when Ashton tried to turn his head away, his cheeks slippery with tears as his curls fell into his eyes. “Did you really think I wouldn’t find out you were still seeing Clifford? You actually thought you’d get to keep him?”

Biersack made a sickened noise behind the Texan, his fingers digging painfully into the younger man’s arms like he was desperate to demonstrate his disgust. Ashton hated him so much in that moment that it was almost impossible to resist the urge to level a kick at the black-haired man’s groin. He wouldn’t do it though; wouldn’t give either of them the satisfaction of showing how deep their revulsion scraped away at him.

“Do you know how fucking angry you’ve made me?” Liam asked quietly, his voice silky smooth in the moments before he twisted his fingers tightly in the younger man’s curls, wrenching his head back. At some point during the confrontation his fedora had fallen and Ashton felt vulnerable without it as he was forced to stare up into the mob boss’ cold eyes.

“You defied my orders by seeing Clifford. You fucked that dirty Vulture whore. You went to the fucking Bureau.” He listed the Texan’s offences with a growing rage, the muscle in his temple twitching once more as he stared down at the younger man with some warped version of disbelief. “You’ve fucked me over one time too many, Irwin, and your father did too. You don’t get to be happy, slut.”

The word seemed to slip free without his permission and Ashton knew Biersack had noticed it by the tiny gasp of breath that tickled the back of his neck. Liam must have realised he’d made a mistake too because his automatic response was to bluster; to bully and intimidate even more harshly than he had done before, possibly in the hope that the Hornet still loyal to him might let his blunder pass without comment.

The beating Ashton received then was almost expected when he saw the flare of frenzied anger sparking to life in the mob boss’ eyes. His fists rained down on the Texan like cudgels, each blow sending pain rocketing through the younger man until – finally – he could stand the onslaught no longer.

Even with Biersack’s clawed hands biting into him, Ashton still crumpled, slumped forwards in the older man’s grip as blood dripped onto the panelled floor. One of his eyes was rapidly swelling shut and his already-bruised nose was bleeding sluggishly again, his breath escaping him in little pants as he sank down onto the dusty ground.

“You really do like getting down on your knees, Irwin,” Liam murmured nastily, his eyes glinting when Biersack jerked the younger man roughly upright again, the hatred blazing like fire in his icy blue eyes. It seemed that the Hornet had been chosen specifically for this task and Ashton supposed that made sense. Why else would Liam have been drip-feeding him the Texan’s secret if not to build on the prejudice and contempt that Biersack had already been harbouring in the first place?

Ashton was almost impressed at Liam’s foresight… or he would have been if he hadn’t been sinking into a frightening numbness which was the only thing protecting him from the agony the mob boss was inflicting upon him.

“I thought you would’ve been used to being beaten,” Liam said gently. “Growing up with a father like Fletcher.”

The younger man spat blood, a ragged sob escaping him as he realised how true those horrible words were. He hated that he couldn’t deny them because that only made the exultation in the mob boss’ eyes grow with every passing moment as he realised that he’d finally managed to hit a nerve.

The reminder of the way Fletcher had treated him growing up was the spark that almost made Ashton feel his pain and it did no good to beat the emotions down now. Liam could already smell the weakness like a shark scenting blood and the punches battering the younger man became brutal as he leant closer, his expression twisted with rage as Biersack struggled to keep hold of the Texan’s limp form.

The mob boss was still talking, his lips moving silently but Ashton could barely hear him over the ringing in his ears. It didn’t really matter though because the damage had already been done.

The truth of Liam’s words was sinking into the younger man like poison as he finally accepted the truth of what he’d known deep down since the beginning.

Fletcher had never been a good man.

He’d tricked and lied and conned, and he hadn’t cared about anyone at all, least of all his only son.

As the realisation settled deep inside him, Biersack let him fall at Liam’s instruction and Ashton slumped to the floor like a ragdoll. He landed with one arm bent underneath him uncomfortably, his hazel eyes glassy and wet as his cheek pressed against the wooden panels. The pain of his countless injuries was nothing compared to his heart breaking in his chest and he thought the mob boss might have been able to see it in his tear-streaked face as he walked closer, his polished shoes shining enough that the Texan could almost see his bloodied, swollen reflection in the gleaming material.

“Fletcher meant nothing to the Hornets, Irwin,” Liam said, making sure to speak slowly enough that the younger man could still process his words in his current wrecked state. “He was only ever a scapegoat to us. That’s why he made such a name for himself, y’know? We pinned a lot of our successes on him because he was already in trouble. We used him to save our own skins.”

Ashton closed his eyes against the shameful tears boiling down his cheeks.

He couldn’t believe he’d wasted his childhood idolising a man who had only ever used him and lied to him, and treated him like less than dirt.

“That’s where the legends and stories came from,” Liam said in a gentler voice, his eyes faraway now, like he was thinking back to the days he’d spent with Ashton’s father. “Fletcher was a fraud, Irwin, and all that time you wasted on him?” He shook his head slowly, his expression almost pitying. “It was all for nothing.”

The mob boss crouched down, his gaze fixed on the younger man’s face as the tears carved their way through the blood drying in streaks on the Texan’s bruised cheeks.

“You were nothing like him in the end. You earned your respect with hard work and merit,” Liam said, softer still. “I can admit that, Irwin. You’re a better man than your father was by a million.” His face hardened slowly, like water turning to ice as his fingertips pressed into the younger man’s bruised jaw one last time. “It’s a shame you wasted it all by betraying me.”

Ashton wanted to pull away from him but he was too weak to fight now. His limbs felt like they were made of lead as he lay there on the floor, with Biersack glaring from the wall and Liam watching him hungrily as though the Texan was a puzzle that he’d never quite been able to solve.

It didn’t look like he’d ever get the chance now.

“Your friends are gone,” the mob boss said quietly. “Everyone here knows what you are.” The pad of his thumb smoothed across the younger man’s ruined bottom lip, smearing the blood there as the stinging pain coaxed another tear free. “No one wants you.”

Ashton’s hazel eyes drifted to the ceiling and even focusing enough to do that seemed to drain him of energy now. The room was spinning around him, the shadows smearing across the walls like ink, and when the Texan felt himself starting to sink away from the pain, he thought briefly of Niall and Michael – of how they loved him unequivocally, no matter what Liam had said – and that was the moment when Ashton stopped caring.

When the next punch fell, the ground swallowed him whole. 

*

Michael woke to complete darkness.

There was a warm body beside him, soft hair brushing his cheek where they were sitting slumped together. At first he assumed it was Ashton but there was something wrong; the person beside him was too muscular, the shoulders too broad. The smell wasn’t right either; smoke and coffee, and a cologne that Michael definitely recognised but couldn’t quite place.

The doctor racked his brains as he tried to recall what had happened but the growing headache behind his eyes was distracting him and he found it difficult to remember. He knew he’d spent the evening with Ashton before he’d headed back to his own apartment because he remembered how cold it had been as he hurried through the streets, heading for home.

With a flash, he suddenly remembered what had happened next. He’d been lying on his bed with a book, still dressed in his clothes before he dozed off, only to be woken by the sound of his front door being torn off its hinges. He’d struggled free of the blankets as two masked men had burst into the room with revolvers and then –

Oh god, oh god, oh god.

His panicked eyes were beginning to adjust to the inky darkness now and he could just make out the metal bars of the door in front of him; the sandy floor he was sitting on and the body slumped awkwardly beside his own. Michael reached up with a trembling hand, a soft whimper escaping him when he touched a painfully tender area on the back of his head. His fingertips came away tacky with dried blood and he cringed as he remembered the butt of the revolver smashing against his skull when he’d put up a fight.

The body beside him shifted suddenly and the doctor froze as he peered uselessly through the gloom, his body aching when his muscles became tense. The beating he'd received as he was hauled into the back of a car had been unpleasant but it was nothing he hadn’t experienced before. He was more bothered about how dry his throat felt as he swallowed nervously because it made him question just how long he’d been here… wherever here was.

A soft groan broke the silence beside him, followed by a murmured curse, and Michael felt a thrill of dread run through him when he realised exactly who he’d been locked up with.

“Niall?” he whispered, weak and terrified.

“Michael?”

“Damnit,” the doctor groaned, his eyes falling shut as the despair took hold of him. “Liam’s got Ash alone.” 

*

Far above them, Ashton opened his eyes.

He felt like he’d been hit by a car or possibly a falling building and thought – with no small amount of hysteria – that Liam may have missed his calling as a boxer in his youth. The huff of laughter that escaped him sent pain rocketing through his bruised ribs and he groaned as he raised his head painfully, his gaze flickering around his surroundings with increasing disbelief.

The swelling around his eye might have affected his vision but there was no doubt that he was in the storage room, closer to Michael and Niall than ever now. He assumed he was being kept down here because Liam wanted him out of the way before more Hornets arrived and asked awkward questions but even that was reassuring.

The mob boss had proved countless times in the past that he had no issue with hurting his Hornets publically to issue a message so the fact that he was hiding the Texan away clearly meant that there was unfinished business he intended to finish first. That meant Ashton still had time to put the next stage of his plan into action; meant that all of his hard work and pain hadn’t been a waste… that he might finally have a chance to succeed in ending this once and for all.

He let out another breathless laugh, barely able to contain the relief he could feel coursing through him, even as his body ached at the effort it cost him. Liam had truly done a number on him but the Texan found he didn’t much care when he was gambling in a game he actually stood a chance of winning.

“What the fuck do you have to laugh about, Irwin?” a familiar voice drawled from the corner of the room. Ashton turned his head sluggishly where he was lying slumped against the damp wall, his hazel gaze settling on Biersack as the older man watched him with mild alarm. Apparently the Texan’s mirth had unsettled him as he lay there, bruised and bleeding.

Ashton didn’t try to keep his hysteria under wraps though because he was fairly certain that his laughter was the only thing keeping him from crying. He didn’t much care that Biersack was staring at him like he’d lost it because… hell, maybe he had. It would hardly be surprising after all of the shit he’d gone through and at least this way he wasn’t falling apart.

He felt like he’d done that enough to last him a lifetime now.

The older man was still watching him dubiously but he reached for something on the shelf beside him, his pale fingers closing around it before he tossed it towards the Texan. Ashton raised a bloodied hand instinctively to protect his already-injured face but he needn’t have worried. It was only his fedora tumbling down to land in his lap and he felt a burst of relief when he reached to run his thumb over the familiar material like a comfort blanket, his throat thickening with some emotion he wasn’t quite ready to process yet.

“Mr Payne didn’t want that cluttering up his office,” Biersack muttered, apparently disliking the way the younger man’s eyes had grown suspiciously damp.

“Well, thanks for returning it,” Ashton said pleasantly, his words marred with just a hint of sarcasm. “You’re too kind.”

The older man’s nostrils flared with anger as he straightened up in his chair, his blue eyes flashing with irritation.

“Don’t fucking smile at me,” Biersack snapped defensively. The Texan simply rolled his eyes.

“Oh please,” Ashton said in a quieter voice. “As if I’d want to try anything with you. You’re the last person I’d ever want to lay a finger on; I can promise you that.”

“Oh yeah? Because you love Clifford?” the older man asked nastily but the malice on his face faltered a little when the younger man simply nodded and he seemed faintly nauseous instead. “You’re disgusting, Irwin.”

“Tell me why.”

“I… huh?”

“Tell me why it’s disgusting,” Ashton repeated calmly. “And ‘just because it is’ can’t be the answer.”

Biersack’s lips parted but, when no answer was forthcoming, the younger man simply nodded silently, as though he’d expected as much.

“Being queer isn’t catching, Andy,” he said softly. “And I don’t give a damn what you think of me. I’m gonna love whoever the fuck I want to love and that’s all there is to it.”

Ashton straightened up as best he could, a ragged gasp tearing out of him as he managed to haul himself painfully into a sitting position. He settled the fedora carefully on his curls, his face paling visibly when even that simple movement tugged agonisingly at his bruised ribs.

The silence felt strained now and the Texan sighed quietly as he caught Biersack’s eye again, his split lip throbbing when his teeth sank into it nervously.

“Was it Liam who told you I was queer?” Ashton asked curiously, his tone a lot lighter and more conversational than he’d been intending. He was glad of it though because it only seemed to unsettle the older man further which was undeniably satisfying.

“No,” Biersack admitted, his tone less disgusted and more confused now. “It wasn’t Mr Payne but… well, I was asked not to repeat it.”

The younger man’s eyes narrowed as he considered this but he supposed there were plenty of people it could have been. Liam had probably let it slip to someone who was willing to do his dirty work for him; maybe Moreta or Sheeran.

Ashton watched Biersack steadily, his hazel eyes unblinking as the older man grew more and more uncomfortable. He tensed – almost like he was about to get to his feet – and the Texan spoke quickly before he could be left alone, his words shattering the silence like glass.

“Do you like working for Liam, Andy?” he asked, keeping his tone deliberately nonchalant as the Hornet sank back into his chair with a frown. He scratched the back of his neck distractedly as his confused blue eyes settled on the younger man’s injured face.

“Of course I do,” Biersack said warily. “Mr Payne is a great man.”

Ashton hummed, seemingly considering this.

“He made me give him head once,” he said suddenly, his tone surprisingly mild even as his heart clenched painfully in his chest at the memory. Biersack reeled back in shock, his face faintly green, and the Texan couldn’t say he blamed him. “Didn’t you wonder why he made that delightful comment about me getting on my knees, Andy? He’d know, seeing as how he forced me onto them in the first place.”

He waited for the Hornet to deny his words but, much to his surprise, Biersack didn’t defend the mob boss.

“That’s why he called you that earlier,” he breathed, his eyes widening with horror. “That’s why he called you…”

“Slut,” Ashton supplied, his mouth twisting harshly around the horrible word. “Yeah, he does that. Calls me whore sometimes too, just to change things up. He gets off on it I think.” He shrugged half-heartedly, his sore lips pressing together against the burst of pain this caused. “Wouldn’t do to get on the wrong side of him, Andy. You want to be more careful.”

“That’s horrible,” Biersack whispered, seemingly forgetting himself for a moment as he stared at the younger man in dismay.

Ashton let the silence linger for a long moment while the Hornet stewed over what he’d learnt. The fear was growing on the older man’s face now and the Texan relished that; savoured watching Biersack feel some small amount of the discomfort and pain that he’d inflicted on Ashton.

“How’s the hero worship now, Andy?” the younger man asked quietly, taunting. “Still want to be just like Mr Payne?”

“Shut up, Irwin,” Biersack hissed but the heat had left his voice, and he seemed uncertain and afraid without it.

Ashton settled back against the wall, his hazel eyes sliding shut as he relaxed fractionally, aware that his job was done for the moment. Now there was no chance of Biersack sticking around to defend Liam when the raid happened which meant that there was one less Hornet for the Vultures and the Bureau to contend with.

The black-haired man rose suddenly, his chair scraping across the floor as he folded his arms uncomfortably over his chest. His eyes flickered uneasily to the stone steps that the Texan had presumably been dragged down earlier that morning and the younger man smiled wanly, making sure that Biersack noticed.

“Mr Payne wanted me to fetch him when you woke up,” the older man said warily, looking as though there was nothing he would rather do less, and although his words sent warning bells ringing, Ashton paid them little mind.

He’d already plummeted further than he’d ever thought possible.

There was nowhere else for him to fall now.

“Better go fetch him then.” 

*

Possibly against the odds, the first thing Ashton noticed when Liam descended the stairs a short while later wasn’t the gun in his hand but the nervousness in his dark eyes. The Texan had been uncertain up until now that the mob boss was capable of such emotions but – like his bruised knuckles that day when he’d hit the younger man down in the tunnels – Liam had proved once again that he was human, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

The mob boss looked perturbed enough that Ashton assumed Biersack had informed him that his prisoner was behaving strangely. The Texan was glad of that too because it made the next step of his plan even simpler if Liam already felt like he’d been thrown off balance.

“Good morning, sir,” the younger man said brightly before a slight frown touched his swollen features. “Is it still morning? I can’t tell down here.”

His gaze sharpened when the mob boss stalked over, his hazel eyes settling on a ring of keys hanging from the older man’s belt. They were rusty and old, matching the barred doors down in the tunnels, and Ashton felt the satisfaction unfurling inside him as he noted this because that confirmed where his loved ones were being kept.

Now that he knew exactly what he needed to pay attention to, this was almost too easy.

The kick Liam delivered to his ribs was remarkable in its agony and, even as the Texan crumpled sideways onto the cold ground, he couldn’t stop the weak laughter from bubbling out of him.

The mob boss’ expression became almost comical in his confusion and anger, and Ashton figured he could guess what the problem was. Liam had expected his beating and subsequent spilling of secrets to break the Texan. The very last thing he’d anticipated was it only strengthening the younger man’s resolve, no matter how much pain he might be in.

“Stop fucking laughing, slut!” the older man snapped but he seemed almost frantic now and that only made this easier.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Ashton murmured, his sore lips curving into a smile as a drop of blood rolled down his chin, the bruise on his cheekbone aching at the pull of muscles. “You can’t hurt me anymore, Mr Payne. It’s over.”

Liam delivered another excruciating kick to his ribs as though trying to disprove this theory but all he succeeded in doing was showing just how little he understood the world around him. He’d lost his humanity over the years and it had never been more obvious than it was now.

Even the Texan could see that, lying curled on his side with blood filling his mouth, wheezing painfully as he struggled to catch his breath again.

A child could see it if they knew to look for the deadened blankness in Liam’s eyes.

There was no heart in him.

Maybe there never had been.

“You can’t hurt me,” Ashton repeated, weaker now. “You’ve already taken everyone I love. There’s nothing left.”

The mob boss was staring at him again, his eyes narrowed like he wanted to solve the Texan’s mysteries more than anything. Dimly, Ashton wondered if Liam would ever realise that the answer was only love.

The older man’s fingers tightened around the gun as he raised it, levelling it at the younger man’s chest through the darkness, where his heart beat frantically behind bruised ribs.

“There are other ways to hurt a person,” Liam said coldly, his head tilted to one side in warped curiosity as he watched the play of emotions on the Texan’s face. He seemed puzzled when Ashton showed no fear; when his sore lips remained pressed together as he refused to beg or cry.

“You’re a liability, Irwin,” the mob boss said with a note of finality in his voice. “You have been from the moment we met. What’s to stop me from killing you right now?”

The younger man was still lying slumped on his side, his swollen face a mess of blood and bruising. His ribs sang with pain whenever he moved but his hazel eyes glinted like glass, sharper than they had ever been as he finally played his ace.

“If you kill me, sir, everyone will find out about Sophia.”

Liam’s expression went blank with anger as he wordlessly flicked the safety off his gun. He was pale as bone now, his livid eyes black in his ashen face as he steadied the revolver. Ashton simply watched him, almost serene as he lay there broken in the darkness.

“Sure, you can put a bullet in my head,” he said softly. “But just know this, sir: I’m not the only one who knows what you’ve done… and they’re out there right now, biding their time.” He pushed himself painfully into a sitting position, his hazel eyes blazing as the blood dripped down his chin and his bones jarred agonisingly under his clothes. “If you kill me, Mr Payne, I promise this whole city will know what you’ve done. Your damned Speakeasy will burn to the ground before you hurt anyone else ever again.”

He was possibly laying it on a little thick – after all, Louis was only one man, even with Luke by his side – but Liam didn’t need to know that. Ashton’s friends were perfectly capable of contacting the Bureau and spreading the word, and they had their instructions.

The mob boss’ criminal empire would still crumble regardless of whether the Texan died today and it would be all Liam’s fault.

It wasn’t like Ashton hadn’t warned him.

“How the fuck do you know about that?!” the older man demanded, his hands shaking faintly as he tightened his grip on the gun.

“You’re not the only one who spies, sir,” the Texan said flatly. “You’d be surprised what else I know.”

He was totally bluffing now but Liam didn’t need to know that and the younger man certainly wasn’t going to help him out. Ashton felt the familiar steel mask slipping over his features as he watched the mob boss scrutinising him, his pale face growing visibly worried when the Texan simply gazed back at him, his hazel gaze emotionless.

For a moment, it felt like Ashton had never stopped gambling at all.

The only difference this time was that it was his and his friends’ lives on the line; not something as inconsequential as money.

Liam wavered visibly and Ashton locked onto his uncertainty like a bear trap.

“Lower the gun,” he snapped but he almost stopped breathing when the older man actually did as he’d been instructed.

“What do you want from me, Irwin?” Liam asked uncertainly as he tucked the gun back inside his jacket. His shaking hands curled into fists and the younger man savoured the tension in the air as the older man’s uneasiness grew upon realising that he was the one being manipulated for once… but there was no guilt in Ashton because, if anyone deserved this treatment, Liam did.

He’d spread the Texan’s secrets and stolen his loved ones; beaten him to within an inch of his life and done unspeakable things to him, and all of it had been for nothing.

Ashton may as well have been invincible for all the harm Liam could cause him now.

“I want to see Niall and Michael,” the younger man said calmly. “And I don’t want anyone laying a finger on them.”

The mob boss smiled nastily but it was weaker than usual, his lips almost bloodless as he pressed them together apprehensively.

“Fine,” Liam muttered. “But not today. I doubt they’ll be awake yet anyway.”

The words had been meticulously chosen to elicit a response but Ashton was careful to tamper down the anger and fear he could feel, not wanting to play into the mob boss’ hands now. He would never do that ever again if he could avoid it.

“Are they badly hurt?” he asked quietly, his body racked with pain when a sudden low cough escaped him. He could taste blood when he dragged his gaze back to the older man’s face, the hatred freezing his blood in his veins when he saw the smirk on Liam’s lips.

“They got knocked around a little,” the mob boss said coolly, his eyes glinting when he saw the barely-supressed pain in the younger man’s expression. “Neither of them went down without a fight. It was quite admirable really.”

Ashton shook his head in disgust but his eyes hardened when the older man turned away from him, already heading for the stairs.

“Scrape yourself off the floor, Irwin,” Liam said when he paused at the top of the steps, one hand resting on the wood. He kept his face turned away from the Texan as he spoke but it was impossible to miss the unpleasant hint of a smile in his voice. “I’ll send word when you can visit your little friends, Irwin. Don’t set foot in my Speakeasy before then.”

Liam left without a backwards glance and Ashton glared at his retreating form, too weak to call after him and demand to see his loved ones right now. He wouldn’t be any use to them at the moment anyway; not when he was in too pain to even shout. His injuries were beginning to take hold of him, and he knew he needed to get home before his pain and exhaustion overwhelmed him but unfortunately that was easier said than done.

