#hsblacklist

[softxharry]

Blacklist (nine)

Harry Styles, one of the FBI’s most wanted criminals turns himself in– and all he wants to do is speak with one rookie agent.  

It’s her job to figure him out and it’s his to protect her from her past, but all secrets have to be told eventually.

AN// You can keep up with this story here via the tag HSBlacklist or on Wattpad at brutallybeautiful !

Grace

In seconds, my nightmare resumes.

Kirby gives me an ominous smile and returns to his position behind me. I feel something sharp poke into my shoulder, then my entire body is on fire. And I'm screaming.

"There's a nerve cluster just below the shoulder," he said. "Immense pain."

His voice is deep and husky and way to close to my ear for comfort. I was winded and struggling to take a deep breath through the sobs racking my body, screaming so loud that somebody has to hear me.

I feel defeated again. And in this moment, I'm convinced that I'm going to die. Convinced that the pain writhing through me right now would be the worst of it all. Convinced that the only people who will miss me are Harry and Cooper, and even then it's not going to be by much.

The thought makes me sob harder. I've lived 24 years and have nothing to show but a shitty apartment with a creepy neighbor across the hall and neighbors downstairs who call the cops on me for no good reason. That's what I have to my name. No friends, no partner, not a fucking soul to stand up at my funeral and vouch for me.

No eulogy, no sobs at my funeral, no remembrance, no flowers on my grave. Nothing.

And there's no way anybody knows where I am, not even Harry who knows everything.

Kirby walks around so he faces me. He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear and frowns, sending shivers down my body.

"I am so sorry for this," he sighs. Kirby turns around and begins pouring more liquids into the tub in front of me. I stare at it blankly, watching as my life disappears with every liquid he pours into the tub.

"What are you doing?"

Kirby stops again to look up at me. "I am drawing you a bath," He chuckles quietly. "An FBI agent, gone rouge, left the country, unable to be located."

I can't sob any harder. I wish that I was away from here, I wish I had gone into nursing or journalism or law school for fucks sake. Why here, why me?

I'm not religious. Hell,  I haven't been to church or prayed to God since my freshman year of high school. However, right now I was praying to God. Praying to God to have mercy on my miserable life.

I pass out from the pain before I can say Amen.

---------

Short little update for you guys!! I've been so surprised by the amount of love this story is getting. I'm thinking about changing the cover, thoughts??

[softxharry]

Blacklist (eight)

Harry Styles, one of the FBI’s most wanted criminals turns himself in– and all he wants to do is speak with one rookie agent.  

It’s her job to figure him out and it’s his to protect her from her past, but all secrets have to be told eventually.

AN// You can keep up with this story here via the tag HSBlacklist or on Wattpad at brutallybeautiful !

I'm brushing my teeth in my pajamas when there's a knock on my door. My neighbor has been coming over every morning to borrow sugar and I'm to much of a pushover to say no. The first day he came over, he tried to introduce himself. The second day, he told me about the American Pie Movie he watched the night before. The third day, I told him I was running late and then had an awkward exchange when we both left our apartment two hours later.

Today, I was brushing my teeth so of course I won't be able to talk to him. I walk to the kitchen, grab the ziplock bag I've already prepared and shove it into his chest as soon as the door is open.

And should I say I'm really surprised when it's not my neighbor standing at the door? (Hint: the answer is no)

"I don't need any sugar, thank you," Harry laughs, pushing himself past me to invite himself inside.

"I will take a cup of coffee though, if you're making it."

I stare at him, the door still half open, toothbrush still in my mouth, hair pulled into a I-don't-even-know-what on top of my head. Harry strides in and takes a seat on the barstool at the breakfast nook in my kitchen.

"Are you going to close the door? Or just let your neighbors assume we slept together last night?"

I roll my eyes at his comment and trudge to the kitchen sink to spit. I mock him in my head in a dumb voice. I thought for someone who can't answer a single question that you ask him would be more subtle about the flirts.