Ashton pushed himself slowly onto all fours, a pained groan escaping him as he spat a mouthful of blood onto the cold stone beneath him. He ached worse than ever now and he wasn’t sure how he was going to manage by himself when he was this badly hurt, even if Niall and Michael did need him to pull himself together. He’d try his best though.

For them, he’d do anything.

It took almost half an hour for the Texan to drag himself up the stairs, each step sending pain burning through him as the deep bruising under his shirt ached with every breath he took. He was afraid of what would happen when he finally entered the main Speakeasy – especially after the various attacks he’d been subjected to the day before – but he knew it remained his best option.

Even if he did get shoved around by the Hornets, it would still be less arduous and painful than if he tried to navigate the darkness of the tunnels by himself.

Unfortunately, when Ashton finally made it out into the dimly lit corridor, he had reason to doubt himself at the sight of Frank loitering alone in the shadows. His watery eyes were locked on the younger man as he limped out of the storage room and Ashton gritted his teeth when he saw the old man watching him.

“Not leaving already, are you?” Frank asked softly, his tone nauseatingly innocent as he sidled closer. He seemed to sense the Texan’s weakness after the beating he’d received that morning and Ashton tensed up, his muscles sorely protesting it as his shaking hands curled into fists.

“You’re really going to try this again?” the younger man demanded, his teeth speckled with blood as the old man backed him slowly into the wall. There was no one else around to help but, after the way the other Hornets had been treating him, the Texan was fairly certain that no support would have been forthcoming anyway.

Frank reached down roughly to grope him – consistent to the end – and Ashton reacted instinctively. His hand shot out, twisting the old man’s fingers in his fist until they broke with a sickening cracking sound as he kneed the doorman hard in the groin.

Frank sank down onto the polished floor with a pained groan as he clutched his injured hand to his chest, his eyes narrowed with hatred and fury as he glared up at the Texan. Ashton limped away from him weakly, his jaw set as he fixed his tormentor with one last cold look.

“You will never touch me again,” he said softly, as much a promise as a threat. Frank didn’t acknowledge his words – refused to even look at him – which was probably the best option the younger man could hope for. He would rather be treated as invisible than as someone else’s plaything.

He’d learnt that the hard way.

Satisfied by the way the old man no longer seemed to be able to look at him, Ashton left the Speakeasy with what might have been a spring in his step if each pace he took hadn’t felt like walking over broken glass.

It felt wrong leaving Niall and Michael trapped here but there was nothing he could do about it now. The only positive was that his plan was unfolding successfully, along with the unexpected benefit of Liam agreeing to allow him to see his loved ones too.

He hoped it would be Harry who brought word that it was time for the Texan to visit them. He missed the Englishman a lot, especially since everything had become so strained after he’d replaced Niall as the mob boss’ second-in-command. It would be nice to spend some time with Harry again, once this was all over.

Ashton hoped he got the chance.

As he limped further away from the Speakeasy – utterly uncaring of how much attention he was attracting in his bloodstained clothes – he realised with no small amount of relief that, for now at least, the nervous butterflies in his stomach had finally withered. There were still several days left before the raid would be taking place and that gave Ashton valuable time to get his affairs in order –

But not yet.

First he had to wash the blood away. 

*

The shock of the last twenty four hours didn’t seem to sink in until the Texan was alone in the apartment. He locked and chained the door with trembling hands, and he even shoved a chair under the handle as a precaution but none of it made him feel any safer. He hung his jacket up automatically and immediately felt ridiculous for doing it as the panic began to tighten in his bruised chest.

He could feel the lump of unshed tears rising in his throat when he saw the scuff marks on the wall – a painful representation of the Irishman’s fear the night before – and Ashton was shaking badly when he tried to clean them away, too distressed to even look at them anymore.

The marks had been scraped deep though and nothing would smooth them away. His legs folded beneath him as he processed this and he slumped down against the wall with a broken sound, his cheek touching the peeling wallpaper as he pressed his palm against one of the marks.

Quite suddenly, he needed Niall so badly it hurt. He felt small and lost without the Irishman by his side, and he hated so much that he hadn’t been able to keep his brother safe. This realisation only made him want to cry harder but he knew the blond man wouldn’t want him to break down like this, sitting crumpled in the hallway as the panic tore away at him in bloody chunks.

Ashton had lost enough today.

He refused to lose his resolve too.

Somehow, he got his feet under him and rose with a pained hiss but he was shaking badly by the time he made it into the bathroom. He let his bloodstained clothes fall to the tiles uncaringly, a tear rolling down his cheek when he remembered the last time he’d got undressed under Michael’s eager hands.

Ashton sat down on the edge of the bath heavily as he waited for the tub to fill, the bruises black and blue as they bloomed on his tanned skin. He looked down at them dispassionately, taking in the deep graze on his shin and the swelling on his face when he accidentally caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. The Texan shuddered, dropping his gaze hastily.

He looked like a nightmare and, abruptly, he realised that that was exactly how he felt too.

He didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts like this; not when his anxiety and desperation had rubbed his nerves raw. He could still feel the hysteria locked away inside him and he was frightened to focus on it too closely in case it was unleashed again. He badly needed a distraction and, thankfully, his exhausted mind chose that moment to recall the items he’d taken from Michael’s apartment.

Ashton turned the water off without checking the temperature, his injured body shivering at the cool air when he padded back out into the hallway, wearing nothing but bruises and scars. He almost felt surprised that his jacket was still hanging where he’d left it as he reached into the folds with bated breath.

Much to his relief, the handkerchief containing the pieces of Jack’s watch was still knotted together neatly and even the photograph had survived, although it was admittedly a little battered now. As the Texan looked down at the creased image silently, he thought he knew exactly how it felt.

At least Michael’s most precious belongings had survived though.

At least Ashton could still return them to the doctor once they were all safe again.

He carried them slowly to his bedroom, careful to keep from looking at his bed with its still-rumpled sheets in case he felt Michael’s loss even more keenly than he already did. He didn’t want to sob now – that would only cause him more pain – but he was glad he’d come in here all the same. His damp eyes settled on the copy of Oliver Twist that Niall had bought for him and the Texan reached for it shakily once Michael’s treasures had been safely deposited on the bedside table.

Maybe this was the distraction he’d been searching for.

Ashton carried the book back to the bathroom with him, settling it safely away from the water when he finally plucked up the courage to get into the tub. His sore muscles were beginning to stiffen now, the bruises deep and painful as he climbed in awkwardly, his hazel eyes bright with pain.

A soft sigh escaped him when he finally settled down beneath the warm water and he relaxed almost without meaning to as he let himself sink momentarily beneath the surface. For once, drowning his fears didn't work though and Ashton fought down on his disappointment as he reached to dry his hands on his towel before he brought his book closer.

He hoped reading Oliver Twist now would have the same effect it had had during his childhood and, luckily, he wasn’t disappointed.

When Ashton had no one, he still had Oliver.

That was the way it had always been.

He sat reading in the bath for so long that the water went cold, his blood blooming in gristly red flowers on the surface. With every page turned, he felt cleaner and that was why he stayed lying there even when the shivers began to tear through him as the last of the warmth bled away.

Even despite the icy water and his throbbing bruises, and the fear clinging to his insides like tar, Ashton still felt better than he had all day. He was breathing more calmly now as his exhaustion washed over him and his reading had worked perfectly at distracting him as the last of the tension drained from his aching muscles.

He turned another page unthinkingly, his hazel eyes stinging a little when they settled on the words before him. This section had never really bothered him before but – as he’d said to Niall that night in the kitchen when they’d only just moved in together – he took something new from this book every time he read it, no matter how many times he’d fondly turned the pages before, and this occasion proved no different.

‘It opens the lungs, washes the countenance, exercises the eyes, and softens down the temper, said Mr. Bumble. So cry away.’

A lump rose in the Texan’s throat as he processed the words and he was powerless to keep himself in check. If he was being honest with himself though, he didn’t really want to keep his tears in. He felt almost as though he’d been granted permission to let himself feel again and there was something distinctly liberating about it as he let the book fall from his limp fingers to land safely on the tiles.

Ashton broke down slowly, like the tide rushing in and dragging the sand back out to sea. His arms came to wrap around his bruised form as the tears burnt down his cheeks but he didn’t fight the storm of emotions he’d been fighting to subdue. No one was strong enough to hold their feelings in forever; not even him, no matter how much he tried to pretend otherwise.

He let himself cry until it started to hurt his aching ribs but he found it easier than he’d been expecting to pull himself back together again and he was proud of himself for that. He felt like he’d cried more since arriving in Chicago than he had done in all the time he’d spent in Texas and he wasn’t sure how that made him feel although he supposed – sometimes at least – crying didn’t have to be a bad thing.

Niall, Michael, Louis, Luke, Calum, and even Harry had taught him that.

Ashton was allowed to let himself feel.

It didn’t matter that Fletcher had raised him to believe the exact opposite.

Now wasn’t the time for tears though because crying wouldn’t bring Niall and Michael back.

Only Liam could do that… and only if the Texan was clever enough to outsmart him before it was too late.

Ashton felt tired and old when he finally found the strength to drag himself out of the water. He felt decades older than his twenty years and it kind of hurt as he wrapped himself carefully in his towel, drying his eyes subtly with the corner as he rid himself of his tears.

All he wanted in that moment was to sink into bed and forget today had ever happened but he knew he needed to deal with his injuries properly first, the way Michael would have insisted if he’d been here. There were various cuts that needed bandaging before they got infected and Ashton didn’t like the way his ribcage was aching so painfully although he remembered from Niall’s broken ribs in the past that the best thing he could do was try to keep breathing normally without binding them.

He supposed he was just destined to be in pain for the foreseeable future and he really hoped that grim realisation wasn’t going to be some sort of horrible self-fulfilling prophecy… although fate had always had a sense of humour where the Texan was concerned.

Maybe it was time he accepted that.

He shook his head wearily as he limped towards the cabinet to fetch the ointment, thinking of Michael’s iodine and Niall’s bandages. His heart ached in his chest as he methodically began to take stock of his injuries and his tired eyes stung with tears when he realised that fixing himself up – especially when he’d previously had people he loved helping him – was quite possibly the loneliest feeling in the world.

When he finally returned to his bedroom and slumped down onto the blankets, the ache in his chest lessened as he inhaled the comforting scent of the doctor still clinging to the pillows. Ashton kept the book the Irishman had gifted him on the bedside table nearby, already dog-eared with how many times he’d flicked through it with the Irishman by his side, and it felt almost like having the pair of them close to him again, at least until he got them back.

His thoughts drifted to the horrible things the mob boss had told him today but Ashton shook them off like raindrops.

He knew without a doubt that Michael and Niall loved him, even though he wasn’t always certain he deserved it sometimes, and Liam had lied when he told Ashton that no one would ever want him… because they already did: Niall and Michael; Luke and Louis; hell, even Calum – a Vulture – was a trusted friend.

Ashton was loved.

He felt it now, right down to his core.

It gave him the strength he needed to see this through to the end.

Chapter Text

Ashton spent much of Saturday and Sunday sleeping.

He was in too much pain to wander far from his nest of blankets but he tried to make sure he ate whenever he woke up, not wanting to lose too much of his strength. Mostly though, he spent the weekend lying in Niall’s bed with his book, breathing in the comforting smell of family and love, and home.

He went through the next steps of his plan in his head, scheming and probably over-thinking as he tried to prepare for every eventuality. It was a stressful, lonely weekend but he badly needed the rest, and whenever his anxieties threatened to overwhelm him, he simply re-read Oliver Twist until he felt calm again.

Those empty days were silent but for the rustle of pages turning and the birds singing as spring approached, and it left Ashton with a lot of thinking time. He read his favourite novel more times than he’d care to admit and, with every chapter he absorbed, he realised that it was never Oliver or the Artful Dodger he’d identified with most growing up.

It was always Nancy he was most like; Nancy who became a fully-fledged criminal who somehow remained empathic enough to repent and attempt to atone for the crimes she’d committed.

The Texan wasn’t morally dead and he didn’t want to be. He’d never intended for this job to become as easy as breathing and that quiet resistance had been the reason he could never truly settle into his father’s skin like an old coat.

God, Ashton was so glad he’d questioned and pushed back, refusing to accept things at face value the way some of the more mindless Hornets did; the thugs who only wanted to intimidate and make money.

That was never what joining the gang had been about for Ashton.

He’d wanted answers; wanted to finally feel like he belonged somewhere in the world… and, against all the odds, he’d found exactly that; it just hadn’t been in the place he’d expected.

He’d met some of the best friends he’d ever had in Chicago and he could never regret that even for a moment, no matter how dark things got. They were what kept the Texan sane and he would always be grateful for them because they reminded him that it was okay to be human, despite all of the baggage that came with it.

The Texan wanted to hurt and love and grieve, and his loved ones made him feel like that was perfectly fine.

It filled him with the courage and determination he needed to tear Liam’s sickening criminal empire to the ground, and Ashton knew he was strong enough to do it now.

He was going to set fire to everything his father had touched.

That was why he’d got in touch with Luke and Calum again. That was why he’d risked everything to speak to the Bureau and Collins, and arrange the raid.

Michael had been right that day when he’d told Ashton he wasn’t lost and the Texan truly believed that now.

He was exactly where he was supposed to be and he couldn’t regret it even for a moment.

Ashton wouldn’t rest until he made this right.

When he woke up on Monday morning, it seemed to take an exhausting amount of effort to force himself out of bed. His entire body felt like one big bruise by now and Ashton groaned with every step he took as he shuffled into the kitchen.

His curls were a tangled mess that he’d have to sort out before his meeting with Gordon but the Texan wasn’t up to rushing this morning. It was enough of a struggle to put one foot in front of the other as he moved painfully to make himself some food.

He wasn’t hungry in the slightest but he knew he hadn’t been eating properly – even despite his best intentions – and he was sure that had been making him feel worse. Ashton ate a breakfast of slightly stale lemon cakes, his bruised body folded painfully into one of the kitchen chairs not still wedged under the door handle to keep out intruders.

His expression was morose as he polished off the cakes and he felt guilty as he ate the last of the crumbs off his fingertip. Niall would never have let him mope for so long without having proper meals and he gnawed at his sore bottom lip remorsefully as he limped off to dress in one of his nicer suits.

Once he’d finally struggled into his clothes, he headed into the bathroom to comb his hair into some semblance of control. He frowned at himself in the mirror as he took in the bruising and cuts on his face, and the deep purple circles staining the tanned skin under his exhausted eyes.

He knew deep down that Niall and Michael being gone was no excuse for him to let himself go like this. The Texan needed to pull himself together sharpish so that he could get his loved ones back safe and sound, and he was going to achieve that by meeting with the Bureau agent today to finalise their plans for the raid.

Ashton caught a glimpse of the clock in the hallway and he let out a soft sigh as he tried to mobilise himself. He was sure the walk all the way to Washington Square Park was only going to exacerbate his various aches and pains but there was nothing for it now.

It was time for him to leave.

He dragged the chair out from under the handle with the utmost wariness, his hazel eyes narrowing as he set it aside hesitantly, ready to be forced back the next time he felt in need of extra security. His hands shook just a little when he unchained the door but he let out a quiet breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding in when he stepped out into the hallway for the first time in days.

The air felt fresher out here and that only improved as he limped down the stairs, leaning heavily on the bannister. He almost forgot how achy the beating had left him when he finally stumbled out into the daylight because the spring sunshine felt like heaven on his skin.

He tipped his face back into the light for a moment, just savouring the warmth and the freshness of the air as the breeze danced across his upturned features.

It was gone nine o’clock and most of the commuters were already at work by now so Ashton mostly had the streets to himself as he headed towards the park, following the same route he’d taken with Niall on Christmas Day. The strength flooded through him as he recalled the happiness he’d felt that morning with his best friend and it only added to his determination now.

He was going to right his wrongs and achieve the goals he’d set his mind to.

He could feel it in his bones.

The Texan took a circuitous route as he neared the park, crossing the street in front of Newberry Library and continuing on past the cathedral before he finally stepped hesitantly into the park.

Gordon hadn’t arrived yet, and it was still far too early in the day for the poets and speakers up on their soapboxes which meant that the atmosphere in the park remained pleasantly calm.

At first, Ashton simply wandered along the path, his eyes scanning the few passers-by furtively as he drifted between the trees. He couldn’t deny that he was enjoying the scent of the wildflowers erupting from the dew-wet grass as winter finally came to an end. It felt a lot like peace.

The open space around the fountain was deserted and the Texan put off sitting down on one of the benches for as long as he could before he finally wandered over, not wanting to attract unwanted attention while he killed time waiting for the agent to arrive.

He let out a low sigh as he sank down onto the bench, his sore ribs twinging as he settled back against the slightly damp wood. The energy he’d exerted this morning had already drained him but there was no time to rest now because Gordon had just walked through the gates.

Ashton didn’t rise to meet him. He wasn’t sure he could now that he’d let himself feel the pain he’d been suppressing but he was fairly certain the agent wouldn’t judge him for his apparent lack of manners once he saw the state of the Texan. He was proved correct too because, the very moment Gordon came to a stop in front of him, he let out a low whistle, wincing good-naturedly as he took in the various injuries visible on the younger man’s face.

“You’ve been busy since I last saw you,” the agent noted quietly, his voice a lot gentler than it had been during their midnight visit at Graceland Cemetery. He looked more concerned than Ashton would have given him credit for and he might have smiled if he hadn’t been worried about his lip splitting all over again.

“It’s nothing,” the Texan said firmly, his hazel eyes warming a little despite himself. “Do you have news about the raid?”

“I do,” Gordon said reassuringly, his bare hands lacing in front of him as he sat down on the bench beside the younger man. A wedding band circled his ring finger and Ashton looked at it for a moment, his hazel eyes drifting over the gold glinting in the morning light as he waited for the agent to speak.

“I’ve received news from my superiors,” Gordon said lightly. “Fortunately for you, I can confirm that the Bureau is happy for the raid to go ahead on Wednesday.” He watched the younger man carefully, taking in the growing happiness on the Texan’s sore face with something like relief. “Operatives will be sent in to the Speakeasy at noon. How does that sound?”

“Perfect,” Ashton breathed, resisting the urge to bury his head in his hands because he knew that would only hurt. He couldn’t hide his relief that the Bureau had chosen midday as the time to send their agents in. That was when most of the Hornets would be inside the Speakeasy, busy readying themselves for jobs and meeting with each other before the arrival of the patrons began in the early evening.

“Did you ask about granting my friends and I immunity?” the Texan asked in a softer voice, more hesitant now as he glanced at the agent through the swelling around his eye.

Gordon sighed, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip as he gazed out over the park.

“My superiors weren’t as happy about that but… well, I did what I could to convince them,” he said quietly, chagrined. “I think they’ll be willing to grant you immunity if the raid is successful. Payne’s been on our radar for so long now that they’re bound to be cagey about dealing with Hornets this way.”

“They’re perfectly happy to make deals with the Vultures,” Ashton snapped. “Doesn’t that seem corrupt to you?”

The agent sighed, his eyes hardening when the Texan pointed needlessly to the injuries on his face as he stared up at the older man flatly.

“With all due respect, Gordon, I need the confirmation that my friends and I will be free to leave Chicago once this is all over,” the younger man said firmly. “Things are so much more dangerous now and I need to know that they’ll be safe. Otherwise the deal’s off. Payne will receive word that there’s a raid planned.”

“You’re playing a very dangerous game,” Gordon muttered, sighing heavily. “But I think you already know that, don’t you? It’s why you’re so defensive.” He shook his head tiredly, his hands rising to readjust his derby hat where it was slipping a little. “I think your heart’s in the right place though; otherwise you would’ve upped and left the city a long time ago.”

Gordon held the Texan’s gaze for a long moment before his shoulders slumped and he let out another sigh.

“Fine,” the older man said heavily, the unease clear on his face. “I’ll probably be reprimanded for it but… I agree to your terms. You and your friends will be granted immunity, regardless of whether the raid is successful. I just wouldn’t stick around the city afterwards to find out how lenient the Bureau is willing to be to ex-Hornets, okay? Because it won’t end well for you.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Ashton murmured, his sore lips twitching a little despite himself as the relief rushed through him, heavy and intoxicating. “Thank you for this, Gordon. You don’t know how much it means.”

“I think I can guess,” the older man said quietly. “You look like you’ve been beaten half to death and you’re still more worried about your friends than your own wellbeing. They must be very important to you, for you to risk so much for them now.”

“They are,” Ashton said quietly, his hazel eyes dropping to the daisies sprinkling the grass nearby as he felt an ache in his chest that had nothing to do with his broken ribs. “They mean the world to me.”

He hoped so badly that this deal would work out; that the raid would be successful, and the Bureau would give him and his loved ones the chance they needed to escape Chicago. The Texan didn’t like to think of what would happen to him and his friends if his plan fell through now because his betrayal had been of an enormous magnitude, and he knew a long slow death awaited them if Liam ever uncovered the depths of the younger man’s treachery.

The only saving grace was that there were just two days left before the raid. One way or another, this would all be over soon.

Gordon watched Ashton carefully, his dark eyes drifting over the cuts and bruises once more before he pursed his lips unhappily at the desperation he could see in the younger man’s face.

“How do we get into the Speakeasy?” he asked. “If we can gain entrance with the element of surprise, our chances of success will be a lot higher. Is there a password we need to know to get in? Or can you leave a door unlocked for us somehow?”

“I can’t go back there,” the Texan said firmly. “Payne’s made it clear that it won’t end well for me if I do.” He sighed, his sore lip throbbing when he worried at it with his teeth. “You’ll need to go in through the front entrance. There’s a secret knock that I can teach you. So long as only one of you is in sight when the doorman looks through the panel, I don’t see why he wouldn’t open up if you know the knock. You should be able to get in quietly that way.”

“Right,” Gordon said slowly. “And there’s definitely only the one way into the Speakeasy?” He looked doubtful when Ashton nodded but was kind enough not to push it and the Texan was grateful for that. He was too tired for an elaborate lie now but it was still necessary because the very last thing he needed was the Bureau getting under his feet while he was trying to get his loved ones to safety… and besides, with his plan the way it was, he’d be down in the tunnels to cover the secret exit himself anyway.

“Let me teach you the knock,” Ashton murmured, his hazel eyes tired in the sunlight. “The doorman’s an old man. He’ll be easy to subdue.”

He wanted to feel guilty for the betrayal but the Hornets had caused him and the people he loved so much pain that it just didn’t seem possible anymore. They had done nothing to earn his kindness or remorse and he knew, no matter what happened now, that all of his planning and pain had been worth it.

He'd proved time and time again that he would do anything for his family, and their safety was absolutely paramount to him. He needed them safe more than he cared about his own wellbeing which was saying something because, quite honestly, the Texan's self-preservation instincts had never been higher.

The energy coiled inside him, shining brighter than the sun as the righteousness of his actions washed any regret from him. He knew deep down that double-crossing Liam was the right thing to do because the mob boss was a monster now and he was only getting worse.

This was the only path left for Ashton to follow.

“Will you be joining us for the raid?” Gordon asked curiously, once he’d perfected the knock and the younger man was confident he wouldn’t forget it. The older man’s expression was soft enough that Ashton thought he might understand why Luke had found him nice enough after all.

“I’ll be ducking in to help my friends but no more than that,” the Texan said, his gaze drifting towards a bee flying nearby amongst the flowers. “I don’t want to stick around any longer than I need to. I’ve been here way too long as it is.”

“Well, that’s fair enough,” Gordon said softly. “Chicago hasn’t treated you too kindly. I don’t blame you for wanting to leave.”

“Thank you,” the younger man said quietly, his words almost lost under the gentle burble of the fountain. “I guess this is it, isn’t it?”

The agent rose smoothly and Ashton struggled to his feet too, a soft groan escaping him as the various aches and pains he could feel made themselves known once more. They shook hands briefly and the Texan glanced once more at the older man’s wedding ring, feeling an ache in his chest as he thought of Michael, with his soft kisses and stubborn love.

In that moment, Ashton didn’t care that his relationship with the doctor wasn’t always easy. It didn't need to be when they loved each other like that, bright enough to chase the darkness away.

He wouldn’t change it for the world.

“It’s been a pleasure working with you,” Gordon said amiably. “Until Wednesday, Ashton. Goodbye.”

He buried his hands in his pockets as he walked away and the Texan didn’t wait to watch him leave.

He had his own business to attend to.

It was time to pay Calum a visit.

They’d arranged to meet in a sandwich shop that neither of them had visited before. It seemed safer than the alternative of picking somewhere more familiar, only to bump into someone they definitely didn't want seeing them together. It seemed a nice enough place too; it was just expensive enough that Ashton wasn’t worried about getting food poisoning and the staff were friendly without paying too much attention to the younger man’s injuries.

They sat at a little metal table out on the street, ready to make a quick getaway should the need arise. The day was growing warmer around them and there were more passers-by now as people left their workplaces for lunch. Ashton was hurting less too after his early morning walk had helped to ease the ache in his muscles so he was in relatively high spirits, especially considering his face looked as though he’d ran headfirst into a brick wall.

“What sandwich filling did you pick, Cal?” he asked lightly as he tucked into his own.

“It’s egg salad,” Calum said with a wry smile although his chocolate brown eyes remained concerned. “Is this you trying to avoid me asking about your face? Because I’m definitely going to ask about your face, pretty boy. You look like a salami.”

“That’s rude!” Ashton said sulkily, taking a bigger bite of his sandwich and wincing when his bottom lip split open. He tried to dab the blood away on a napkin before his friend saw but he wasn’t sure he’d been successful when Calum let out a sad sigh.

“Ash –”

“It’s really not a big deal, Cal,” the Texan said softly, wincing when speaking hurt his sore mouth. “Liam found out about some things I’d rather have kept secret and… well, he was angry, okay? It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me,” the barman said quietly, his knee bumping the younger man’s gently under the table since he wasn’t sure it was safe to hold his hand in public. “I don’t want you hurting.”

“Well, I won’t be for much longer,” the Texan murmured. “Not once I leave Chicago.”

“So the raid is definitely going ahead then?” Calum prompted curiously, his eyes equal parts sad and hopeful. “The Bureau confirmed it?”

“Yep,” Ashton said, the relief evident on his bruised face. “Wednesday at noon.”

“That’s good news,” the barman said. “The Vultures often work with the Bureau so we’re used to leaving each other alone to complete our jobs.” He paused, clearly thinking hard. “Are they aware that Mitchy wants all of the alcohol and the weaponry to go to the Vultures?”

“I’ve passed on your demands,” the Texan said. “It’s all agreed.”

He ate another bite of sandwich as the older man mulled this over but he grimaced when a crumb went down the wrong way, his eyes watering as he tried to hold in a cough. It was no good though and the pain in his broken ribs was almost unimaginable when he finally slumped back against his chair, one arm wrapped around his bruised torso as he brushed the tears from his eyes clumsily with the back of his hand.

Calum looked incredibly unhappy now and Ashton wanted to reassure him that he was fine but he could barely talk with how sharply he was hurting.

“I wish you’d told me you were so badly hurt,” the barman said in little more than a whisper, the sympathy in his eyes painful to look at. “We could’ve met somewhere closer to your apartment. I feel terrible for dragging you all the way across the city in this state.”

“Meeting here was safer,” Ashton disagreed breathlessly, still wheezing a little as he reached shakily for a drink of water. “And besides, I’ve been coping fine by myself for the last few days. It really isn’t a big deal.”

Calum pursed his lips, clearly about to argue before something suddenly occurred to him and his expression became worried.

“Why’ve you been by yourself?” he asked cautiously, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip when the younger man’s eyes suddenly welled with tears. “You shouldn’t be alone when you’re like this. What’s happened?”

“He took Niall and Michael,” Ashton gasped out but it sounded like a sob. “Liam took them and the only way I can get them back – the only way –”

“Crying’s only gonna hurt you, Ash,” Calum warned softly, his chair scraping against the concrete as he moved to sit closer to his friend. “Try and take some breaths now, yeah? You’ll feel better once you do.”

Ashton leant against him subtly, his head resting on the older man’s shoulder as he tried to regain control of his breathing. Calum was a warm comforting weight beside him, humming a quiet tune under his breath as a distraction when another tear rolled down the younger man’s overheated face.

“There now, pretty boy,” he murmured when Ashton finally managed to inhale without wincing. “Knew you could do it.”

“I’m sorry, Cal,” the Texan breathed, his cheeks flushing hotter as he leant wearily into the older man’s side. Calum pressed a brief chaste kiss to his curls, a soft sound escaping him when a pigeon landed nearby and began to peck at the ground. He tossed a crust to it and they both watched as the bird tore into it happily before flying away.

“You don’t need to be sorry,” the barman murmured once Ashton’s gaze finally returned to his face. “You’re under a huge amount of stress right now, pretty boy. You’re allowed to get upset sometimes.” The older man smiled a little, his dimples creasing his cheeks faintly. “Are you going to finish your sandwich?”

“Probably not,” the younger man admitted. “I think I got blood on it.”

“Then finish mine,” Calum said softly. “You need to keep your strength up. You look exhausted. Plus, the egg salad is definitely superior.”

Ashton smiled faintly as he remembered Luke and Louis debating sandwich fillings again, and that only succeeded in reminding him that he needed to visit the pair before the raid to warn them. He sighed quietly, his shoulders slumping as he nibbled morosely at a piece of bread. It felt like the list of things he needed to achieve for his plan to succeed was never-ending sometimes.

“This’ll all work out well in the end, pretty boy,” the barman said softly. “I can feel it.” He relaxed a little when Ashton took a hesitant bite of the sandwich and his arm was warm as it draped casually across the back of the chair, ready to drop away at a moment's notice if anyone gave them a second look. “I’m so proud of you for sorting this all out by yourself, Ash. I know no one's told you that because you've had to keep your plan a secret but… well, I really mean it. You’ve done amazing.”

The younger man closed his eyes for a moment, his cheeks still sticky with tears as he leant into the barman’s warmth. He felt less like he was losing it when there was someone he cared about trying to hold him together again and it shocked him how much difference it made having a friend by his side now.

“The Vultures are going to help you fix this, Ash,” Calum said softly, his tone reassuring like he could tell what the Texan was thinking. “I promise, yeah? You'll get through this.”

“Thank you, Cal,” Ashton murmured, smiling crookedly when the barman gave a half-hearted shrug, his eyes twinkling.

“I don’t want to see you there on Wednesday though, okay?” Calum added jokingly before his expression became serious. “You and your friends better be long gone. You shouldn’t get caught up in this. It’s too dangerous.”

The Texan sighed quietly, cringing a little when it made his ribs ache.

“I’ll be there as long as necessary, Cal,” Ashton said firmly. “I’ll be spending the raid down in the tunnels, trying to get my family back.”

“Your family,” Calum repeated, his expression unexpectedly soft. He smiled when Ashton nodded shyly, his chocolate brown eyes growing even gentler. “I’m glad you have them, Ash. You deserve a family who’ll love you.”

“They’re nothing like Fletcher,” the younger man admitted and Calum relaxed, like that was all he’d needed to hear.

“I’m going to kill Payne for hurting you,” he said softly as his kind eyes drifted fondly over the younger man's battered face.

“I think you’ll have to join the end of a very long queue then, Cal,” Ashton pointed out, even as something warm melted in his aching chest at his friend’s kind-heartedness. “Lots of people want to beat you to it.”

“Well, I’ll take my chances,” the barman said brazenly. “No one hurts you and gets away with it. I can promise you that.”

Calum took in the poorly-suppressed emotions on the younger man’s sore face with growing fondness. The streets were growing busier around them now and it didn’t seem like Ashton was going to eat the rest of his food so there was no point in delaying the inevitable.

“Come on, pretty boy,” the barman murmured as his lips curved into a sad smile. “It’s time for us to go.”

They left the sandwich shop in silence, Calum adjusting his pace accordingly as the younger man limped along beside him, even slower now that his exhaustion and emotions were beginning to get the better of him.

The pair only got as far as the end of the road before they had to stop when Ashton began to shake too hard to carry on walking. The last of his anxiety still lingered stubbornly in his veins and Calum recognised it for what it was at once. His hand settled warmly on the younger man’s elbow and he gave it a comforting squeeze as he guided the Texan smoothly into a nearby alleyway where he would be able to calm down in relative privacy.

“Poor Ash,” Calum murmured sympathetically as his arms came to wrap gently around the younger man’s shaking form. He rubbed Ashton’s back soothingly as they stood there together, his chocolate brown eyes crinkling into a watery smile when the Texan tilted his head back to look at him.

“I’m never going to see you again, am I?” Ashton murmured tearfully as his shaking hands twisted in the back of the barman's jacket, keeping him close. Calum’s dimples creased his cheeks as he leant down to press a kiss to the younger man’s forehead.

“Never say never, pretty boy,” he chided gently. “You just take care of yourself until our paths cross again, okay?”

“Okay,” the Texan whispered, smiling wetly and sniffling a little as he tried to regain control of himself. “Only if you do too.”

“Deal,” Calum said easily, his smile widening when he drew back to shake the younger man’s hand. He quickly found himself with another armful of Ashton though and, judging by the warmth on his tanned face, he didn’t seem to mind.

His good-natured acceptance only made the younger man hold him closer as he buried his tears in his friend's neck and ending the hug was a lot harder than it should have been. The Texan managed it eventually though; stepping back unwillingly and drying his face carefully with his sleeve as the bruises ached beneath his touch.

“I’ll miss you, Cal,” he said and the barman grinned, easy and slow.

“Of course you will,” Calum teased but that didn’t stop him from waving at the younger man until he’d stepped back onto the street again, already out of sight.

Ashton was swallowed quickly by the bustle of another busy day in Chicago but he couldn’t keep up with the pedestrians hurrying around him. His limp made him slow instead and the ache he could feel perfectly matched his mood as he lowered his fedora against the glare of the sunlight.

He was going to miss Calum a lot and, despite the older man’s jovial tone, Ashton knew his friend would miss him too.

There was no time to dwell on his melancholy feelings now though.

He still had a long walk ahead of him and his body ached before he’d even begun. He needed to sleep again too; needed to make the most of every moment of rest available to him before Wednesday, when his world would be turned upside down once more.

He intended to visit Luke and Louis before then too so that he could warn them of what was going on, although he thought maybe that could wait until tomorrow when he’d recovered more of his strength. He felt too drained to be of much use to anyone now; all he wanted to do was go home and hide in the Irishman’s bed.

First he needed to sew the buttons back onto his coat though. The garment was still damaged from the night he’d stumbled home hours late after the awful things the mob boss had done to him and fixing it was a matter of pride now.

Ashton refused to look anything less than a first class businessman when he finally destroyed Liam’s criminal empire.

That was a promise.

By Tuesday, Ashton felt a little more human.

The bruising on his ribs had gone from a bluish-purple to almost black now and his face didn’t look much better. It hurt less when he moved though and the panic that had flared to life when he’d met with Calum seemed to have burnt itself away, for which he was grateful. Admittedly, a tiny part of him was worried that this was simply the calm before the storm but – whether this was the case or not – there wasn’t an awful lot the Texan could do about it so he tried his best to keep from dwelling on his doubts too much.

A more pressing concern was that he had yet to receive word from Liam about visiting Niall and Michael. His anxiety liked to try and convince him in the small hours that it was because his loved ones were already dead; that they’d been killed by the mob boss the night they’d been captured and Ashton had been powerless to save them.

In his heart, he was certain that wasn’t true though. He knew Liam too well now; knew exactly how he loved to torture the Texan and he was convinced that the older man would have forced the younger man to watch their deaths. Otherwise, Liam had little to gain from it, especially now that Ashton had his own blackmail material over the mob boss.

Even Liam wasn’t pig-headed enough to risk the might of the Bureau crashing down on him when the Hornets were already so unstable.

The Texan tried to convince himself of the truth of this statement as he locked the apartment door behind him, his fedora angled low over his bruised face as he descended the stairs, heading out onto the street. The cool breeze was refreshing as it tousled his curls and Ashton took a calming breath as he strode out into the late afternoon sunlight, a small flicker of pain rippling across his expression when it made his ribs ache.

As he walked, he came to the conclusion that it didn’t matter that Liam was trying to play mind games with him again because, although he missed his loved ones so much that it hurt, he would be doing his utmost to rescue them tomorrow anyway. Being denied their company now had only made him more determined to succeed and he allowed that resolve to flow through him as he weaved through the streets, heading for Luke’s bedsit.

Liam had shot himself in the foot the day he tried to manipulate the Texan and he couldn’t wait for the moment when the mob boss would realise his mistake.

By the time Ashton reached his destination, he felt calmer still. He knew his peaceful feelings wouldn’t last – tomorrow he’d most likely be nothing short of terrified – but he let it soothe him all the same as he climbed the stairs to Luke’s flower-filled room, quite pleased to be seeing the blond man and Louis again.

He’d missed them more than he realised and he was glad they’d get a chance to speak now, before everything quite possibly went to hell the next day.

Ashton folded his arms loosely across his chest once he’d knocked on the door, a slight frown creasing his forehead beneath the rim of his hat as he waited for his friends to answer. It seemed to be taking them an inordinately long amount of time – especially considering he could hear their voices from inside the room – but the reason for the delay soon became clear once the key had finally turned in the lock.

Luke appeared looking sheepish, his blond curls in disarray and his shirt buttoned up wrong as he tried (and failed) to lean casually against the doorframe.

“Didn’t disturb you, did I?” the Texan asked sweetly, a smirk curving his sore lips when he saw Luke’s cheeks heat at the implication.

“Nope,” the blond man said airily, even as he glanced over his shoulder and hissed: “Lou, put your clothes on.”

Ashton snorted – bruised nose be damned – as he stepped in out of the hallway, not particularly wanting to linger in case anyone had followed him here. Luke grimaced as he locked the door again although his expression became undeniably fond as his blue eyes drifted automatically towards his bed.

The Texan followed his gaze, a huff of laughter escaping him when he saw the older man sitting nonchalantly under the blankets, clearly wearing nothing at all.

“Bit cold over there, are you, Lou?” Ashton asked wryly, grinning when Louis stuck his tongue out in response. The mobster looked smug enough that the Texan was fairly certain he didn’t want to know what his friends had just been up to but he was glad they were happy all the same.

There hadn’t been enough happiness in any of their lives for far too long now.

“I’m sorry to ruin the mood but I’m here on business,” he said as he removed his fedora, holding it to his chest as his thumb rose to brush the grey feather. It soothed him a little – had done ever since the lady in the shop had told him it meant that peaceful times were approaching – and he relaxed visibly, even as Luke’s face fell when he noticed the smaller man’s injuries for the first time.

“Ashy?” His voice was strained now, his blue eyes widening as he reached hesitantly for the Texan’s shoulder, his hands shaking. “Lou, get dressed,” he repeated, sounding quite anxious now. “Ash is hurt.”

“These are days old, I promise,” Ashton reassured him, even as he was pushed lightly into an armchair by Luke. “You should’ve seen the state of me Saturday morning, blondie. I could hardly breathe, let alone walk.” The taller man’s eyes filled with tears as he sat down heavily on the arm of the chair and the Texan’s eyes were fond as he reached to poke at the front of Luke’s shirt with his fingertip. “Your buttons aren’t done up right,” he teased, coaxing a watery laugh from his friend.

“That might be my fault,” Louis admitted sheepishly as he padded over, dressed in slacks and what could only have been one of Luke’s shirts, judging by the sheer size of it. He’d rolled the sleeves back so that his hands were free and it made him look years younger as he settled down in the other armchair, folding his legs automatically beneath him.

His eyes saddened when he saw the state of his friend and it was like witnessing Calum’s concern all over again.

“It was Liam,” Ashton said, answering the older man’s wordless question. Louis tensed visibly and Luke bit his lip, glancing between the pair of them warily. “He found out I went to the Bureau. Wasn’t best pleased.”

The older man sucked in a shocked hiss, wincing as he took in his friend’s injuries with renewed distress.

“Is that who hurt you last time?” Luke asked uncertainly. “When you came round and… and something bad had happened to you?”

The realisation dawned on Louis’ face as he presumably recalled their conversation down in the tunnels and Ashton closed his eyes, taking another achingly deep breath as he concentrated on grounding himself. The last thing he needed was to panic now, when he already felt so fragile. That would only cause him more pain.

“Yeah,” the Texan murmured, several moments too late. He was more focused on the scent of the flowers in the room and Luke’s soft hand coming to settle on his scarred shoulder as he worked on calming himself down. “He’s got Niall and Michael locked up somewhere too,” he added when he remembered that his friends wouldn’t know about this. His hands trembled faintly as he laced his fingers tightly together and he frowned down at them as he inhaled shakily. “Liam’s never been worse.”

“Fuck,” Louis murmured, his eyes fiery with anger. “I can’t believe he’s even treating his own Hornets like enemies now. What the hell is he thinking?!”

“No idea,” Ashton said darkly. “He’s lost it though. You definitely got out at the right time, Lou.” His shoulders slumped suddenly as the bitterness was replaced with sadness. “I only wish Niall and Mike had too.”

Luke gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze as Louis leant closer in the chair, his expression flickering with confusion.

“I don’t understand how the doctor’s involved in this,” the older man admitted, a frown creasing his face. “I get why Niall was taken – I mean, that man would literally do anything for you; any fool could see that – but why Michael?”

The Texan opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out as the lump in his throat rose chokingly. The blond man sank down onto the seat beside him, his arm wrapping more warmly around the smaller man as Ashton leant into the welcome contact with a soft sigh.

“Ashy loves him, Lou,” Luke said gently, a fond smile touching his face as he held the Texan a little closer. His expression was free of sadness when Ashton glanced up shyly and he relaxed when he realised that his friend finally seemed to have moved on. “I’m right, aren’t I?” the taller man continued, clearly a little smug at having guessed correctly when he saw the blush heating the smaller man’s cheeks as he nodded hesitantly.

Louis gaped at him for a moment before a soft smile touched his lips.

“Y’know what? Never would’ve put you two together but that’s actually adorable,” the older man said sincerely. “Even more reason to get him and Niall back, yeah? Can’t have you pining for your boys.”

Ashton’s blush deepened but the fondness he could feel was impossible to hide from his expression.

“Well, that’s kind of what I came here to talk about actually,” the younger man admitted, his dimples creasing his cheeks faintly at the approval on Louis’ face. “Like I mentioned earlier, I spoke to Gordon from the Bureau… and I’ve met with Collins too.”

“Wait… you met Mitchy Collins?” the older man demanded, his lips parting in shock. “Ash, that was so dangerous!”

“It was necessary,” the Texan countered quietly, his shoulders slumping with exhaustion. “And... well, it’s why I came here today. I needed to warn you.” He hesitated, biting his sore lip automatically and wincing a little. “The Hornet’s Speakeasy is going to be raided tomorrow at noon. Both the Vultures and the Bureau have agreed to help me.”

“But… how?” Louis asked blankly. “What could you possibly have offered them that would’ve made that worthwhile?”

“Everyone has a price,” Ashton said softly. “Collins wants all of the weaponry and moonshine, and the Bureau want Liam and every other Hornet in that godforsaken place.” He steeled himself, his shoulders tensing as his muscles ached. “I got Gordon to agree to grant you immunity though, Lou, as well as me, Niall, and Mike.”

Louis’ face softened as he reached to squeeze his friend’s hand gently, his expression grateful.

“I can’t believe you’ve managed to deal with all of this by yourself,” he said quietly. “You’re a lot smarter than you give yourself credit for, Ash.”

“Not smart enough,” the younger man murmured as he looked down at his bruises morosely. “Couldn’t keep Niall and Michael safe, could I?”

“You’ll get them back, Ashy,” Luke said softly. “Have a little faith.”

Ashton smiled at them both wearily, his hazel eyes more tired than they’d ever been.

“At least this time tomorrow, it’ll all be over,” he realised. “It feels strange to think that, when it’s been hard for so long.” His face fell as he watched his friends again, a hint of regret colouring his features now. “It doesn’t leave you two with very much time to prepare though,” he continued guiltily. “It won’t be safe for you in Chicago after tomorrow. It’s very unlikely that all of the Hornets will be captured and I couldn’t stand the thought of them targeting either of you because of the raid.”

“That’s true,” Louis said slowly, his expression growing worried. “We have been involved.”

“So we’ll need to leave the city?” Luke asked, his eyes flickering around his bedsit with something like grief as his gaze drifted over the colourful blankets and carefully-arranged flowers. He sighed quietly, his hand reaching across the empty space to entwine with Louis’.