"What are you doing in my house?" I ask him, wiping the excess toothpaste from my face. I want to ask him how he knows where I live, but I know it would be pointless. He wouldn't answer anyways. Harry stands up and pours himself a cup of coffee, a cup of my coffee. Not that I was going to drink the entire pot, but still, I was annoyed.

He sits back down again.

"I wanted to wish you good luck at the trial today,"

"Thank you?" I raise my eyebrow in confusion.

"Your apartment is nice, neighbors are nice as well. They offered me a doughnut."

"They call the cops on me all the time," I tell him and we both laugh. We look at each other for a moment, in an awkward silence.

"Can you- I have to get ready," I mumble.

"Oh, right."

Harry stands up, straightening out his black button up shirt. He eyes me up and down, from the slippers on my feet to the bun on top of my head, and grins.

"You look cute like this. Maybe I can see it again, sometime," he winks.

"Go, Harry."

And with the stupid smirk on his face, Harry walks out the door.

-

"And what happened when Kurt Weber entered the rail car at Washington Metropolitan Area Transit?"

"Kurt Weber, entered the seat next to me and held a knife to my abdomen." I say quietly into the microphone. Photos of the cut on my stomach flash on a projector. "And admitted to using Jamie-"

I'm interrupted by a man on the jury who begins to cough loudly. My eyes dart towards him. His hand is clasped over his heart, people are already starting to surround him, the judge is banging his gavel to keep the court quiet. A court marshal ushers me down and leads me out of the room.

"We ask that you stay in here, for your protection," the marshal mumbles, opening the door for me. I don't even think anything of it as I walk through the threshold, don't take note of how odd it is, until I black out and wake up in the trunk of a car.

When I was nine, I almost drowned in the ocean. Sometimes I wake up at night remembering the feeling of water filling my lungs, the feeling of my dad pounding on my chest, beating the water out of me. I remember the sound of my mother crying and the gasps from the surrounding crowd.

I had come to the conclusion when I woke up again that I would take reliving that moment one thousand times over before wanting to remember this moment ever again.

I start panicking at the realization that I was in the trunk of a car, with a throbbing headache, hands uncomfortably zip-tied behind my back and I had no idea why, or how. I feel the car roll to the stop and my breath hitches in my throat as footsteps drag against the gravel, coming closer towards me.

The sun is bright when I see it again and I squint behind the tears that filled my eyes to see bald headed man greeting me outside of the trunk. He grabs me by the arm and yanks me out of the trunk, forcefully. My eyes dart around, looking for anything familiar, but all I see are trees, dense trees and a small cabin up ahead.

Before I can even think about where I'm going, my feet are carrying my away from the bald man and I'm running towards the tree line as fast as my legs can go.

But, with my hands zip-tied behind my back, I can't catch myself when he pushes me to the ground and I fall flat on my face, cheek scraping against a stick. I suck in a sharp breath at the fall. I literally had the wind knocked out of me, even more so when he delivers a kick to my side with a loud grunt.

He yanks me up again, this time holding tighter onto my arm as he drags me to the cabin (smart move).

"What do you want with me?" I scream, thrashing in his arms.

But he doesn't answer. And I had a feeling that he brought me out here to do a lot more than just kick me in the side.

-

I'm sitting in a wooden chair, legs tied together, hands zipped tied with a second zip tie, watching as the man walks around, grabbing all sorts of bottles and jugs.

In front of me is a white room, lit up with fluorescence, medical cabinets sitting high on the wall. There's a weird metal tub in the middle of the floor and the bald headed man is pouring liquids into the tub. I gulp.

"Don't you think I should at least know the name of the person that is going to kill me?" I ask him, fumbling with the zip ties behind me.

"Kirby," He mumbles, not looking up at me. I freeze at the reply. Deep down inside me, I knew that I wasn't going to make it out of here. And he just confirmed my fears.

"You don't look like a killer—you look like a, you look like a father. A son?"