“I’m so sorry, blondie,” Ashton said regretfully. “I know you’re studying and the last thing I want to do is jeopardise that. I just… well, I want you to be safe a lot more.”

“It’s okay, Ashy,” Luke said softly and, despite the sadness still lingering in his eyes, he seemed to mean it. “I’ve taken my final examination now anyway and I passed…” His voice trailed away and he shrugged, his lips tugging up into a slightly wistful smile. “So what if I don’t walk across the stage at the graduation? I did this to prove a point to my parents and I’ve won, as far as I’m concerned. They thought I was too stupid to get into college and I think I’ve more than exceeded their expectations. I got my law degree and I helped you bring down a gang, Ashy. I’d say I’ve already done more in the last year alone than they’ve done their whole lives.”

“Your parents created you though, Lukey,” Louis pointed out, his eyes ridiculously soft as the pride on his face shone. “So we need to give them at least a tiny bit of credit for that.”

Luke preened and Ashton smiled softly, so relieved that his friends had found such happiness in each other.

“I think it’s time for me to go,” the Texan said, not wanting to intrude any more than he already had. “I want to get as much rest as I can before tomorrow. With any luck, I’ll be less achy by then.” He got to his feet stiffly, sighing quietly as the nervous butterflies began to make themselves known once more. “I seriously don’t fancy my chances of being able to run with the way I feel at the moment so hopefully it won’t come to that.”

Luke’s eyes widened as he rose clumsily, darting over to the shelves on the other side of the room. Louis watched him fondly, a faint frown creasing his brow when the blond man spoke next, his tone a little distracted.

“Shouldn’t we try and get out of the city tonight?” he asked apprehensively. “Before things kick off tomorrow?”

“We can’t, Lukey,” the older man said gently, his blue eyes growing sadder as he shot the Texan a worried glance where he was limping towards the door. “We need to stay in Chicago until noon, just in case things go south. God forbid it but if something awful does happen to Ash tomorrow, I’ve still got my side of the plan to fulfil, remember?”

“Oh,” the blond man said faintly, his face paling a little as he headed towards the Texan with something hidden behind his back. “The envelope Ash gave you.” His expression became even more determined when he came to a stop in front of his friend, his golden curls tumbling messily into his gentle eyes. “I had an idea that might make you feel a little better, Ashy,” he said mysteriously. “Can’t hurt, can it?”

Luke leant forwards, his movements gentle enough that the smaller man didn't flinch, even if it did take him by surprise. The blond man was gentle as he fiddled with the front of the smaller man’s shirt and he glanced down curiously, feeling a pang when he saw the flower tucked into his buttonhole.

“It’s white heather,” Luke said softly, a shy smile playing on his lips when Louis appeared behind him, his arms winding securely around the taller man’s waist. “It’s for luck and protection, Ashy… so you can stay safe tomorrow.”

Louis reached to pat the Texan’s shoulder when he saw his friend’s hazel eyes growing damp with tears.

“It’ll all work out for the best, Ash,” the older man said encouragingly. “You've made it this far. Only one more sleep left now and then you won't have to worry anymore, yeah? You’ll have Niall and Michael back, and Payne will be behind bars, and you’ll be safe again. We’ll all be safe again… and that’s because of you, Ash.” Louis shook his head slowly, his disbelief outweighed only by his fondness. “You’ve saved all of us, even if you can’t see it. Chicago will be a better place without the Hornets.”

“Go home, Ashy,” Luke said softly, saving the smaller man the trouble of replying when he looked so much like he was about to cry. “You need to sleep to heal.”

“I don't know when I'll get the chance to see you again so I just wanted to say... well, I really hope you both make it out safely.” Ashton’s cheeks heated as he spoke but he couldn't regret his words even for a moment when he saw the soft look his friends exchanged. “You've both been incredible friends to me and I’ll always be grateful for that… and I hope you’ll both be happy now, after everything that’s happened,” he finished softly. “No one deserves that more than you two.”

His sore lips curved into a watery smile as he was drawn into their arms, tucking his head under Luke’s chin as Louis’ palm rose to rub his back gently. It felt nice being surrounded by his friends like that and he knew he’d remember this moment with them, no matter where they ended up after tomorrow.

When they finally parted, all of them looked a little flushed and teary-eyed, and it only made Ashton love them more.

“Be safe,” Louis insisted, somehow managing to be gentle and stubborn at the same time. The Texan smiled faintly as his fingertips rose to brush the flower Luke had given him.

“I’ll be fine,” he promised, hazel eyes twinkling. “I’ve got blondie looking out for me.”

Their goodbyes then were bittersweet but no one wanted to linger. Ashton badly needed to go home and rest, and Luke and Louis had a busy night of packing up the bedsit so that they could leave the city tomorrow. There was no time for delay when they were so close to ending the gang war once and for all, even if they were on the brink of burning out. Only once all of this was over would they finally be able to relax again.

Ashton was clinging to that prospect like a lifeline.

He walked out into the early evening feeling more positive than he’d expected, still nervous for tomorrow but ready too, now that he was so close to succeeding.

The sun was already sinking behind the rooftops and the sky was the colour of lavender as he headed home for the last time. The finality felt strange but not wholly unpleasant and he held on to that as he limped through the familiar streets, his gaze drifting over the empty marketplace and the shopfronts he’d come to know so well over the last few years.

He would miss Chicago once they were gone but he wasn’t sorry they were leaving. It felt like the right time to go.

He was so distracted by the time he made it back to the apartment building that he almost managed to limp right past Harry where he was leaning against the wall outside. A grin played on the Englishman’s lips when his friend finally noticed him and Ashton smiled sheepishly as he came to a stop.

It was already almost dusk and Harry’s face was cast in shadow as he sauntered closer.

“It’s time?” the Texan asked, his heart racing in his chest at the prospect of seeing Niall and Michael again. He was so relieved that Liam had chosen to send his friend rather than Biersack that he paid it no mind when the hairs rose on the back of his neck as the older man’s eyes gleamed in the shadows.

It was only Harry after all and he was nothing to be scared of.

He’d taken care of Ashton since the very beginning.

“It’s time,” the Englishman agreed, clapping the Texan on the shoulder as he steered him away from his apartment. The jovial gesture sent a little ache through the younger man and he worried at his sore bottom lip as Harry led him back out into the darkness.

He tried to feel positive at the prospect of seeing his loved ones again but there was a sinking feeling in his chest that he couldn’t quite shake off.

The energy in Ashton’s veins felt like it was burning him alive.

Every minute felt like an hour down in the tunnels and, after four days of suffocating darkness, Michael’s nerves had been scraped raw. He was sure he would’ve fallen to pieces completely if he hadn’t had Niall beside him and the doctor would be endlessly grateful for that.

Somehow, even despite the shock and distress he must have been feeling himself, the Irishman remained outwardly calm and carefree. He cracked jokes whenever Michael’s breathing became panicked and he even sang ballads from back home whenever the silence threatened to become deafening; songs from the Easter Rising and the Great War mostly.

He had a pleasant voice, soft and raspy, although it grew hoarser as the days went by, and their food and water was reduced. Their meals were brought to them twice daily by a silent Hornet but, as the days passed, the visits lessened until they were surviving on the barest minimum. It made the doctor feel weaker than he ever had - which, to be honest, was probably Liam’s intention - but that didn’t make it any easier to stomach; the fact that he wanted them to waste away down here while he tortured Ashton up on the surface.

“You’re scared of the dark, aren’t you, Michael?” Niall’s voice seemed to come out of nowhere, curious and surprisingly gentle, and although there was far too little light to see by, the doctor still bristled defensively. “I’m not judging,” the Irishman added when the silence became strained. “Ash is scared of the dark too. I just wondered if I’d guessed right.”

Michael sighed, gnawing anxiously at the edge of his thumb as he glowered down at the sandy floor in embarrassment. He didn’t like talking without eye contact, even though he should’ve been used to it by now, but the blond man remained little more than an indistinct shadow beside him and the doctor was finding it increasingly difficult to deal with.

“It’s okay,” Niall said softly, coughing a little as his words rasped painfully from his dry throat. “We can just take your mind off it, yeah? Have a chat or something. I’m sure we won’t be down here for much longer now.”

He’d been saying that continuously ever since they’d woken up in the darkness, bruised and aching, and more frightened than either were willing to admit. Michael wanted to be annoyed by the older man’s constant optimism but he found it hard when he knew the Irishman was most likely only saying it to make him feel better.

A long moment of silence passed before the doctor leant back against Niall hesitantly, closing his eyes against the darkness as his sore head fell to rest on the blond man’s broad shoulder. Neither of them commented on the contact; the Irishman simply slipped his arm warmly around the doctor and held him closer as he tried to keep the chill at bay.

After so long trapped together, their inhibitions had all but faded now. Things had been a bit awkward at first, especially once the initial panic had faded, and privately Michael felt it was mostly because of their shared interest in Ashton. The brotherly relationship Niall shared with the Texan made him naturally protective of the younger man and Michael couldn’t blame the Irishman for his suspicion of the doctor’s motives, especially after everything Ashton had been through.

“Do you think Ash is okay?” Michael asked softly, a quiet sigh escaping him when Niall gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. It felt strange not having Ashton there as a buffer but at least the tension had faded from between them now, and they were both glad of that as they shivered together in the darkness.

“He’s a fighter,” the Irishman said with a half-hearted shrug. He sounded like he was smiling faintly and Michael glanced towards him curiously, even if the darkness did make such an action pointless. “Ash has been fighting since the moment I met him. Makes sense he’d carry on now.”

“That’s an interesting point actually,” the doctor said quietly. “How did you meet Ashton? I don’t think I’ve ever heard that story.”

“We were both in New York,” Niall remembered. “I was there scoping out some potential business partners who might’ve been up for trading with us. It would’ve turned out to be a wasted trip actually, except I met Ash on the last night. He was only eighteen. He’d got jumped in an alley by some thugs who took all his money. He didn’t know how to defend himself so I stepped in to help and… well, the rest is history.”

“I’m glad he met you,” Michael said gently, his eyes fluttering shut as his tiredness overwhelmed him. The back of his head felt less sore now but he was still worried the wound was going to get infected and he tried to keep it from touching anything as he nestled into Niall’s side. “Everyone deserves to have someone who makes them feel safe. I’m glad you could be that person for Ash.”

“You make him feel safe too, Mike,” Niall said kindly, using the nickname without meaning to as his cheek came to rest on the doctor’s soft hair. “He makes you feel safe, doesn’t he? I never see you more relaxed than when you’re with him.”

“He does,” Michael admitted. “I’ve never loved anyone the way I love Ash. Not even…” His voice trailed away as he thought of Jack with his sharp tongue and glittering eyes, and although the doctor would always adore him, there was something different about his relationship with Ashton now; something softer and more peaceful that he’d never been lucky enough to find before.

“Can I ask you something, Mike?” Niall asked carefully, his tone surprisingly timid. He waited for the murmured assent before shifting a little closer, his voice dropping as something gentle and tentative entered his voice. “Were… were you and Jack Barakat…?”

“Yeah,” the doctor murmured past the lump rising in his throat. Niall sighed softly as he tucked his chin over the younger man’s shoulder.

“Well, then I’m sorry,” the Irishman said softly. “I never guessed at the time - Ash has opened my eyes to a lot of things - but you didn’t deserve to lose him like that. You seem like a decent bloke.”

“Thanks… I think,” Michael muttered sarcastically, snorting out a weak laugh at the faint praise. It was nice to talk about Jack without breaking down though; gave him the opportunity to appreciate the more pleasant memories of his late partner that had been buried - almost forgotten - under layers of grief and sadness.

For just a moment, trapped down there in the darkness, the doctor smiled for Jack: for the sweet-hearted man who had been loved by all of the girls in the brothels because he never tried anything; for the funny, witty man who could make any situation seem less grim with nothing but his grin and a sarcastic joke; for the charming, kind man who had stopped his car that day outside Chaddock School of Medicine, and bought a failed medical student coffee and cake, and tried to make him laugh even though he was crying… but, most of all, he smiled for Jack Barakat who had moved from Lebanon to Chicago at the age of five, with his cheeky smiles and shining eyes… for Jack who had changed Michael’s life forever and continued to do so now, even long after he was gone.

“I’d pass you my handkerchief but it’s probably got blood on it now,” Niall said lightly and it took the younger man a moment to realise it was because he was crying. The doctor huffed out a weak laugh, drying his eyes with his sleeve as a shiver ran through him at the chill.

“I thought Jack was the only man I’d ever love before I met Ashton,” Michael admitted, even though he didn’t know where the confession had come from. He wasn’t sure what response he was expecting but it certainly wasn’t the casual confession he received a long moment later.

“I’d never really loved at all ‘til I met Ash,” Niall said uncertainly. “My heart didn’t used to work that way I don’t think but… well, for whatever reason, meeting Ash flicked a switch in me. I’d die for that kid, no doubt about it. I love him more than my folks back in Ireland; more than anyone on this miserable planet. He changed my life for the better the day I met him.”

The Irishman inhaled shakily, one hand rising in the darkness to rub at his temple.

“He made me love other people too,” Niall said in a softer voice, almost uneasy now. “I’d never really had strong feelings about my family before I left home but… well, he made me look at them in a different way too. He made me appreciate the fact that at least they were out there somewhere, getting on with their lives but maybe missing me too, the way I started to miss them.”

“Is it hard being away from them?” Michael asked gently. “Do you ever regret leaving?”

“Sometimes,” the blond man said honestly. “But I wouldn’t change the choices I made. I never got on with my family when I was younger. The only relative I was remotely close to was my grandad but after he died, there was nothing keeping me there anymore. We were dirt poor too. There was barely enough food to go round, and after my dad got hurt and had to stop working, we were running out of money. I was just another mouth to feed. It seemed the perfect time to leave.”

“How old were you when you ran away?” Michael asked and, although Niall hadn’t confirmed that he’d escaped from Ireland in this fashion, he didn’t correct the doctor which must have meant it was the truth.

“I was sixteen,” the blond man said quietly, his voice thoughtful, almost as though he hadn’t recalled this in a long time. “I spent almost a year in Dublin, pickpocketing and working any jobs I could find to survive. Then I ended up in Birmingham for another year, working at the docks… and then I stowed away on a boat to Boston. It was completely impulsive - to this day, I couldn’t tell you what possessed me to do it - but I’m so glad I made that decision. Otherwise, I never would’ve met Ash.”

“It’s obvious how much you care about him,” Michael said gently. “And… well, I hope I’m not overstepping but - to me at least - you don’t seem like someone whose heart doesn’t work right. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who loves as much as you do, especially without expecting anything in return.” The doctor shook his head slowly as he processed just how incredibly unlikely it was that the Irishman had ever met the Texan at all. “Ash deserves to have someone like you in his life, Niall. I’m so glad he found you.”

“Thank you,” the Irishman murmured, unusually choked up with emotions as he sniffed, drying his eyes. “I’m glad he found you too. Well, I am now anyway. I thought you were a bit of an arsehole at first.”

“I kind of was,” Michael said awkwardly, his smile sheepish but tinged with regret in the darkness. “It scared me how much Ash made me feel so I guess I figured that if I was just cold enough to him, I’d stop caring.”

“Didn’t work though, did it?” Niall asked with just a touch of smugness. The doctor rolled his eyes fondly.

“No, it didn’t,” he admitted. “I fell in love with him instead. Happy now?”

“I will be,” Niall said wryly. “Once we get out of here.”

They laughed for a moment before, abruptly, Michael was in tears again. His emotions seemed to burn closer to the surface down in the darkness and there was no point in hiding the fact that he was crying. Niall was too perceptive and he’d recognise it at once; that much had already been proven during their shared imprisonment.

“Why’re you crying?” the blond man asked softly before a note of understanding crept into his voice. “Are you worrying about Ash too?”

“Yes,” the doctor wept, his face buried in his cold hands as he brought his knees up to his chest. He’d shifted into the corner of the cell now - almost like he was trying to hide from the weight of his emotions - but Niall shifted painfully closer, reaching out to entwine their fingers securely.

“I’m scared of what might be happening to him,” Michael croaked, his voice coming out muffled as his free hand slipped to cover his mouth. “If Liam gets him alone again then…” His voice trailed away as the blond man stiffened beside him, his grip tightening fractionally as the breath shuddered out of him.

“So it was Liam,” Niall said dully, almost like his anger and pain were raging too brightly to process anymore. “Ash was too frightened to tell me the truth but I guessed it must’ve been that.” The Irishman was trembling faintly, his hand squeezing the doctor’s as a shaky sigh escaped him. “I knew that night when he came home late that he’d done something horrible to him. I knew it.”

“Liam tried again the next day too,” Michael whispered, his words choked around the tears rising in his throat. “They were interrupted luckily and I managed to patch Ash up after but… fuck, I can’t believe he had to go through that.”

“Liam did something to him down in the tunnels too,” Niall gasped suddenly, the pain saturating his voice as swiftly as lightning as the realisation struck him. Michael shifted closer to him in the darkness, his eyes flickering around the shadowy cell uselessly as his heart ached in his chest. “Ash was sobbing when I found him but… but he still wouldn’t tell me the truth.”

Niall sounded like he was crying and Michael drew him into his arms without thinking, his hand settling on the older man’s soft blond hair as the Irishman’s tears soaked into his collar.

“Ash talks to you. I know he does,” Niall sobbed out, shaking badly now, like all of the pain he’d been suppressing since being dragged down here had finally clawed its way free. “I trust Ash. I trust him with my life but… he doesn’t trust me. If he did, he wouldn’t keep these secrets, would he?”

“Shhh,” Michael murmured soothingly as his exhausted green eyes widened at the breathless gasps tearing painfully out of the blond man. “Ash does trust you, Niall. He loves you… but Liam made him promise not to tell you what was going on.” His voice thickened with tears as he held the Irishman closer, trying to make him understand how much he meant his words. “Ash kept his secrets to keep you safe, Niall. He only lied because he adores you.”

The silence was broken only by the older man’s ragged breathing as he struggled to get himself under control.

“Ash would do anything for you,” Michael said softly, his voice sincere. “But you already know that, don’t you?”

Niall nodded timidly and, even despite the darkness, the doctor knew he was ashamed of his outburst.

“Don’t beat yourself up for being human,” the younger man chided gently. “You’ve been so strong these past few days. You’re allowed to be upset.” Michael sighed, biting his bottom lip worriedly as he tried to work out what he could say to make this better. “After all the crap he’s been through, you wouldn’t criticise Ash for being emotional, would you?”

“Of course not!” the older man said hotly.

“Well, this is no different,” the doctor said dryly. “You got kidnapped, Niall. I’m pretty sure you’re allowed to be shaken up and upset. Surely it would sort of be weirder if you weren’t, right?”

“Right,” Niall whispered, a tiny watery laugh escaping him. Michael squeezed his shoulder comfortingly.

“Ash loves you,” he repeated, for good measure. “Don’t resent him because he didn’t want to put you in danger. Not when you’d do the same thing for him.”

“I know you’re right,” the Irishman murmured, his cheeks damp as he thumbed the tears away clumsily. “I just… I really, really miss him, that’s all. I want him back.”

“So do I,” Michael promised as his head returned to rest gently on the older man’s shoulder. They were still holding hands and neither seemed inclined to let go now. “Ash will come for us though, Niall. I know he will. We just need to hold on.”

The sky was already dark by the time they neared the Speakeasy.

The Texan’s aches had returned with a vengeance now but, despite Harry shooting him cautious glances every time a gasp of pain escaped the younger man, neither commented on it. The Englishman was quiet beside him, his coat collar turned up against the cold as he buried his hands in his pockets.

Ashton’s hazel eyes flickered to his friend unconsciously and he felt the guilt welling inside him like poison. He wanted to warn Harry of the raid tomorrow but he knew it was too dangerous, especially now that the Englishman was so close to Liam. It would be too risky and the Texan couldn’t overlook that; not when there were so many people depending on him to keep them safe.

Harry was a sacrifice that Ashton would unwillingly make in order to protect his family, no matter how much he would undoubtedly hate himself for it afterwards.

He had no other choice.

If the conversation between them had been stilted before, it was dead now. The only sounds were their breathing and the scrape of their footsteps over the cobbles as they passed the faded 'WE WANT BEER' painted the colour of blood on the brickwork nearby.

At first, Ashton wrongly assumed that the tension clouding the air around them was of his own making. He knew his nerves and turmoil were tangible, and he badly hoped that the Englishman would assume they were a product of his injuries and the fact that he missed his loved ones.

He felt a jolt of something that was almost fear when the older man reached for him, his hand closing around the Texan’s arm as he guided him unexpectedly off the main street and into the alleyway nearby. There was a grim expression on Harry’s face now and Ashton felt the doubt seeping through him as he tried in vain to pull free of the Englishman’s tight grip, his heart speeding up in his chest.

“Harry, let go,” he said weakly, although he may as well not have spoken for all the attention he was paid. “I have a bruise there. It hurts.” His anxiety flared to life as the shadows closed over them and, for the first time, he began to feel a sinking sensation as the dread and suspicion seared through him.

“Why are we using the secret entrance?” he asked faintly but, unsurprisingly, there was no response. The bruise on his jaw ached as he gritted his teeth, trying to wrench his arm free again as his shoes slid over the damp ground. His nerves were screaming now, the warning bells ringing deafeningly as the Englishman’s fingers pressed bruises into his skin, leading him into the darkness.

It was undoubtedly a trap and the Texan felt stupid for not having seen it coming. Of course Liam had had no intention of letting him visit Niall and Michael; of course he hadn’t, except… damnit, the blackmail should have been enough.

Deep down though, he knew it wasn’t the mob boss breaking his word that hurt so badly. It was the betrayal he could feel that took his breath away, as sickening and dangerous as chloroform because… fuck, he’d trusted Harry.

The deception was clear in the Englishman’s eyes now that Ashton knew to look for it and his heart ached from the confines of his bruised ribs. He knew that treacherous gleam had been present all along; he’d just ignored it before because he hadn’t wanted to see something that might make him view his friend in a different light.

When Harry’s free hand left his coat pocket, he was gripping a knife in his fist which he’d presumably been holding all along. It flashed silver in the slice of moonlight that reached the cobbles and Ashton’s stomach twisted sickeningly as he stared at the weapon in horror. It was just like his own flick knife; just like the blade the Englishman had used to cut Zayn’s tattoo painfully from his skin as he bled out on the concrete so long ago, on an evening not too dissimilar from tonight.

When Harry crowded him back against the wall, Ashton was too shocked to do anything but grip the older man’s wrist where his hand had fisted in the younger man’s collar as he pinned him there. This felt too much like the morning down in the tunnels with Liam and the Texan’s breath escaped him in a panicked gasp when the Englishman raised the blade, tapping it lightly against Ashton’s exposed throat.

“Please don’t, Harry,” the younger man breathed, his hazel eyes prickling with frightened tears when he felt a stinging pain as the point of the knife gently split the skin. He swallowed reflexively; felt the blade dig in harder and whimpered softly before he could stop himself.

The older man’s eyes glinted unpleasantly as he traced the knife lightly over the Texan’s bruised jaw, clearly enjoying himself.

“Are you going to beg?” Harry murmured as he watched the younger man’s tear-filled eyes curiously. “Mr Payne said you like getting down on your knees… or is that only for Clifford and the Vultures?”

Unthinkingly, Ashton pushed the Englishman away in disgust. His sudden rage seemed to take Harry by surprise and he stumbled backwards a few steps, his eyes narrowing when he saw the revulsion saturating the younger man’s sore face.

“Fuck you,” the Texan snarled, even though he knew it would be better not to react; knew it would extinguish the satisfaction he could see smouldering in Harry's eyes. Fletcher’s temper flared to life under Ashton’s skin and the heat of his anger burnt his inhibitions away as his words tore out of him, hurling themselves at the Englishman like burning arrows as the fury burnt through the younger man like acid.

“I trusted you,” he spat, even as a lump rose chokingly in his throat as one of the tears boiled down his bruised cheek. “Niall trusted you, Harry. He cares about you!”

“Then he’s even more of a fool than I realised,” the older man said scornfully. The cruel words seemed to spill from him as easily as breathing until, suddenly, Ashton realised that the betrayal had been inevitable.

All along, Harry had been lingering on the fringes with his calculated questions and watchful eyes; always watching and listening, and offering nothing unless it was torn from him like drawing blood from a stone.

This had been on the cards since the start.

“You’ve been Liam’s lapdog all along, haven’t you?” the Texan demanded, barely flinching when Harry shoved him backwards, hard enough that his head hit the brickwork. Stars burst before Ashton’s eyes and blood welled in his mouth but his attention was quickly ensnared by the knife sinisterly gleaming in the moonlight.

Absently, the younger man wondered why the Englishman hadn’t stabbed him yet - why he hadn’t just ended it the moment he had the chance - before he processed exactly why Harry was so cavalier as he twirled the blade nonchalantly between his fingers, trapping the younger man against the wall.

Clearly, the Hornet wanted to gloat and, on some abstract level, Ashton supposed he couldn’t blame him. The Englishman must have been bursting to brag about how clever he’d been after managing to keep his secret for so long.

“Bet you really want to pat yourself on the back now, don’t you?” the younger man said coldly, his shaking fingertips drifting to touch the cut on his neck where it was welling blood. He winced when it stung, his hazel eyes hardening with hatred as he slowly became aware of his own flick knife where it was stowed in his pocket, digging into his bruised ribs as Harry's weight forced him back into the damp bricks.

“Y’know, the sneer actually suits you, Ash,” the older man taunted. “You’re just a chip off the old block really, aren’t you? Just as much of a fuck-up as your father.” His eyes narrowed as he dug the blade in once more, torturously slowly. “You’re just like Fletcher.”

The contempt dripping off his words stung and Ashton knew - if he survived tonight - that he’d never forgive Harry for this deception; not for as long as he lived. His hand slipped closer to the flick knife in his pocket, the movement painfully slow as he bided his time, waiting for the moment when the Englishman would inevitably drop his guard.

Harry’s eyes were colder now, his face flatter with anger as he tightened his fist in the younger man’s collar, his knuckles slick with the Texan’s blood.

“I don’t know why Niall thinks you’re so fucking innocent all the time,” the older man hissed. “All you’ve ever done is try to undermine Mr Payne and come out on top. You think you’re special because your father killed Collins’ family? Huh?” He seemed frustrated when Ashton remained stubbornly silent, his sore lips pressed tightly shut as Harry leant closer.

“Well, you’re not, Ash,” the Englishman whispered, like he was admitting a secret. “Mr Payne is ten times the man you’ll ever be.”

“He’s a monster,” Ashton argued, his pained hazel eyes flashing with desperation as the blood trickled hot from the nick in his throat. “Liam killed Sophia himself! He murdered her.”

“I know,” Harry said sharply, his words colder than they’d ever been. “She was causing a fuss, attracting unwanted attention. Mr Payne couldn’t have that. She was a liability.”

“She was a human being!” the Texan snapped, even as he felt the distinct sensation of his heart tearing itself apart in his chest. He’d just remembered that night in the warehouse and, despite that awful night feeling almost like a gory chapter in someone else’s life, it felt important that he remind himself that he was capable of such horrors too… because if he did ever manage to forget that he’d murdered someone - a Vulture with friends and family, and his whole life ahead of him - then Ashton would be no better than Liam.

“You never do know when to shut up, do you?” Harry asked icily as he glared down at the younger man pinned in his grip. “Niall’s the same. It’s the reason Mr Payne was already planning to get rid of the pair of you, even before your daring little escapade at Collins’ Speakeasy.”

The night seemed to grow colder around them and the soft sound of music from inside the Speakeasy was carried by on the breeze. Outside on the main road, a car drove past and it felt jarring to Ashton; the fact that life still went on, even when his own was being torn apart right now at the hands of someone who had once been his friend.

“I’ve been following you all along, Ash,” Harry confessed, his words sending a chill through the younger man at the knowledge that he hadn’t been being paranoid; that someone dangerous really had been stalking him in those lonely moments, when he’d been so vulnerable and afraid. “Mr Payne ordered it the moment you arrived here. He didn’t trust you from the beginning. You have too much of your father in you, don’t you see? Always doing whatever you please because you think you’re right… but you’re not right, Ash. You’re never right. You’re just a stupid little kid who never should’ve come here in the first place.”

Ashton’s smile twisted his lips slowly as he relaxed in the older man’s grip, his hand finally slipping subtly to cover his pocket where the knife was hidden. The Englishman looked uneasy now, his expression tinged with confusion when he saw the flicker of relief on the younger man’s face. The Texan didn’t blame Harry for being puzzled though; how was he to know that being called a kid no longer insulted Ashton? That it hadn’t since Niall had adopted the pet name and made him feel loved? That being called kid now somehow made him feel stronger?

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” the younger man murmured, his split lip beading blood as Harry’s knife dragged lightly across the delicate skin. The Texan refused to wince and the older man’s expression only grew harder at the dogged pride he could see blazing on Ashton’s face, like he was determined to stamp it out.

“How do you think Biersack found out you were queer?” Harry asked scathingly, his eyes glimmering as he settled on a new topic he could use to taunt the younger man with. “Of course I saw you and Clifford. Neither of you were ever what you’d call subtle, Ash.” An unpleasant smile touched his lips when he saw the Texan gritting his teeth as his nostrils flared angrily.

“When Mr Payne decided to take Niall and Clifford in, he chose Biersack and I to collect your beloved doctor,” the Englishman murmured, his voice as smooth as silk. Ashton felt like his blood had turned to ice in his veins as he remembered Laura’s words; that a masked man with an accent had been one of the Hornets to break in to the apartment.

“Biersack hates the idea of you and Clifford together so much, doesn’t he?” Harry continued, his tone almost conversational now, like he was commenting on the weather. “The doctor wouldn’t stop struggling when we tried to take him, Ash. He wouldn’t stop fighting ‘til Biersack cracked him over the head with his gun.” He shook his head slowly, his expression saturated with mock-sadness even as his lips twisted into a smirk. “As a doctor, you think he’d know better than to struggle, wouldn’t you? Head wounds can be so nasty.”

Ashton’s heart clenched with panic in his chest but he fought against it, aware that the older man was only saying this to upset him so that he’d let his guard down. His hand was shaking as it eased inside his pocket but he calmed when his fingers wrapped around the handle of the knife, his hazel eyes sparkling with furious tears as Harry’s arm slipped to press across his throat.

Instead of struggling the way Luke had done the night they met, the Texan simply allowed it to happen. After everything that Liam had done to him, this was almost a walk in the park and Ashton found it almost easy to manipulate Harry; to let a breathless sob tear free as the fear he’d been suppressing filled his eyes, already burning so close to the surface since he’d been reminded of Michael and Niall trapped below his feet right now, injured and afraid.

It worked perfectly too. The amusement on the Englishman’s face grew at the tears spilling down the younger man’s cheeks and, as his lips parted around what would undoubtedly be another cruel barb, Ashton jerked his flick knife up into the fleshy part of Harry’s forearm. The blade cut through his coat and shirt easily, ruining the hornet tattoo that the doctor had painstakingly inked into the Englishman’s skin as he let out an agonised cry.

“That was for Zayn, you traitorous bastard,” Ashton hissed as he wrenched the blade free. He slammed his knee into the older man’s stomach as hard as he could, sending Harry slumping onto the ground as the air was knocked out of him. “You’re never going to hurt my friends again.”

The Englishman glared up at him from the cobbles, wheezing on all fours as he bled heavily from his arm. His flick knife was lost somewhere in the shadows now and, despite the fury in his blazing green eyes, it was impossible to miss the wariness growing with every moment that the Texan stood over him with his own blade clutched in his fist.

“You think you’re gonna kill me?” Harry spat, shakily rising as he leant back heavily against the wall, keeping a safe distance between them. The adrenaline was searing through Ashton now, making his body ache as his heart raced too fast in his chest at the sight of his former friend shooting daggers at him. “You don’t have the guts, Ash.”

“No, I don’t,” the younger man said honestly as his hazel eyes flickered down to where the Englishman was cradling his bleeding arm to his chest. “You wanna know why? Because I’m not my father, Harry, no matter what you might think.” He took a deep steadying breath, fighting not to wince when his ribs ached dully. “I don’t know what Fletcher did to make you hate him so much but I’m sorry for whatever it was. You didn’t deserve to be treated badly by him.”

The older man’s confusion was palpable as he stared at the Texan in shock. He didn’t seem able to grasp the fact that Ashton could still be kind to him even though Harry had just held a knife to his throat but the vulnerability was clear on the Englishman’s face now and the younger man grasped that like a lifeline, aware that this tiny flicker of humanity was his only chance of surviving to the raid tomorrow.

“Why are you doing this, Harry?” Ashton asked softly. “Why are you helping Liam? You know he’d betray you as soon as look at you if it suited his own needs.” The older man pressed his lips together so hard they went bloodless but he didn’t protest so he must have accepted the words as the truth.

“This time tomorrow, I’m leaving this city once and for all,” the Texan said determinedly, his hazel eyes flashing warningly as he tightened his grip around the knife. “If you’re smart, you’ll get out too… tonight... while you still can.”

Harry’s gaze was locked on his face now, his brow furrowed like he could tell the younger man was hinting at something important. A hint of fear coloured the older man’s eyes when he saw the shiver run through Ashton’s form and he swallowed audibly, his face visibly paling.

“What have you done, Ash?” he demanded, his tone undeniably apprehensive. He wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that he was scared because - as the blood soaked into his clothes - he seemed to realise that there was no point in pretences anymore. They’d both seen far too much of each other tonight.

Ashton watched him silently, his fingertips pressing once more against the little cuts littering his throat as he reminded himself of exactly why it was so dangerous to trust the Englishman. He wasn’t certain that Harry’s self-preservation instinct was higher than his misguided loyalty for Liam which was why he needed to tread carefully now.

“I’m not telling you a thing,” the younger man said coldly, trying not to look at the injury he’d caused the older man as the guilt licked at him like flame, impossible to ignore. “You don’t deserve my trust… but if you get out now, I won’t follow you. No one will come after you. You can escape.”

Their dynamic had shifted irreversibly as their relationship fractured around them, with Harry slumped there bleeding as Ashton stood over him, stronger and more determined than he’d ever been.

“You’re lying,” the Englishman said weakly in a last ditch attempt to wrong-foot the Texan. His desperation and fear were clear though, and the bitter words were little more than raindrops against the younger man’s bruised skin as he looked down at Harry pityingly. “You’re only doing this to undermine Mr Payne.”

“You don’t really believe that,” Ashton said quietly as he flicked his knife shut, stowing it back in his pocket where it would be within easy reach. “A word of warning though,” he added harshly, his hazel eyes narrowing as his tone became blunt. “Liam raped me, Harry. What do you think he’ll do once you manage to piss him off? Because I can guarantee you know a lot more secrets than me.” He took a shaky breath, hating the way his eyes prickled with tears as the older man stared up at him in horror.

“He’ll fucking destroy you, Harry,” Ashton whispered. “You know he will.”

The Englishman’s expression was saturated with revulsion and fear but there was a dawning apprehension in his green eyes, and the Texan knew then that he was safe. Harry confirmed it a moment later, raising his shaking hands in surrender as the blood dried in gristly streaks down his wrist. He almost looked grateful as he pushed timidly away from the wall and the Texan shook his head in disgust.

“I’m not doing this for you, Harry,” he snapped, even as a lump rose in his throat as another wave of pain washed over him at his friend’s betrayal. “I’m doing this for Niall. He still thinks you’re his friend.”

“Ash, I -”

“Just get the fuck away from me!” the Texan shouted as a tear rolled down his cheek. “Leave!”

He cried when Harry was gone, the sound of the older man’s retreating footsteps already faded to silence as he disappeared into the darkness. Ashton’s knees weakened beneath him as the pain that he’d been suppressing swept through him once more and it took his breath away for a moment; made his sobs ragged and breathless as his hands began to shake.

His shirt was stained with Harry’s blood as well as his own and the betrayal only hurt worse now that he had the space to consider the consequences of it. He limped towards the mouth of the alley with his heart aching in his bruised chest, his eyes stinging with boiling tears at the unfairness of the situation.

He wanted to see Niall and Michael so badly in that moment that the pain of it threatened to take his breath away. He’d been so close tonight, only to have it snatched away so cruelly at the last second, and it felt nothing short of wicked.

The Texan’s sobs threatened to overwhelm him but he fought against his misery as he staggered out into the street, his hand clasped to the shallow, sluggishly bleeding wound on his neck. He knew he couldn’t stay here; not when Harry might have lingered to finish the job, or when Liam or Frank could stray outside and spot him without warning.

What had started as a brisk walk quickly became a run and, by the time he’d left the Speakeasy far behind, the ache of his sore muscles was lost beneath the desperation he could feel as his fear carried him back home. The fine rain in the air was soaking him and washing the blood from his skin in rivulets, and the world felt cleaner around him as he finally neared the apartment building.

He slowed uncertainly as he approached, lingering on the corner as he glanced around the deserted street nervously. It had suddenly occurred to him that Liam might have ordered someone to watch the building, just to make sure Harry had gone through with it… but the mob boss trusted his second-in-command - at least as much as he trusted anyone - and there was little point second-guessing things now.

The Texan had nowhere else to go tonight and he had to trust his instincts, even if they had let him down so painfully where Harry was concerned. The dark street seemed deserted though and Ashton’s nerves were beginning to calm now as he stepped out hesitantly into the open, relaxing when there was still no movement in the shadows.

The apartment would be safe for one last night; he was sure of that.

As he climbed the stairs heavily on aching limbs, he felt the sadness festering inside him. He’d grown so fond of Harry during the years he’d known him and he was afraid of Niall’s inevitable devastation when he realised one of his closest friends had betrayed him… but Liam’s claws were in too deep. Ashton was amazed he’d even been able to save the Englishman this much - provided that Harry didn’t return to twist the knife one last time.

It still hurt to know that his friend had been spying on them all along but he couldn’t deny the truth of it. Harry had always had a knack for asking pointed questions and appearing at just the right moment to offer advice or make a wry comment that gently nudged them towards a decision that benefited the mob boss, and Ashton felt a sinking feeling in his chest as the reality of the situation finally sank in.

Niall had never been Liam’s right-hand man. It had been Harry from the start.

The Texan’s righteous anger left him breathless as he unlocked the apartment door with shaky hands but it burnt out quickly once he was alone in the shadowy hallway, his gaze flickering over the scuff marks on the wall as the silence ate away at him. He wanted Niall to appear in the kitchen doorway with his crinkling blue eyes and playful smiles; wanted Michael to call him from the bedroom with his soft words and his lips pressed to Ashton’s neck.

It hurt being without them, and he hoped so desperately that they were alive and well, and that the raid would bring them back to him. He wished for it so much that it consumed him, until the pain and longing were all he could feel as he discarded his blood-stained shirt carelessly on the ground. He felt no inclination to tidy it away, especially when he realised that - if things went to plan tomorrow - none of them would ever be coming back here.

Already, he was beginning to let go and the restless energy was stirring in his veins once more, fiery and insistent.

It had been far too long since he’d wandered anywhere at all and he was more than ready to leave Chicago behind.

The city had not been kind to any of them.

He felt the truth of that in his bones as he limped towards the kitchen, swiping the Irishman’s favoured pullover from the back of a dining chair and wriggling into it as goosebumps rose on his bare skin. It still smelt faintly of Niall and he buried his face in it for a moment, losing himself in the comforting scent of smoke, coffee, and cologne that all combined to remind him painfully of his very best friend.

Ashton’s last night in the apartment was spent shakily spooning soup into his sore mouth and cleaning his newest wounds with the ointment the Irishman always applied so carefully. He retired to his bedroom early, more lonely and sad than he could ever remember feeling as he curled up under the blankets.

It quickly became apparent that sleep planned to elude him though and he didn’t fight it. There was no point lying there tossing and turning, and staring up helplessly at the ceiling as the minutes ticked by excruciatingly. He stumbled into Niall’s bedroom through the darkness, his blankets wrapped around his shoulders as he cradled his favourite book to his chest.

Ashton crawled into the Irishman’s bed with a bone-deep sigh, leaning out painfully to flick the lamp on before he slumped down onto the mattress. The light painted the room a buttery gold and he calmed a little without meaning to as he flicked the book open to a random page, his exhausted gaze drifted fondly over the familiar words.

He’d never felt so much like Oliver as he buried himself under the blankets, more dead than alive as a tear rolled down his bruised cheek. It felt like the love burning inside was the only thing keeping him going now and he clung to it like ivy, so desperate not to lose the last flame of hope flickering faintly in his chest.

He cuddled Niall’s pillow tighter as he read in the soft lamplight and he almost felt ready to sleep when he came across a quote that made fresh tears burn in his eyes as his heart ached with love. ‘I have seen enough, too, to know that it is not always the youngest and best who are spared to those that love them; but this should give us comfort rather than sorrow, for Heaven is just, and such things teach us impressively that there is a far brighter world than this, and that the passage to it is speedy.’

Ashton could barely breathe past his tears now and he held the novel tighter to his ribs as he pressed his sore lips to the cover, remembering Niall’s joy when he’d gifted the younger man his present and the gentleness in Michael’s eyes when he’d seen the Texan’s book-filled bedroom for the first time, kissing him until he forgot his fear.

“I’m coming to save you. Both of you,” he whispered past his tears as he closed his eyes, burying his bruised face in the pillow. “I promise I am. Just hold on.”

He swore his words were the truth. He was never going to let them down again.

The first thing Niall had ever done was save his life and Michael had always been there since to patch him up, and he wouldn’t rest until he’d returned the favour by rescuing them.

Ashton was tired of being compared to Fletcher at every turn.

He was going to be loving, like his mother.

Anne Irwin hadn’t left her only son until she absolutely had to - until she had no fight left in her - but the energy was coiling inside him like electricity now and he’d never felt more alive.

He was going to save Niall and Michael, and bring Liam’s criminal empire to the ground tomorrow if it killed him… and unfortunately, it just might.

Chapter Text

Ashton found the revolver hidden in the bottom of Niall’s wardrobe.

He’d woken up before the sun had fully risen, more nervous than weary as the morning dawned bright and clear outside. The raid at noon still felt eons away and he couldn’t stand the thought of sitting alone while he waited for the hours to pass. He needed to be doing something - anything - to take his mind off the anxiety coiling in his chest, and packing up any valuables he could find for them to take with them seemed like a smart choice.

The Irishman had a couple of small trinkets he’d taken with him from Ireland and, although he’d never volunteered information about why they were so important to him, Ashton had seen the fondness in his best friend’s eyes whenever he stumbled across them and he knew there was no way on earth he was leaving them behind.

He packed the items away carefully into a satchel alongside his prized Oliver Twist book, not wanting this upheaval to be any harder for Niall than it needed to be when the Irishman had already sacrificed so much for him.

Ashton had stumbled across the gun when he knelt down to search through the bottom of the blond man’s wardrobe, trying to make sure he hadn’t missed anything else that they needed to take with them. He shivered when he saw it, his fingertips sliding across the cold metal warily as he looked down at the weapon, nestled innocuously between a crumpled winter coat and a scruffy pair of shoes that badly needed some polish.

He stared at the revolver for what felt like a long time before he reached for it, hefting it thoughtfully in his palm for a moment before he checked that it was loaded and that the safety was flicked on. He thought it might be safer to have it with him today, although he was determined not to shoot it. That didn’t mean he was above threatening with it though and, privately, he was quite certain he’d be glad of the gun if he bumped into Liam during the raid.

He stowed it in the satchel too, pursing his sore lips for a moment as he tried to decide what else to bring with him. It only took a moment to remember Michael’s prized possessions waiting on his bedside table and he made his way swiftly into his own room, barely limping now that the worst of the bruising had begun to fade.

He sat down on the edge of his bed with a soft sigh as he settled the satchel safely on the pillows. The spring sunlight was golden as it finally cleared the rooftops outside and Ashton basked in the warmth for a moment, his tired hazel eyes sliding shut as he savoured the momentary comfort he could feel in the absence of fear.

He felt calmer than he would have believed possible as he reached for the picture of Jack, tilting it towards the sunlight so that the image gleamed. The late Hornet’s expression seemed less accusatory now, his features gentler like the peace and acceptance the Texan could feel were infectious.

Ashton tucked the picture safely into the pages of his Oliver Twist book to keep it from getting creased, while the pieces of the broken watch were packed away safely with Niall’s few belongings from Ireland. He was so glad he’d thought to take those precious items with him the night he’d gone to the doctor’s apartment because he so badly wanted Michael to have something tangible he could hold on to of his first love.