Kirby stops pouring the liquid into the tub and looks up at me. Bingo.

"A son then, how old is he? How old is your son?"

"He's 15, he's in his own band." He smiles proudly. I resent him and the way he's so casual as he pours up some sort of concoction that's probably going to end my life. He walks to another cabinet and grabs something else to pour into the tub.

"I knew it, a caring father. Not a killer."

He pulls out a tray and wheels it next to me. I don't want to look down to see what's on the tray, but I do anyways. And I regret it.

Sharp scalpels, a long pointed metal stick, medical utensils. He picks up the metal stick and wipes it with a wipe.

"Are you a mother?" He asks.

I shake my head.

"That's good," he smiled. "I was told to make you suffer."

"By who?"

I'm trying to keep conversation with him to avoid the inevitable whatever the fuck he's going to do to me. And I'm trying to keep calm, but I can't keep calm as he inches closer towards my neck with an object too sharp for my comfort.

"Oh wait," he stops. He walks back into the white room and grabs a camera with a tripod on it, setting it up in front of me.

"Harry is going to want to see this,"

[softxharry]

Blacklist (four)

Harry Styles, one of the FBI’s most wanted criminals turns himself in– and all he wants to do is speak with one rookie agent.  It’s her job to figure him out and it’s his to protect her from her past, but all secrets have to be told eventually.AN// You can keep up with this story here via the tag HSBlacklist or on Wattpad at brutallybeautiful !

ongoing// Juy 2019

Chapter Four

Grace

One more realization came to me.

Jamie was a chess piece in a sick and twisted game and that's all we knew. We didn't know when or where or how, we just knew that she was going to die and the time was ticking to save her.

Hunter, Cooper and I spent another hour digging around trying to find clues on Weber, trying to find clues on Mikhail, Carrie. But none of them seemed to exist. We checked every database, every internet post, the black web, and still nothing.

But we knew they existed because Jamie was gone. And there had to be a reason for it.

Harry is sitting back, confined in the metal chair again when I reenter the dusty warehouse. I wish I weren't here. I wish I had come into work today, sat down at a desk in an office and put together profiles of suspects. Instead, I had a little girl's life literally in my hands.

Harry smiles whenever I walk in, a big dimple plastered smile.

"Where is Weber taking Jamie?" I ask as I pull up a chair in front of him and take a seat.  I'm so close to him our knees are nearly touching. He leans forward so that our knees are touching.I think it is a way to intimidate me, but I stay where I am seated and don't move.

"If I tell you, you'll have to give me something in return. No more restraints, no more dingy warehouses. He needs to think I'm free, staying in my favorite hotel, keeping in touch with old friends," Harry smirks.

No more than an hour later, agents are busting down the door to Mikhail's location, taking him and Carrie into custody, questioning them, booking them. And Harry is staying in a five star hotel, eating a medium rare steak and asparagus with complimentary champaign, handcuff free.

I sit across from him at the other end of the table, watching as he excitedly cuts into his steak and takes a bite. He waits to speak until he's finished chewing.

"You know, Gracey. You should really go home and get some rest. Cal is probably worried?" he said.

"How do you-"

He clanks his fork on the plate. "It's going to be awhile before I hear back from Weber," he said.

I shake my head at him. He knew how to get under my skin and it annoyed the fuck out of me. And how the hell did he know so  much about my personal life? I stand up and walk out of the suite, down the hall into another room where Cooper and Hunter are watching Harry on monitors.

"Is this some kind of joke or something?" I ask them, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Some kind of like first day test? How does he know so much about my life?"

Cooper looks at me from behind a monitor, eyebrows furrowed, head cocked to the side. "We don't know Agent Tyler," he said.

I shake my head and shrug my blazer off. I felt trapped in it all of a sudden. I've felt trapped all day.

"I need to go home, get some dinner or something," I mumble. "I'll be back in an hour."

Cooper doesn't say anything as I walk out.