Liam couldn’t steal those from the doctor too. Ashton wouldn’t let him.

“I’ll keep Mikey safe for you, Jack,” he murmured as he closed the satchel with a note of finality. “I promise.”

Walking through the apartment for the last time felt more bittersweet than Ashton had expected and he knew it was because of how many treasured memories he’d been lucky enough to make during the years he’d lived here.

He thought back to his first impressions of the apartment for a moment - remembered how messy, damp, and cramped it had seemed, with far too few books - but his opinion had changed as the months slipped by, until it started to mean safety and warmth instead… until it became the Texan’s home.

He thought of all of the Christmases and birthdays they’d celebrated together; the lemon cakes and morning coffee, and the lingering cuddles in the kitchen; their nightly chats through the bathroom door and the cosy evenings they spent tucked under blankets while the Irishman read Oliver Twist to soothe the younger man’s anxiety.

It didn’t take Ashton long to realise that none of his fondest memories had much to do with the apartment at all; not really anyway because, as he’d learnt over the past few days, this place meant nothing without Niall here too. Without him, it was just a collection of empty, dusty rooms, devoid of laughter and warmth.

It was Niall who had made this apartment feel so unbelievably special; Niall who had stopped bringing girls home and started caring for Ashton instead; Niall who would do everything in his power to make the younger man happy, from listening to the Texan’s favourite records to making him his favourite meals; Niall who had built him a bookshelf to house all of the novels he’d gifted his best friend for every possible occasion the very moment he learnt how much the younger man loved reading; Niall who had taught him to sew and fight, and cook and love himself.

Between the Irishman and the doctor, Chicago had become Ashton’s home but he wasn’t afraid to leave it behind.

His family would always come first - that had been the case throughout his entire life - but, somewhere along the way, family had stopped meaning blood, and started meaning his two closest friends instead.

His life felt less painful and frightening when they were beside him, and he was so grateful that he hadn't had to face his fears alone. They'd been with him every step of the way and now that they needed his help, he knew he’d die before he let them down.

All Ashton could do was try his hardest... and, here at the end of everything, he finally knew that it was enough. Niall and Michael had always believed in him, and that gave him the strength he needed to come out swinging.

The confidence filled him as he hesitated one last time in the hallway, his hazel eyes soft as they flickered over the dusty wooden panels covering the floor. He wasn’t sorry to say goodbye now because it was undoubtedly his loved ones who had made the apartment feel like home; not the dusty rooms with the creaking doors and the clock ticking in the hallway.

He slipped into his newly-mended coat, barely wincing as he slung the satchel carefully over his body where it would hopefully be small enough that it wouldn’t get caught up during the raid. His honey-coloured curls were slicked back neatly beneath his new hat - nothing like the one Fletcher had passed down - and he was dressed in his best suit from Benito as he adjusted the collar to hide the cuts Harry had left on his neck.

Shooting the familiar rooms one last nostalgic glance, Ashton left the apartment behind, leaving the door unlocked because it didn’t matter anymore. They were never coming back here again.

He stepped out into the sunlight with a quiet sigh, his aches almost gone now as his bruises began to fade to yellow. The nervous energy swirled around his bones, no longer charring but strengthening him, and Ashton started to wonder if perhaps it hadn’t been Fletcher’s legacy after all. Perhaps the energy had come from his mother instead.

The roads were unusually quiet as he walked towards the Speakeasy, enjoying the warm spring breeze as the few cars and trams around trundled past him. Even the marketplace seemed oddly peaceful today and he was glad of that; relieved that there was less chance of innocents getting caught up in any gunfire that might spill out onto the tranquil streets if the raid went wrong.

His nerves flared to life when he turned onto the road leading to the Speakeasy but he was almost glad because it made him feel sharper and ready for whatever today might throw at him. His shadow stretched out before him as he walked through the sunshine, his hazel eyes flickering furtively up and down the street before he ducked warily into the alleyway where he’d escaped with his life the night before.

He grimaced when he passed the spot where Harry had pinned him to the wall with his knife at the younger man’s throat; felt an ache in his bruised chest when he remembered slumping on the ground here in tears once as Niall knelt in the snow beside him, trying to keep him from falling apart.

He ran the last few paces to the dumpster, crouching down behind it as he fiddled with the rusty bolt keeping the trapdoor closed. He winced at the creaking sound it made when he heaved it open, his ribs aching dully at the effort it cost him as he peered down fearfully into the inky darkness below.

“I’m coming,” he muttered grimly, taking a few calming breaths as he appreciated the warmth of the sunlight on his skin for what might be the last time, if things went badly now. “Here goes…”

He climbed down the first few steps gingerly, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip as he reached to pull the trapdoor shut over him. He froze when he was plunged into total darkness, his heart hammering in his chest as he fought against the panic that so desperately wanted to overwhelm him. There was no time for him to lose it now though - regardless of how much he hated the dark - because his family needed him and there was under half an hour left before noon.

He needed to find somewhere safe to hide where he could wait until Liam had been captured. That way he could swipe the keys from the mob boss’ belt and locate his friends from wherever they’d been locked up before they escaped.

He could feel his heart sinking in his chest as he processed that though because… damnit. Damnit. It had somehow escaped his notice up until now that the last steps of his plan were so dangerously vague but it was unavoidable. So much depended on luck and chance; on the Vultures and the Bureau, and too many other things outside the Texan’s control.

It was nothing but a gamble and Ashton didn’t want to pay the price if he’d played his hand wrong now.

He couldn’t stand to get this close to rescuing his loved ones, only to fall at the final hurdle and lose them for good.

He wasn’t sure he’d survive the pain of it.

It was harder than it should have been to get himself back under control but he wasted precious minutes doing it, aware that there was no point trying to descend the stairs in his current state because he was quite likely to fall and break a limb in the process. Niall and Michael were waiting for him though, and he was closer to the pair of them now than he’d been in days. Things would work out somehow and he’d get them back; he had to believe that or he’d have nothing left.

Inhaling deeply one last time, Ashton began to climb down the stairs, keeping one trembling hand resting on the damp wall as he counted under his breath, remembering the number of steps Niall had taught him the first time they’d used the secret entrance.

Remembering his best friend now helped him feel calmer and, by the time the Texan had reached the long hallway that led to the flight of stairs leading up to the storage room, his anxiety had abated a little. His heart swelled with love and pain in equal measure when he passed the spot where Michael had sewn him back together again after Collins had shot him, and Ashton wanted to embrace the doctor so much in that moment that their forced separation physically hurt.

His eyes were slowly beginning to adjust to the darkness but there was still little more than a gradual lightening around him; just enough to see the shadowy blur of his fingers moving shakily in front of his face.

He could tell by the sudden cool breeze that he’d reached the point where the tunnel forked in two directions. He knew that one branch led towards the storage room while the other would eventually take him to where he hoped Niall and Michael were being kept but there was little use in him following the second path now.

The last time he’d staggered down it, he’d been blindfolded while Liam did everything he possibly could to distract the younger man from memorising the direction they’d been walking. That was why it had taken the Texan the better part of a day to make it out on his own and he had no wish to repeat that today.

Ashton knew there was no way on earth he’d be able to find his loved ones by himself - especially in the darkness - and a low groan escaped him as he realised a fatal flaw in his plan: he hadn’t thought to bring a lamp with him.

He’d been too short-sighted to plan far enough in advance and it stung so badly that it would be his own stupidity that condemned his loved ones now, and not Liam or a job gone south.

The Texan couldn’t believe he’d let himself and his family down like this.

He wanted to cry but mostly he wanted to save Niall and Michael, and that was the part Ashton tried to focus on as he hurried towards the storage room, intent on fixing this. He climbed the stairs so frantically that he managed to skin his knee but he barely noticed one more dull burst of pain among hundreds and he was breathing hard by the time he stumbled into the familiar space, his broken ribs aching with it.

He searched the shelves desperately for anything that he could use as a light source but he’d barely begun to rifle through the closest crate when the clock struck noon. He could hear the distant chime of church bells marking the hour and his heart began to pound frantically in his chest as he froze in the middle of the room, unsure of what to do.

He still needed to get the keys from Liam, and he was starting to panic that it would be too late once the Vultures and agents swept into the Speakeasy. What if the mob boss escaped during the carnage or the keys got lost somewhere? What if Liam was killed before he could confirm that Michael and Niall were where the Texan believed they were, and his loved ones died before he could reach them?

His panic was returning slowly, each breath more shallow than the last as he leant heavily against the wall, his hazel eyes widening with fear. He’d well and truly fucked up, and he’d never forgive himself if he couldn’t find a way to salvage the situation now. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

When he heard the secret knock and Frank’s shuffling footsteps above him, it felt like his heart stopped beating in his chest. He held his breath as a cold sweat broke out on his forehead, his hands shaking badly as he reached into the satchel for the revolver he’d buried in there. The cool metal made goosebumps break out on his skin when he touched it but he felt a little calmer once he had it in his grip and he let that comfort him as he pressed himself back into the corner of the room, his hazel gaze locked on the door.

A large number of pounding footsteps could be heard overhead and, as raised voices sounded - their tones saturated with panic and surprise - the gunshots began and the first bodies started to fall.

He clamped a hand over his mouth to smother his panting breaths when the door to the storage room creaked open, hiding himself in the shadows as he tightened his trembling grip on the revolver. His heart clenched in his chest when he heard the scrape of a key in the lock and he bit his sore lip hard to stay silent as his gaze flickered towards whichever Hornet had selfishly blocked off the only escape route available.

The moment the mob boss came into sight, Ashton couldn’t believe he hadn’t suspected it all along. He should have foreseen Liam’s self-serving cowardice but it was of no consequence because, for once in his life, the older man had played right into the Texan’s hands.

The mob boss’ face was unusually pale as he stalked across the storage room, his expression ferocious in its anger and consternation, as though this was a man who was unaccustomed to feeling fear and did not much like it. He carried a lamp in one hand and a firearm in the other, and he was already halfway to the hidden door leading down to the tunnels when Ashton stepped out behind him, flicking the safety off as he levelled his revolver at the back of Liam’s head.

“Drop the gun, Mr Payne,” he said coldly, taking great satisfaction in the way Liam froze in horror when he felt the muzzle of the Texan’s revolver touching his head, his gun clattering through limp fingers to land on the damp floor.

Ashton stepped back instinctively when he saw the older man grow suddenly tense and it wasn’t a moment too soon. Liam chose that moment to whirl around, lurching forwards desperately and almost succeeding in snatching the weapon from the younger man’s hand. The Texan jerked it out of his reach, his bruised face hardening with fury as the lamp swinging in the mob boss’ hand cast dizzying shadows on the walls.

“Don’t even think about it,” Ashton growled, his hazel eyes glittering with savage joy as his sore lip curled back from his teeth. “Put the lamp down too. Hands on your head.” His hands had stopped shaking now and the gun was steady in his hand as he kept it trained unwaveringly on Liam, the satisfaction growing when the mob boss silently did as he was instructed.

“You broke your promise, Mr Payne,” the younger man said softly, gritting his teeth as he remembered the last time the pair of them had been in this room, when Liam had kicked him bloody and lied to his face. “Now everyone’s going to know what you did to Sophia.”

“You did this,” Liam hissed when a rapid burst of gunfire sounded from overhead, sending dust drifting down from the ceiling. Ashton smiled, his bottom lip splitting at the stretch as a bead of blood welled up, catching the older man’s shark eyes as the droplet rolled down his chin.

“And Harry didn’t warn you?” the Texan asked, his eyes glinting with satisfaction at the fury growing in the mob boss’ expression. “Guess he wasn’t your man after all, Mr Payne.” He tilted his head to the side curiously, taking in the rage burning in Liam’s eyes as he fixed Ashton with a death stare.

“The Vultures will be along any minute too,” the younger man said brightly, although his gaze remained steely. He stepped to the side so that he could kick the mob boss’ gun far out of reach before he picked the lamp up, his eyes remaining locked on the older man’s face the whole time.

“You weren’t trying to escape, were you, Mr Payne?” Ashton asked coldly, his gaze flickering down to the ring of keys on the mob boss’ belt before he returned his glare to Liam’s face. “Abandoning your Hornets to the Bureau?”

The older man’s hands curled into fists and the Texan thought about how they’d felt beating him for a moment; remembered the agony radiating through his body as the numbness finally dragged him down into unconsciousness. His expression became colder still beneath the bruises, his eyes icy.

“Now you’re going to do something for me, before I blow your brains out,” he said softly and, although he was lying, he knew Liam couldn’t tell by the growing fear in his dark eyes. “You’re going to take that key off your belt and hold it where I can see it, and then you’re going to take me to the cell where you’re keeping Niall and Michael. You’re going to let them out without hurting anyone and then you’re going to lead us safely to the secret exit.”

Ashton was breathing harder now, his hope warring with the anxiety in his chest at the prospect of trusting Liam to keep his word. He knew the older man was scared and desperate though, and he only hoped that fear would be enough of an incentive to make him trustworthy.

“If you do all that without alerting any of the Hornets or the Bureau to the fact that we’re down here - and you don’t try to disarm me again - I won’t kill you,” Ashton said, his bleeding lips curling into a sneer at the sudden hope flaring to life in the older man’s gaze. “You might even get out of Chicago if you’re clever. I’ll give you twelve hours before I report the fact that you’re a murderer to the police. You could escape from Chicago in that time.”

“Why would you want to do that for me?” Liam asked suspiciously, his hands trembling as he reached for the ring of keys on his belt. He carefully removed one and relaxed fractionally when the Texan gave him a brief nod, cradling it loosely in his shaking hand.

“I’m doing this to save my friends, Mr Payne,” Ashton snapped. “You mean nothing to me at all.”

“Then we’re both in agreement, aren’t we?” Liam asked coldly although he cringed a little when the younger man shot him a knowing look down the barrel of the gun.

“You expect me to believe I mean nothing to you after all that time and effort you spent trying to tear me apart?” Ashton asked softly, his hazel eyes glinting. “I think we both know that’s not true, Mr Payne.”

The atmosphere became strained as they stared at each other in silence but the tension shattered when a bullet slammed into the door, serving as a jarring reminder of just how much danger they were in.

“Do we have a deal?” the Texan asked sharply, his eyes glittering when Liam nodded silently, his jaw squared with anger. “Yeah? Then move!”

He jabbed the mob boss in the back none too gently with the revolver when he took too long to open the hidden door and Liam’s expression was nothing short of livid as he stalked down into the musty darkness, although the fear in his eyes never once faded. Ashton had never seen the mob boss look so frightened before and he made sure to keep a safe distance between them as he followed the older man through the tunnels, wary that Liam might try something else reckless in his desperation.

For a moment, the only sounds were their soft breaths and the crunch of grit beneath their shoes as they passed over the rough stone floor. The quiet was quickly broken by another barrage of gunfire though and it sent the Texan’s heart speeding up in his chest as he processed the fact that the bullets being fired sounded so much closer now.

“Go faster,” Ashton snapped, his eyes flickering back the way they’d come for just long enough that he had to hurry to close the distance between them. The key must have been biting painfully into Liam’s hand from how tightly he was gripping it and the Texan felt bad for a moment, right up until he remembered the mess he’d made of his own palms after that awful occasion in the mob boss’ office.

He glared at the older man’s retreating back as Liam led him through the darkness and, beneath his resentment and anger, the rational part of Ashton was glad that things were working out this way; that he’d managed to capture the mob boss by himself and that he’d had the foresight to lie to Gordon about the secret exit because he was sure that the agents rushing around in the tunnels would only have complicated things.

Unfortunately, he was fairly certain they would be curious about what was hidden behind the locked door leading down to the storage room and he knew it would be broken down eventually, whether by the Bureau or the Vultures… and besides, he wasn’t totally convinced that either party would uphold their side of the bargain after the tensions of the war so this certainly wasn’t the safest place to be: hidden down in the darkness with one of the most hated men in Chicago, looking very much as though he was trying to help the mob boss escape.

The realisation had barely occurred to him when he heard another succession of shots, closer than ever now.

He needed to move fast.

“We’re almost there,” Liam said gruffly, clearly able to feel the younger man’s anxiety crackling in the air between them. “They’re just round this next bend.”

Although the words sent relief searing through the Texan, he didn’t let his guard down. A tiny inkling feeling kept him from relaxing – just on the off chance that the mob boss was lying in an attempt to make him easier to overpower – and he squared his jaw as he tightened his grip on the gun.

Liam kept his word though – clearly his selfish survival instincts were higher than the younger man had realised – and Ashton was glad of that as he followed the older man down the last stretch of tunnel towards the cells. A soft murmuring sound quickly cut off when the lamplight illuminated the passage and the Texan’s heart clenched in his chest when he came to a stop outside the closest barred wooden door.

He could dimly make out his two closest friends clutching at each other in the corner of the tiny room, their pale cheeks streaked with dirt and blood, their expressions saturated with nothing but fear and exhaustion.

“It’s Ash,” he told them softly, his tone reassuring but undeniably sad as he realised that there was no way they’d be able to see him in the lamplight now, especially after their days of enforced darkness. There was a moment of silence before Michael let out a soft sob and Niall held the doctor tighter, murmuring a soft: “I told you he’d come” that made the Texan’s eyes prickle with tears.

“Unlock the door, Mr Payne,” Ashton said firmly. “Then stand back against the wall. Hands on your head.”

He flicked the gun impatiently, his sore lips pressed together with poorly-disguised unease as he watched the mob boss approach the door his family were locked behind. It seemed to take an age for the key to turn in the lock, the creak deafening as the door swung open. Liam moved away as he'd been directed and the Texan finally relaxed when the older man laced his fingers behind his head, the picture of obedience.

“Ni? Mikey?” Ashton’s voice was fainter now, his hands shaking as he moved into the doorway. “It's safe. You can come out now.”

They didn’t move immediately and he felt a sinking feeling in his chest as he peered into the darkness, still keeping his revolver trained on Liam. He was afraid his loved ones would be too weak after being locked up in here for so many days, clearly injured and most likely half-starved too, and he felt a fresh burn of anger as he realised just how much damage Liam had caused his loved ones.

Judging by the aches the Texan could still feel, he doubted he’d healed enough to carry one of them, let alone both but… damnit, he’d try. Nothing would stop him from rescuing them now. Nothing.

Slowly, though, the pair left the cell. They moved stiffly, their hands resting on the damp walls as they tried to remain steady after so long locked away in the darkness, cringing when the soft lamplight burnt their eyes. Ashton shot a glare at Liam over his shoulder when he finally got a proper look at his loved ones.

They were both several shades paler than usual, their complexions ashen as they staggered out into the passage. Their clothes were ragged and dirty, and they were shivering from the cold temperatures down in the tunnels. Niall’s nails had been bitten down to the quick – a sure sign that he’d been trying to hide his anxiety – and Michael’s lovely green eyes were swollen from crying. There were tear tracks cutting through the dirt and blood on both of their cheeks, and Ashton felt his heart break in his chest as he processed this… but they were safe now, thank god.

He’d never let anything like this happen to them ever again.

He winced as he took in the impressive array of bruising mottling the Irishman’s face and he felt the anxiety flare to life when he noticed the dried blood caked in the doctor’s hair, his heart aching as he realised Harry had been telling the truth about Biersack cracking Michael over the head with his gun.

“Get behind me,” the Texan choked out past the lump rising in his throat. He didn’t want them standing so close to Liam now, when the mob boss’ actions had inflicted this suffering on them in the first place. His loved ones would be more vulnerable at the moment – their reactions slower as their eyes struggled to adjust and their muscles ached – and he badly needed to get them somewhere safe.

They needed Ashton to take care of them.

The sound of gunshots was fainter now but it was still audible, and Niall looked jittery with nerves as he and Michael limped closer, their arms still wrapped around each other like they’d grown closer down in the cell. Liam’s rage was a tangible thing as they passed him, licking at them like flame as he stood seething against the damp wall, largely ignored.

“Hey, kid,” the Irishman murmured when they’d come to a stop behind Ashton. Michael’s trembling palm settled lightly on the younger man’s hip and the Texan visibly relaxed as he aimed the revolver at Liam, his hand no longer shaking.

“Is that my gun?” Niall blurted out suddenly, his blue eyes wide with surprise because his best friend had certainly made no secret about his distaste for such weapons over the years. Ashton’s lips twitched weakly.

“I was just borrowing it,” he said evenly. “You can have it back now though, Ni. I don’t want it.”

Liam’s eyes darkened further as he watched the exchange, his nostrils flaring with anger when the Irishman accepted the weapon eagerly. Niall immediately pointed the gun at the older man with nothing short of glee although his soft eyes iced over when he adjusted his two-handed grip, checking that the safety was off before he levelled the revolver at the mob boss’ forehead.

“You promised!” Liam spat, his face flushing with rage and panic. Ashton simply shrugged, his arm winding comfortingly around Michael’s waist as the exhausted doctor leant heavily against him. The Texan pressed a gentle kiss to his lover’s cheek, relishing both the contented sigh that escaped Michael and the loathing saturating the mob boss’ face as he watched them together.

“Sure I did,” Ashton agreed calmly as his hazel eyes flickered to the Irishman with something like admiration. “But Niall promised nothing of the sort... and you’ve made him really, really angry, Mr Payne.”

“He’s not wrong,” Niall said mildly but his tone quickly became colder as he took a step closer, keeping the two younger men sheltered safely behind him. “I know what you did to Ashton, you bastard.” He sounded so angry and upset that the Texan shrank back in the doctor’s arms, his face paling as he realised that Michael must have told his best friend the truth. “He’s my best friend – the person I care about most in the world – and you fucking hurt him.”

“Oh?” Liam asked nastily, his eyes glittering in the lamplight. “Is the little slut sucking you off too, Horan?”

The Irishman’s bruised face rippled with anger as Ashton flinched, the lamp slipping through his limp fingers to land on the sandy floor as the shame crashed over him like a tidal wave, making his sore muscles tense. Michael’s palm came to rest gently on his chest, his lips brushing a chaste kiss over the younger man’s cheek as he soothed him with his presence.

“Don’t you dare talk about Ashton like that,” Niall snapped as he took a threatening step closer. He often smiled when he was angry – it was one of his quirks that the Texan had easily learnt to pick up on during their years of living together – but his teeth were bared now and he’d never seemed quite this livid before and, quite honestly, Ashton wasn’t sure why Liam wasn’t running in the other direction in the face of the Irishman’s impressive rage.

“I should’ve known Irwin would come crying to you,” the mob boss murmured, his shark eyes locked on the Texan where he was being held safely in Michael’s arms. “Bet he didn’t tell you the truth though, did he?” Liam continued as his voice dropped lower, his tone taunting. “He was just a dirty little slut who was begging for it.”

Niall pulled the trigger.

The sudden unexpected blast was deafening in the confined space and Ashton couldn’t hear past the ringing in his ears as the disbelief bled through him. He could feel the shock draining the blood from his face as he gazed down at what remained of Liam Payne and he thought absently of the end of Oliver Twist for a moment, when Bill Sikes had dragged the orphan onto the rooftop as a hostage and had hanged himself while trying to escape.

“Prick,” Niall muttered, kicking one of the mob boss’ polished shoes for good measure. His blue eyes were fiery as he glared down at the body but the weight he’d been carrying for so long seemed to shift off his shoulders as the reality of what he’d done sank in because… god, Liam was gone. He couldn’t hurt them anymore.

“You killed him,” Michael said weakly, his voice unusually high as his hands began to shake. His tone wasn’t reproving though and, the longer the Texan looked at him, the more he realised that the doctor seemed satisfied instead, like this was all he'd been hoping for.

For a moment, Ashton wondered if maybe Michael had been suspicious that the mob boss had been involved in Jack's death after all… or maybe he was just tired of being scared all the time.

Maybe this felt like freedom to him too.

“He deserved it,” Niall said, breathing hard as he turned to face them, his eyes too bright with tears in his bone-white face. The blast of the gunshot was fading now but the Texan’s ears were still ringing faintly and his cheeks were damp although he couldn’t recall when he’d started crying. The Irishman was watching him with something like vulnerability now, his wobbling bottom lip dragged between his teeth as he stowed the revolver shakily in his jacket.

“He did deserve it, Ni,” Ashton murmured, opening his arms and letting out a huff of watery laughter when the blond man barrelled into him. The force of his affection hurt but the Texan had never cared about anything less as he cuddled Niall back, his tear-streaked face tucked into the comforting smell of his best friend’s neck as they held each other tightly.

Ashton reached out behind him instinctively, one arm wrapping around the doctor's waist so that he could be drawn into their hug too. Michael fisted the back of the younger man’s jacket shakily, anchoring them together as he pressed closer into the Texan’s warmth with a soft sob. Niall’s trembling hand rose to settle on the doctor’s shoulder and Ashton was so relieved that the pair finally seemed to have accepted each other that he couldn’t have kept his tears in if he’d tried.

“I love you two,” Ashton whispered as he held them both tighter, like that would keep them from falling apart. “So, so much.”

It was only now that he had them both back safe in his arms that he realised just how much he would have lost and he vowed then that he was never going to be without them again; not for anything in the world.

The gunshots sounded closer now and he stiffened when the distant sound of raised voices could be heard. There was no way of identifying whether they were friendly or not and the Texan bit his lip as he shot the two men in his arms one last loving glance, remembering every detail of this moment in case it was the last embrace they shared.

“It’s time to leave,” he said softly, taking an unwilling step back as he knelt briefly to pick the lamp up. “Keep quiet now, okay? Just follow me. I’ll show you the way out.”

They stuck close behind him as Ashton led the way back through the tunnels, his anxiety flickering to life every time he heard a gunshot or a shout over the scratching sound of the rats. Navigating the way to the secret exit was pitifully easy now that he had the lamp and, as the stairs leading up to the trapdoor finally came into sight, the Texan had never felt less scared of the darkness surrounding them when he had his loved ones with him, safe by his side where they belonged.

Climbing back out into the sunlight felt like heaven after the suffocating gloom of the tunnels and bolting the trapdoor behind them was undeniably satisfying. The sky was a bright clear blue above them and Ashton loved watching the joy unfurl on their faces when the sunlight rendered the lamp unnecessary. He wished there was time for them to linger; to gather their bearings and enjoy the fresh air but it wasn’t safe for them to stay here now and he felt guilty at the realisation of just how dangerous this situation was, especially when he was the one who had planned it in the first place.

“We need to keep going,” he urged them gently, his tone apologetic. “It’s not safe yet.”

The understanding grew on their pale faces as the sounds of shouting and gunfire resonated from the front of the Speakeasy, and Ashton’s shoulders slumped as he realised that they still had a long way to go before they’d be safe again.

“C’mon then,” Michael murmured, reaching to lace their fingers firmly as Niall patted the Texan gently on the shoulder. “We’ll follow you, sweetheart. We trust you.”

The chaos had already spilled out onto the street by the time the younger man led them to the mouth of the alleyway. The three of them lingered there in the shadows, clinging to each other as they watched the Hornets clashing with their adversaries. The sheer number of agents was awe-inspiring and Ashton stared at them in stunned silence as they worked methodically, either forcing the mobsters into their squad cars or back into the Speakeasy for a final showdown if they were too stubborn to surrender.

The Texan found it incredibly cathartic to watch the Hornets who had treated him so badly being arrested but the surge of bitter satisfaction he felt upon seeing Frank being bundled roughly into the back of one of the cars was strong enough to take his breath away. Beside him, Niall looked just as smug.

The Vultures were here too, already pouring into the open doors of the Speakeasy for the weaponry and alcohol, and Ashton had barely become aware of the fact when Collins himself passed their hiding place. He wore a smirk and his usual shadowy black clothing but there was nothing stealthy about his movements. He marched up to the front door without a care for the attention he was gaining, the greed in his eyes blinding him to the dangers, and it was almost impressive, right up until a stray bullet slammed into his chest.

“Fuck,” Ashton breathed, his hazel eyes widening in horror because… god, what if the Vultures abandoned the raid now that their mob boss was dead? What if the surviving Hornets escaped, and Ashton and his loved ones had to live out the rest of their days hiding from enemies who had once been old friends?

The panic flared to life in his chest before Collins' body even hit the ground but it soothed instantly as a familiar figure appeared, crouching fluidly to lift the dead man’s gun before he fixed the horrified Vultures surrounding him with a stern look.

“Mr Collins is dead,” Calum said quietly, not having to raise his voice to be heard. “You take your orders from me now.” His tone left no room for argument and there was a tiny flicker of uncertainty on his tanned face that promptly faded as the Vultures around him murmured: “Yes, sir”.

“Right,” Calum said, his eyes flashing as he briefly held the gaze of each Vulture surrounding him. “Back to work then, boys.”

They continued to flood into the Speakeasy, some looking even more determined than they had done before, and the Texan saw in that moment that he had always been wrong about the older man. Calum should never once have been discounted as simply a barman. He was a mob boss through and through.

Ashton relaxed as he watched his friend staring down dispassionately at Collins’ corpse. Clearly, there was no love lost between the pair and, as the thought crossed his mind, Calum looked up suddenly – almost as though he’d heard someone say his name – and his chocolate brown eyes softened when he spotted the Texan watching him from the alleyway with his family behind him.

The relief on the newly-promoted mob boss’ face was evident as he tilted his head to one side inquisitively, clearly asking if the younger man was alright. When Ashton gave him a watery smile and nodded, Calum winked before he sauntered inside, ready to oversee the operation as the last of the Hornets were dragged struggling into the street.

“Was that –?” Niall faltered but the admiration in his tone was evident and the Texan smiled a little to hear it, so proud of his friend. He hoped the power wouldn’t go to Calum’s head the way it had corrupted Mitchy and Liam. He hoped Calum stayed good.

“I think we’ll be able to leave in a minute,” Ashton murmured as he peered out nervously onto the street. The road was clear, the fighting seemingly ended. The silence seemed deafening now that there were no gunshots and it didn’t feel real that their ordeal was finally over. He wasn’t sure it ever would.

The Texan was just trying to plan their safest exit route to avoid being regarded as enemies by the Bureau when Gordon happened to walk past, holstering his gun as a relieved sigh escaped him. He looked exhausted but satisfied and Ashton’s heart skipped at the sight of him as the relief overwhelmed him. He hadn’t wanted to risk leading his family out of the alley, especially when there were still so many agents about, but he hoped that the older man would be able to help him now.

“Gordon!” he called, wincing as his bottom lip beaded blood again. “Please wait!”

“Hello, Ashton,” the older man said in surprise, rolling his eyes in a long-suffering manner when one of his colleagues raised their revolver at the newcomers uncertainly. “Put your gun down, Deaton,” he said sharply. “This is Irwin and the Hornets who were granted immunity. It’s thanks to them that this raid was successful at all.”

Gordon turned back to the Texan, allowing a tired smile to grace his features as his dark eyes flickered over the two injured men standing on either side of the younger man.

“You got what you wanted then,” he said and it wasn’t a question. Ashton smiled in response.

“I did,” he said gratefully. “Thank you. I don’t underestimate your part in that.”

“No problem at all,” Gordon said easily but the concern in his eyes was undeniable as he took in how exhausted they all looked. “Now, I imagine you’d all quite like to get out of here; am I right?” His lips twitched into a smirk at the three vehement responses he received. “Well, let’s see if we can help you there, eh?”

Ashton took back every bitter thought he’d ever had about the agent standing before him now, a little chagrined as he realised just how far the older man’s kindness extended. He had been nice after all. Luke had been right, as usual.

Gordon led them out into the street, his expression severe enough that no other trigger-happy agents tried their luck at capturing them. They walked through the crowd of Bureau workers without being apprehended and, although some of the looks they received were less than friendly, the Texan had never cared about anything less in his life.

The broken pieces of his heart had clawed themselves back together by the time they reached the end of the road, and he felt himself heal when he reached to take Niall and Michael’s hands once they were out of sight of the Speakeasy. The Irishman gave his fingers a gentle squeeze and the doctor pressed a brief kiss to his knuckles.

Ashton knew in that moment that everything – every punch and kick and moment of agony – had been worth it after all now that his loved ones were safe… because they’d survived, thank god.

They were his family; his home; the best, most beautiful parts of him… and that was all there was to it.

Ashton would go through it all again in a heartbeat if it would keep Niall and Michael safe.

He was going to love them for the rest of his life.

They lay low for the rest of the afternoon, hiding in Newberry Library because it was the first familiar place the Texan thought of where he was sure no one would think to look for them. The old building overlooked the park where he’d met Gordon and played in the snow with Niall, and it still felt safe to Ashton, even when the rest of Chicago did not. He thought perhaps it always would.

They received a number of double takes when they walked through the entrance but the Texan visited the library just frequently enough that the staff seemed to realise he wasn't there to cause trouble, even if he had just limped inside with two blood-stained, exhausted companions.

They commandeered a table in the back corner of the room, tucked behind a shelf where they were out of sight of the main doors. The comfortingly sweet almost-vanilla smell of old books wrapped around them like a blanket and Ashton heaved a quiet sigh of relief as the two older men disappeared into the bathroom to clean up. He watched them leave fondly, his heart beating calmly in his chest as he set his fedora on the table with a quiet sigh, hoping that the peace he'd been promised was finally on its way.

The Irishman came back a short while later, looking a lot better for the quick wash he’d given himself in the sink. His eyes gleamed brighter and the bruising on his face wasn’t as bad as Ashton had initially feared; a lot of it had been dirt and dried blood from a shallow graze on his forehead. His blond hair and shirt collar were both a little damp, and the Texan smiled wryly when he realised that it looked quite a lot like the older man had simply dipped his head under the water.

“Hey, kid,” Niall said out of nowhere, a crooked grin curving his lips as he dropped down onto the bench opposite his best friend with a soft groan. “Our faces still match.” He glanced down at one of the books the younger man had stacked on the table, presumably so they could remain there under the guise of using the library for its intended purpose. “Everyone really is jealous of our good looks.”

“Well, they’d better get over themselves soon,” Ashton pouted, trying to keep his lips from twitching with amusement. “It hurts… plus, Calum said I look like salami.”

“You kind of do,” the Irishman agreed, his eyes crinkling fondly. “A cute salami though so it’s probably okay.” His teeth sank into his lip when his best friend shifted, taking in the way the Texan paled a little as his hand twitched towards where his ribs were clearly hurting him. “Did you run into a wall while we were gone, kid?” he asked softly, his expression sadder now.

“Try Liam instead,” Ashton muttered, wincing as a soft sigh escaped him. “He didn’t like being blackmailed.”

“He didn’t like anything,” Niall corrected bitterly as his eyes flickered to meet his best friend’s, still with a hint of his earlier vulnerability. “I’m not sorry he’s gone.”

The Texan reached to hold his hand comfortingly, their fingers entwining warmly over the polished wood.

“Me too, Ni,” he murmured, so tired and earnest, and wishing for a quiet life. “The world’s a better place without him in it.”

Tears welled in the Irishman’s eyes and he pawed through the books on the table almost frantically before he finally settled on The River's End by James Oliver Curwood, which seemed oddly fitting given the subject matter. Ashton’s hazel eyes were fond as he watched his best friend, quite certain that the blond man needed some space alone to work through everything that had happened to him.

“I’m going to check on Mike,” he said softly as he rose stiffly from the bench. “I’ll be back soon though, Ni. Then I’ll go out and get you both something to eat, okay? Just sit tight.”

“Okay,” the Irishman murmured, looking a little sheepish at how understandably emotional he was. “You… you won’t go far, will you?” he asked in a small voice, almost too soft to hear as his words trailed away shyly. The Texan dropped a brief kiss onto the older man’s soft blond hair as he rounded the table, his palm settling gently on his best friend’s shoulder.

“I won’t be far at all,” he said softly. “I promise, Ni. We’re not losing each other again.”

Niall looked less fretful after that and, as Ashton headed towards the bathroom, something softened in his chest when he glanced back in time to see his best friend curiously opening the book he’d snatched up. He hoped Niall would enjoy the story. He hoped he’d finally get the chance to be happy now.

The bathroom door creaked when it was pushed open and Michael stiffened where he was hunched over the sink, relaxing only when he caught the Texan’s concerned gaze in the mirror. The doctor had clearly been attempting to wash the grime from his hair with only minor success and Ashton’s heart ached a little when he saw the watered-down blood seeping a gristly pink into the collar of the older man’s shirt.

“You need some help, doc?” he asked softly, his lips twitching into a sad smile. “Must be pretty hard to see the back of your head like that.”

Michael rolled his eyes fondly, even as his cheeks heated at the tenderness on the younger man’s face.

“You have enough to be getting on with, sweetheart,” he said heavily. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Oh please,” Ashton murmured, his hazel eyes softening as he drifted closer. “I’ll always make time to worry about you, Mikey. I love you too much not to.”

The doctor smiled unconsciously when the Texan’s arms wrapped warmly around his waist, his bruised chin coming to rest on the older man’s shoulder so that they could see each other in the mirror. Ashton was still watching Michael with slight concern and the doctor sighed softly.

“Mother hen,” he said with no real heat in his voice. The younger man pressed a chaste kiss to his shoulder in response.

“Most people just call it ‘boyfriend’ actually,” he said mildly, holding Michael’s gaze when the doctor stared at him in shock, his cherry-red lips parting in surprise.

“… boyfriend?” he croaked, sounding slightly strangled. The Texan shrugged easily, cuddling the older man as tight as he dared in the relative privacy of the bathroom.

“If that’s what you want to call it,” Ashton said gently. “I’d like to though.”

“So would I,” Michael whispered as his emerald eyes welled with tears. “More than I can say.”

The older man twisted in his arms, his trembling hands rising to cradle Texan’s sore face as he leant in for a kiss. There was no one else in the bathroom – in fact, there was barely anyone in the library at all today – and, for just a moment, the younger man lost himself in it; in Michael’s fingers threading gently through his hair as he leant into the safety and comfort that the doctor’s soft frame provided.

It made warmth spread in Ashton’s stomach when he stretched up to deepen the kiss; not lust exactly but something much softer… a yearning almost, like the reality had just sank in that this man in his arms was someone he wanted to cherish and take care of for the rest of his life.

When they parted, both of them panting a little in the cool air, Ashton wasn’t sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry at the torrent of emotions rushing through him. He didn’t know why kissing Michael had exposed such a rawness in him except… well, maybe he did deep down.

He was mindful of the fact that he’d been more focused on Niall’s loss after the kidnapping and, although that had made him feel guilty and confused at first, he thought it made sense now. While losing the Irishman would have been nothing short of torture, at least it would have been a familiar pain because the Texan had already lost one father figure in his short life.

Losing the doctor would have been a different pain entirely and that was why the younger man had unconsciously kept himself from dwelling on it. The agony of no longer having Michael in his life would have been unimaginable. It would have destroyed him and maybe that was why the phantom pain was only beginning to sink in now, when the doctor was safe in his arms again; when the grief was nothing but a ghost.

All he was sure of was that he’d never been in love with anyone before – it had never even appealed to him – and his sudden, intense love for Michael burnt bright enough to keep his fears at bay. Ashton refused to even think about losing the doctor and the overwhelming love they shared for each other. He would never give that up.

Michael tilted the younger man’s head back gently, his clever green eyes gentler than they’d ever been as he took in how dazed and vulnerable the Texan seemed as he clung to him. He dropped a soft kiss onto Ashton’s sore lips, his pale face softening when the younger man’s arms came to wrap gently around his neck, keeping him close.

The material of the doctor’s collar was still damp and the Texan sighed softly when he felt it, pressing a lingering kiss to the older man’s shoulder before he unwillingly drew away.

“C’mon, Mikey,” he said quietly, his mouth swollen from kisses and punches. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

The sun was already beginning to set by the time Ashton returned to the library, weighed down with a paper bag of sandwiches and drinks he’d smuggled in under his jacket to help his friends get their strength back up.

Niall and Michael looked a lot more relaxed than they had when he’d left. They were sitting close together, the doctor’s head resting sleepily on the Irishman's shoulder as the blond man read to him. It was a familiar scene but Ashton had never seen the pair of them so relaxed around each other before and it made his heart melt a little as he approached quietly, unwilling to disturb them.

The shadows were already stretching across the floor, the lamps barely a match for them as the evening drew closer. The library would be shutting soon and he wasn’t sure where they’d be spending the night, since it definitely didn’t feel safe to go back home. He tried not to worry too much though because, even if their sleeping arrangements weren't ideal, at least they had each other. They’d get through whatever tonight threw at them the same way they got through everything else: together.

“Hey, Ash,” Niall said warmly when he noticed his best friend, his tired blue eyes crinkling when he smiled at him. “We missed you.”

“I missed you both too,” Ashton said honestly as he slipped back onto the bench he’d vacated an hour earlier. He withdrew the paper bag from his jacket, shushing Michael half-heartedly when the doctor rustled it loudly in his eager search for food although he couldn’t quite hide his amusement. “I got a cream cheese, a turkey, and a baked ham, so you two can fight over which sandwiches you want. I’ll eat whatever’s left.”

The doctor withdrew his hand from the bag gingerly, his cheeks heating a little.

“Ash should have the cream cheese,” he said with a shrug. “Less chewing. That way, it won’t hurt his jaw so much.”

Niall nodded seriously, even though he was sporting a similar amount of bruising. The Texan thought about quarrelling with them but, after a moment, he simply smiled instead. It felt so nice to have them looking out for him again. He didn’t care if they picked what sandwich filling he ate for the rest of his life.

It was quiet as they dug into their food, all of them glancing around furtively whenever one of the librarians happened to pass near their table. Ashton was fairly certain they’d spotted the bag when he’d walked in but they were kind enough not to say anything and he was grateful for that as he watched his family tearing into the sandwiches hungrily. The pair of them already looked much better and his relief was impossible to hide as the last of his tension finally melted away.

“I brought ginger ale too,” he said wryly when the doctor caught his eye. “Just in case you or Ni choke while you’re trying to inhale an entire slice of bread.” Niall scoffed in response although he rather ruined the effect by shoving a long strip of turkey into his mouth as though to prove his best friend's point. Michael just smiled sheepishly, not looking ashamed at all.

“Have you warmed up now, doc?” the Texan asked in a gentler voice, glancing over his shoulder hesitantly before he reached to stroke the doctor’s cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. The cold temperature of the tunnels had really taken its toll on Michael during his imprisonment and Ashton was so glad Niall had been there to look after him when he hadn’t been able to do it himself.

“I’m fine,” the doctor promised, pressing a brief kiss to the younger man’s palm before Ashton withdrew his hand reluctantly, not wanting any trouble. “Are you okay though?” Michael pressed, his eyes softening with worry when Niall looked up too, a faint frown creasing his brow. “You seem a little… tense.”

The Texan smiled faintly, giving a half-hearted shrug as he nibbled on a crust of bread to buy himself time. He knew he needed to talk to them both about the things he’d learnt during the course of his plan unfolding; knew he needed to reveal the secrets he’d kept to protect them but… god, did it have to be now?

The thought had no sooner crossed his mind than he had his answer though because of course it did. This would never get any easier. It was better to just bite the bullet and tell his loved ones the truth.

“There’s some things you don’t know,” the Texan began carefully. “And… and I need to tell you because you deserve the truth but… I think it’ll upset you both.” He shook his head miserably, his expression grim as he held their gazes to make sure they understood how serious he was. “Hurting either of you is the last thing I want.”

“Sometimes you have to hurt to heal,” Michael said quietly, his tone serious. Niall nodded in agreement.

“Just tell us, kid,” he added softly. “Once it’s all out in the open, maybe we can finally move on.”

Ashton took those words to heart.

He confirmed their suspicions about the trauma Liam had caused him first, aware that this would be the most difficult to put into words and not wanting to think about it for any longer than necessary. Niall hooked their ankles together when his voice shook and Michael’s hand gently covering his was enough to keep the panic under control.

When the Texan stumbled through his explanation of the awful truth about Liam’s part in Jack’s murder, he had to return the favour instead, slipping over on the bench so that he could wind his arm gently around the doctor’s waist. Michael’s tears soaked his shirt but Ashton had never cared about anything less as he dropped soft kisses onto the older man’s sandy hair, being mindful of the healing wound on the back of his head.

“He died loving you, Mikey,” the younger man murmured, too soft for Niall to hear where he was surreptitiously drying his eyes across the table from them. “So live loving him, yeah? He deserves that.”

Michael calmed a little, keeping his tear-streaked face tucked away into the comforting warmth of the younger man’s neck. Ashton stroked the doctor’s shoulder soothingly with his thumb, doing his best to keep him calm as he held the Irishman’s gentle gaze. The truth about Harry was poised on the tip of his tongue but it took the Texan a long time before he felt brave enough to reveal the Englishman’s betrayal and he hated himself the moment the words left his mouth.

Watching the light in Niall’s eyes go out was awful and the guilt Ashton could feel only worsened when his best friend tried to smile at him, even as his arms came to wrap protectively around himself. He seemed to be going through the same flood of emotions that the younger man had experienced the night before in the alley - the pain and the doubt, and the crushing ache at the deception of someone previously thought of as a close friend.

Michael nudged Ashton away gently, clearly intending for him to comfort the Irishman, and the Texan was so glad he didn’t have to choose between them when he moved to sit down hesitantly beside his best friend. Niall had buried his ashen face in his shaking hands by now, his jaw squared like he was gritting his teeth hard to keep himself in check.

“Ni,” the younger man murmured, trembling a little when he reached out to touch the Irishman’s tense shoulder. “I didn’t mean to make you sad, Ni. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not sad. I’m angry.” He still wouldn’t look up and it was making Ashton’s heart clench unpleasantly in his chest as he saw the red flush spreading down Niall’s neck which was a clear sign of just how upset he was. “Can’t believe I let that bastard in the fucking house. I sent you out with him, kid! I put you at risk!”

“Ni, none of this is your fault,” the Texan whispered, his bottom lip wobbling as the tears welled up in his eyes. “We thought Harry was our friend, Ni, so you’re allowed to be sad, okay? You don’t have to hide it.”

“I’m not sad, Ash!” Niall sounded faintly panicked now and Michael was watching him with so much sadness that Ashton wondered if the Irishman had lost control like this down in the tunnels, before the Texan had arrived to rescue them… and then he wondered if they’d ever feel ready to share what had happened to them at all. It hurt not knowing because, without being aware of what they’d been through, how could he help them heal?

“You’re crying, Ni,” Ashton said softly as one of his own tears escaped, rolling down his bruised cheek.

“No, I’m fucking not,” Niall argued weakly but his lip was quivering now and his breath was catching in his throat like he was trying to hold his sobs in, and it was nothing short of heartbreaking.

“Yes, you are,” the Texan murmured, his expression softening when the Irishman crumpled forwards slowly into his arms, too tired to fight anymore. Ashton held him close, rocking his best friend gently as Niall cried into his neck. His own eyes were stinging with fresh tears and they only became harder to hold back when he saw the doctor’s sadness as he watched them helplessly.

“At least we’ve got Ash back,” Michael said gently, looking heartened when the Irishman’s sob caught in his throat as he struggled to calm himself. “At least we’re not locked up down there anymore, Niall. At least we can see the stars again.”

The blond man reached across the table shakily for the doctor’s hand, his flushed face still tucked away beneath Ashton’s chin as he copied the Texan’s calming breaths. He got himself under control impressively quickly, especially considering how shaken up he still was after the events of the day, and the younger man’s pride and love threatened to consume him when Niall finally felt brave enough to meet his gaze.

The older man’s blue eyes were tinged with shame but they fluttered shut when Ashton pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, lingering there like he could convince the Irishman of how amazing he was if he only loved him hard enough.

“Still your kid, Ni,” the younger man murmured, his hazel eyes sparkling beneath tear-wet lashes. “Doesn’t matter how many times you cry.”

“I think the library’s closing,” Michael said suddenly, his tone a little anxious as he bit his lip nervously. “I don’t…”

“It’s okay, Mikey,” Ashton murmured. “I think I have an idea.” He gathered their things together quickly, tossing the paper bag away and returning the books to their shelves before he turned to face his loved ones. “You two missed the stars while you were down in the tunnels, yeah? Well, why don’t we go look at them together now?”

They walked out into the darkness side by side, Ashton keeping his family close as they crossed the empty street, heading for Washington Square Park. It was unusually quiet tonight - no poets or speakers interrupting the peace with their words - and the Texan was grateful for that as he settled down on the grass at the base of a tree, not particularly relishing the idea of sitting on another bench after so many hours in the library.

“At least it’s a warm night,” Ashton said wryly as his friends settled down on either side of him. “Y’know, we might actually have to sleep out here. I don’t know where’s safe… and it’ll only be for one night.”

“I don’t mind,” Niall said quietly, rolling onto his back with a soft sigh as he gazed up at the sky rolling endlessly above them. “After that cell, this is heaven.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” the doctor said as he settled down too, his cheek coming to rest on the Texan’s thigh. Ashton carded his fingers lightly through the older man’s sandy hair and Michael let out a quiet sigh, pressing a chaste kiss to the younger man’s leg as his pretty eyes fluttered shut sleepily. “I have everything I need right here.”

As the night sky darkened overhead, they spoke of happier things; of Louis and Luke’s blossoming relationship, and all of the possibilities open to them now that they were free. The hornet tattoos on their skin felt like nothing more than fading scars and Ashton felt the peace spreading through him as they huddled up together, desperate for the contact after being separated for so long.

They were all growing tired but the bags under Michael and Niall’s eyes looked like bruises, and the Texan knew they badly needed the rest, especially after all of the stress they’d been under.

“You two get some sleep first,” he insisted gently. “I’ll keep watch, okay? I’ll keep you both safe.”

He’d been expecting an argument but the ease with which they accepted his offer was evidence of how exhausted they must have been and Ashton felt something warm melting in his chest at how easily they trusted him. He loved them both so much it burnt his fear away.

He settled back more comfortably against the tree trunk as the moon shone in the sky overhead. The park was silent by the time the older men had passed out and the Texan held his satchel close as he watched over them fondly, relieved that it was such a mild night as they slept safely beside him. He hoped the warden wouldn’t be along to move them from the park. He hoped he’d be able to keep his best friends safe from now on.

Fortunately, luck was on their side that night and they were left in peace, able to lick their wounds and rest without being bothered.

When the morning sun finally began to rise, Ashton woke with his head cushioned in Michael’s lap and the Irishman’s jacket draped over him like a blanket, and there was a calmness inside that he hadn’t felt in a long time. The doctor smoothed his curls back gently and Niall shot him a crooked smile, and the overwhelming love the Texan felt for his best friends in that moment was all the proof he needed that they were the only family he needed.

Ashton knew he’d do anything for his loved ones, even if it meant walking to the end of the world for them.

After all, the Texan had been wandering his whole life and it didn’t look like he’d be stopping any time soon.

He didn’t really mind though because, with Michael and Niall beside him, he’d happily go anywhere.

When they finally left Chicago, Ashton’s heart was whole in his chest.

His fedora rested neatly on his curls and the peace he’d been promised surrounded him like a blanket as he walked along beneath the morning sun with his family. They were already outside the city limits and the road was empty enough that he took a thrill in walking along the cracked tarmac, his jacket tossed casually over his scarred shoulder as the day brightened around them, the world still just waking up.

They passed a water bottle between them as they walked, sharing a breakfast of lemon cakes that they’d purchased from the Texan’s favourite bakery on their way out of the city for the last time. Ashton finished the last cake with a contented sigh as he focused on the empty road again, taking in the heat haze already beginning to roll across the horizon. It looked to be a hot day and he was glad of that for a moment because it reminded him of growing up.

The ache in the Texan faded with every step they took from the Speakeasy; with every comforting brush of the Irishman’s arm against his; with every warm squeeze of Michael’s fingers entwined with his own.

God, Ashton was so glad he’d got them back. The restless energy that twisted him up from the inside out faded to nothing when he had his loved ones to focus on and he was so thankful for them. They were his rock; his anchor… the two men he loved most in the world.

He tilted his fedora so that the rim shaded his face from the sun but, when Niall shot him a mischievous smile and Michael let out a relaxed sigh from beside him, the Texan’s hazel eyes welled with tears as everything fell into place.

Their shiny shoes were kicking up dust and the sun was warming them through their shirts, and Ashton hesitated for a moment before he settled his fedora on the Irishman’s tousled blond hair.

“For safekeeping,” the younger man said teasingly, his sore lips curving into an infectious grin when he saw the happiness on Niall’s face. Michael smiled fondly as he watched the exchange, his expression softening when he leant to press a kiss to his boyfriend’s shoulder. The doctor was bruised but still so beautiful that, when Ashton’s gaze flickered to his face, he found himself speechless for a moment, simply watching the older man in awe until Michael blushed and turned away, looking secretly pleased with himself.

The Texan could feel his luck returning as they left the city behind and he sensed it in his loved ones too; in the growing spring in their step and the smiles tugging at their lips.

“I think we’re gonna be just fine, kids,” Niall said lightly, speaking casually enough that it took a moment for the reality of what he’d said to sink in. Michael’s eyes welled with tears when he realised that the Irishman was counting him as his family too and Ashton smiled so wide that his face hurt as he reached for the Irishman’s hand too, tangling their fingers together securely.

“Y’know what, Ni?” he asked softly, his voice thick as a lump rose in his throat. “I think you might be right.”

Niall adjusted the fedora almost reverently and Ashton took the opportunity to elbow him in the ribs, so lightly that his best friend didn’t even flinch. He just nudged the younger man back instead, until they were both giggling and swiping playfully at each other, years younger than the weariness on their faces made them look.

“Children,” Michael said haughtily, trying to look dignified before he blushed suddenly and bit his lip. “Where are we actually going, by the way?” he asked awkwardly. “I never asked.”

Niall laughed delightedly, apparently viewing this as some enormous adventure if the grin on his face was any indication.

The sun was shining brighter overhead by now and the cracked, dusty ground beneath their feet was warm as their determination carried them onwards.

Between them, Ashton smiled.

“I think we should head for Texas,” he said, shrugging casually although his dimples creased his cheeks when they both shot him excited but nervous looks. “There’s a ranch with my name on it, after all. It seems a shame for that to go to waste.”

They settled into a contented silence as they walked, just appreciating how wonderful it was to be free after everything they’d been through. It was so beautiful to live without fear, with his best friends beside him, and Ashton was so glad he’d survived to spend this time with them now; with these people who had shaped his life more than anything, with the possible exception of his favourite book.

He thought about Oliver Twist for a moment as he wandered; felt the fondness saturating his face as he remembered every occasion where the story had made him feel when the world around had only wanted him numb.

The sky was a cornflower blue overhead, breathtaking in its beauty, and it reminded Ashton of his favourite quote of all because it fit their situation so perfectly now:

‘The sun - the bright sun, that brings back, not light alone, but new life, and hope, and freshness to man - burst upon the crowded city in clear and radiant glory. Through costly-coloured glass and paper-mended window, through cathedral dome and rotten crevice, it shed its equal ray.’

That was how Ashton felt now, with the men he loved so much beside him: like everything was finally going to be okay.

The script had been torn up and they finally had the chance to start over and make things right this time, and to chase the happiness they’d been denied for so long in their fight for survival.

The Texan knew, without a shadow of doubt in his mind, that this was the start of something great because it was time for them to live, not just exist. He knew this opportunity wouldn’t come around again and he wasn’t going to waste it.

Ashton was going to be happy.

Chapter Text

Ashton rose from sleep slowly to another beautiful Texan sunrise. The sky was streaked with lavender and pink through the gap in the curtains, and he smiled unconsciously when Michael snuggled closer to him under the blankets. Their skin was warm where they were wrapped around each other, their bare legs tangled together as the doctor’s arms came to wind gently around his boyfriend’s waist. Michael’s lips were pressed to the fading scar on Ashton’s shoulder and he ached pleasantly from the night before.

“Morning,” the older man mumbled, his voice gravelly with sleep as he cuddled closer. There were faint love-bites sucked into the pearly skin of his shoulders and his sandy hair was a tangled mess from where Ashton had knotted his fingers in it last night as he came apart in the doctor’s mouth. He shivered faintly when he remembered and Michael’s smile was knowing as he settled down gently over his boyfriend, their lips meeting in a lazy kiss that Ashton slowly deepened.

No matter how many years passed, it still felt strange to be intimate like this without the fear of repercussions; to feel comfortable in his childhood bedroom, when before it had always been a place he’d gone to hide when he was anxious or upset. Things were different now though and undeniably better, and that had been the case since the three of them had moved into the ranch together two years before.

They’d stripped the place completely when they first arrived and everything containing bad memories had been given to people who needed it which felt good, like hitting two birds with one stone almost. There was nothing to make Ashton flinch when he entered a room anymore; nothing to remind him jarringly of Fletcher, and the neglect and pain he’d experienced here as a child.

Somehow, against all the odds, the ranch had become a place of happiness.

Ashton woke up every morning safe in Michael’s arms and ate breakfast with Niall who had learnt to make his own lemon cakes, and they tended the land and worked odd jobs in the surrounding villages, and no one remembered the famous gambler who had fled town or the notorious gangster who had lived there before them.

The locals just knew that there were three close friends living together up on the ranch – Ash and Mike and Ni – and that they were happy and quiet, always keeping to themselves as they thrived in their little corner of Texas. They were known to be friendly and polite, willing to lend a hand if anyone needed it, and the neighbours were respectful and welcoming to them, even though Ashton was sure that there must have been idle gossip about those enigmatic strangers from the big city, cloaked in mystery as they quietly went about their new lives.

A particular area of speculation was the sheer quantity of mail they received from their friends; the monthly letters postmarked Chicago or the postcards from exciting faraway places.

The only thing everyone seemed to agree on about the men up on the ranch was that they must have led very colourful lives before they’d arrived in Texas and, should Ashton or his family ever have overhead this theory, they would have been inclined to agree… but life was quiet and peaceful now, and they lived at a different pace entirely, and that second chance would always mean the world to the Texan.

“You look so beautiful when you’re happy, sweetheart,” Michael murmured, his words filtering through the pleasant haze his boyfriend was sinking into as the comfort he could feel made him drowsy. Ashton smiled sleepily, his lips curving as a blush heated his cheeks.

“You make me happy, doc,” he said softly, his eyes glittering when he stretched for another kiss. “You.”

The sun was rising higher now, its warm rays shining into the room where they settled on the desk, painting the framed picture of Jack golden as Michael’s first love gazed out at them fondly. His watch was ticking once more, the chain hanging from a small hook in the wall as the tiny hands proudly displayed the time. It had taken Ashton weeks of fiddling before he’d been able to put the pieces back together again but seeing the gratitude in Michael’s eyes when the watch had been returned to him and knowing he’d been the cause of it made all the effort worthwhile.

A light knock on the door interrupted their kissing and Ashton pulled away with a weak grumble, his lips curving into a smirk when he dragged the blankets a little higher so that his best friend wouldn’t see anything untoward. Michael pressed his smile to the back of his boyfriend’s neck, his green eyes glittering when Niall opened the door and poked his head round, keeping his eyes covered.

“Are you two decent this time?” he asked awkwardly, only half teasing. The doctor snorted in response as Ashton rolled his eyes fondly.

“It’s safe to look, Ni,” he said wryly as a note of sarcasm entered his voice. “You haven’t stumbled upon any passionate love-making this time, I promise... although seriously, how you didn’t hear it last time is beyond me.”

The Irishman cringed a little but his amusement was impossible to hide as he bounded into the room with all the energy of an excited puppy, cheerfully brandishing a handful of mail at them.

“We’ve got news from the boys again!” he said, wandering in wearing nothing but his slacks as he dropped the postcard and letter onto the Texan’s bare chest. Niall slumped down unceremoniously onto the blankets, accidentally elbowing the doctor in the ribs if the huff of air he let out was any indication. Laughing weakly at their antics, Ashton picked up the postcard with a contented hum and angled it so that his loved ones could read at the same time as him.

The message was from Luke and Louis who were currently in Paris by the look of things, and the Texan felt a soft smile spreading over his face as he read about what a wonderful time they were having travelling around Europe. He liked hearing that his friends were so happy but the best part of the postcard was definitely the last line, where Louis had tacked on that they would definitely be coming to visit them again soon and Luke had corrected his partner in his flowery script: “only if that’s okay with you obviously”. Louis was always more pig-headed than his boyfriend and Ashton was glad to see that this hadn’t faded now, no matter how much time passed with Luke’s calming influence.

He liked that the two men sparked so well off each other, always laughing and trading flirty teasing remarks; liked that it was detectable even now when they were thousands of miles away, nothing more tangible than ink on paper.

“So we'll have some house guests fairly soon then,” Niall said, sounding undeniably happy. “That’s something to look forward to.”

“It was a lot of fun last time,” Michael agreed fondly. He’d basically tried to adopt Luke about ten minutes after meeting him, completely adoring how kind and innocent the blond man seemed, even with Louis for a boyfriend. He’d especially liked that Luke was a pacifist and, when the lawyer had offered to sew a patch onto Michael's jacket for him, the doctor had become the founding member of the Luke Hemmings Defence Squad.

Ashton might have been jealous if Michael’s admiration for Luke and Louis’ relationship hadn’t been so obvious. Something about the blond man trying to make an “honest man” out of the ex-Hornet appealed to the doctor and the Texan had enjoyed watching Michael get over-excited whenever the pair had done anything particularly cute together; it had been possibly a little too endearing and Ashton's face had ached from smiling so much.

“Time for Calum’s letter,” Michael said, a little sourly. He was pouting a bit – where Calum was concerned, he always did – but the Texan made sure to draw the doctor into a cuddle as he unfolded the paper and that seemed to go some small way to making the older man feel better, even if Calum had began his letter by calling Ashton ‘pretty boy’ like the little shit he was. In all honesty though, the Texan wasn’t upset about it because it usually just made Michael even more determined to prove that his boyfriend was his, which was always Ashton’s pleasure.

“Let’s see what Cal has to say,” Niall said eagerly. “He’s always up to something exciting.”

The Texan’s hazel eyes widened as he read Calum’s message and an unconscious smile curved his lips as he scanned the words.

“Well damn,” the Irishman said softly, presumably as he skimmed ahead. “Cal’s been busy.”

Ashton couldn’t have put it better himself.

In just under two years, the Vultures had taken over Chicago completely, and were the only gang of their strength and notoriety operating in the city. Under Calum, the Vultures had prospered like never before and it was a relief to hear that the mob boss was enjoying life so much, especially now he had such a successful (if corrupt) partnership with the Bureau to assist him too.

It seemed that life for Calum was looking up and Ashton’s heart warmed when he read the next paragraph, his dimples creasing his cheeks when his friend explained that he had fallen in love with a woman named Laura. That alone was enough to surprise Ashton – although he couldn’t deny that he wasn’t really shocked since the older man had never favoured a certain gender – but he didn’t realise the significance of the name until he read the next lines where Calum had written: “Laura says she knows you too, Ash – something about living near your Michael? What a small world we live in, pretty boy. I hope maybe we can both come to visit you soon.”

The words filled Ashton with happiness but he suppressed it as he gauged the doctor’s reaction, appearing pleasantly surprised when he saw the soft twinkling of Michael’s pretty eyes.

“Laura was my neighbour back in Chicago,” he said softly, his gaze flickering to the Texan fondly as he remembered his boyfriend telling him about how helpful she’d had been the night he and Niall were kidnapped. “It would be nice to see her again now, especially after all this time.”

“Even if that means meeting Cal too?” Ashton asked hesitantly as Niall winced good-naturedly from beside them, already reaching to rescue the letter and postcard so that they could be kept safely with the rest of their correspondence from their friends.

“I guess I could live with that,” Michael said, clearly trying not to smile as he pressed a possessive kiss to his boyfriend’s shoulder, lingering just long enough that the Texan shivered. “So long as he knows you’re mine, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Ashton echoed faintly, his cheeks flushed. Niall rolled his eyes fondly as he clambered off the bed, straightening the blankets with a soft look on his face as he eyed the two of them warmly.

“We can sit together to write replies later,” the Irishman decided as he gathered the mail together neatly in his hands. “Don’t be too long now, kids,” he added lightly. “If you make it out of bed in the next hour, I might be persuaded to make you breakfast.”

“Lemon cakes?” the Texan asked hopefully, his dimples returning in full force when Niall pretended to consider that for a moment before grinning at him.

“Fine,” the blond man said teasingly. “But only if you promise to make that icing again. I love that.”

“Deal,” Ashton agreed and he was still smiling when Niall left the room, chuckling to himself as he looked down fondly at the postcard with a curious look on his face. Maybe he wanted to visit Paris too. Maybe he even wanted a trip back to Ireland. The Texan would have to ask him but… maybe not right now… not when Michael’s lips were trailing so teasingly over his skin.

“Mikey,” he breathed, too weak to be a whimper although the lust in his eyes was clear. “What’re you doing?”

The doctor drew back to smile at him for a moment, his emerald eyes glittering in the sunlight, his cherry-red lips just begging to be kissed.

“I’m loving you,” Michael said with a shrug, like that was all there was to it. “Just loving you.”

He ducked his head again then, kissing the Texan’s flushed cheek, the sensitive skin of his throat, the toned muscles of his chest; lingering until all the younger man could think of was his boyfriend’s mouth as his eyes fluttered shut with pleasure and contentment.

Outside, the sun rose higher in the sky and the silence of the ranch was broken only by Niall’s gentle humming as he baked, along with Ashton’s soft sighs as the doctor kissed slowly down his stomach. His shaking fingers curled loosely through the older man’s sandy hair and Michael pressed his smile into his boyfriend’s skin like his happiness was shining too brightly to contain.

This – right here – was the fresh start Ashton had always been searching for, right back in the place where it had all began.

The three of them were so happy now; content and safe, and basking in their love. It lit the ranch up; replaced all of the painful memories with beauty and laughter. Living here with his family was the most wonderful thing the Texan had ever experienced and he couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with them because he’d never felt so blissfully content before.

He would never get enough of this unbelievable happiness and, although it sometimes filled him so brightly that he thought he might burst, it was the best feeling in the world.

For a moment, it reminded him inexplicably of the Oliver Twist quote Fletcher had read to him while he was growing up; reminded him that the world did have the potential to be beautiful, so long as he never stopped looking for the light; reminded him that this was just one more way the book had changed his life forever.

‘Such is the influence which the condition of our own thoughts, exercises, even over the appearance of external objects. Men who look on nature, and their fellow-men, and cry that all is dark and gloomy, are in the right; but the sombre colours are reflections from their own jaundiced eyes and hearts. The real hues are delicate, and need a clearer vision.’

Ashton felt the truth of that running deeper than he ever had now.

He supposed in some roundabout way that he had his father to thank for this wonderful happiness… because, although his life might have taken a terrible turn that had almost destroyed him, he was finally healing again. By following Fletcher’s dangerous path, the Texan had found a family he treasured more than anything and he knew they’d love each other for the rest of their lives.

His world shone golden again and the energy in his bones had finally calmed.

Ashton felt peace.