I've only recently gotten used to the Metro and the constant buzz of people, the hiss of the trains pulling in and out of stations, the ding sound the machine makes when I load my SmarTrip card.

I take a deep breath as I take a seat in the back of the car, alone. I know it will fill up in a few minutes, but for now I sink down in my seat and enjoyed the silence. I lean against the window and close my eyes as people board the rail car. Until I feel something cold against my stomach and someone sliding into the seat next to me.

"Hello, Grace."

I slowly look up, trying to not move. The pressure of the knife on my stomach is so immense that if I move anymore than an inch he's going to cut me. I immediately recognize the goofy man sitting next to me.

"What are you doing? Where is Jamie?"

Harry was right, Weber was an odd looking guy. Even more so up close and personal. Weber looks straight ahead.

"Jamie is on that rail over there," he said, nodding to another rail. I see her through the window, she's smiling, oblivious to what is going on.

"And in less than five minutes, Jamie will be no more," he said, pressing the knife deeper into my skin. I wince at the pain. "What do you know?" he asks.

I try to suck in my stomach as if somehow that would put some distance between my skin and the knife. I don't say anything and neither does Weber as he pushes the knife deeper into my skin. It wasn't enough to do major damage, but enough to hurt like a mother fucker.

"I don't know anything," I wince.

"You dumb girl, Styles said you were smart. He go on and on about you," he spits, not loosening his grip on the knife.

"The girl, that's all we know. And a bomb, maybe. The rest is just speculation."

I see a hint of a smile on his lips. I want to move forward or lunge at him, but I know if I do that knife is going to go deeper into my abdomen and I'll be bleeding out within a few minutes. Everyone else seems oblivious as to what is going on, oblivious to the fact that this guy is going to blow up the metro using a little girl in a few minutes, oblivious to the fact that I had a knife pushing into my stomach. I watch as the doors to the rail that Jamie is on hiss close, the knife against my abdomen lessens, and within seconds, the train is off.

His demeanor is so calm as he watches his plan unfold before him, the subtle smirk on his face sends shivers down my spine. Before I can react, he's up and disappearing just as the doors hiss shut behind him.

As soon as he is gone, I'm sent into an utter panic. Panic that I need to call Cooper, panic that I need to get off this fucking rail, panic that I need to evacuate the Metro. I'm on the phone with Cooper as I run down the rail, hopping between cars, yelling through the phone to Cooper, panting until I reach the emergency button. The train stops with a halt and a deafening screech as soon as my palm pushes against the red button. Everyone looks at me with confused glares and I hop out of the rail, running back down to the station, ignoring every single one of them.

I can't think straight as I race down the rails, my heart beating out of my chest. My blazer is still sitting in the seat on the rail, but that's the least of my worries right now. I stopped talking to Cooper after he finally understood what I was saying after repeating it five times.

I reach the terminal and attempt to climb out of the large dip, trying to heave my way up somehow with a cut on my stomach, winded from the run. A younger man, probably my age, comes up to help me and pulls me up onto the platform. Everyone is staring at me and I know I look fucking crazy right now and the chance of getting to that rail is slim to none.

I don't need to get to that rail though because Jamie is sitting on a bench, backpack strapped to her back, a frown in place of the smile she had a few moments ago. And I don't even question why as I run to her.

"Hi Jamie, Hi," I smile, bending down in front of her as not to frighten her. "Hey, my name is Grace. Are you hurt?"

She shakes her head no and plays with her fingers. She doesn't look up at me.

"It's okay, are you alone?"

She nods. "He said to wait here for my mommy and daddy."

I can hear the ticking of the bomb, ticking almost as fast as my heart beat. I unzip her backpack to see the timer. Three minutes.

My phone rings in my pocket and I quickly answer it thinking it's Cooper calling me back, but another voice greets me, a British one.

"Don't touch it," he said sternly.

I look around for him, hoping somehow he's standing a few feet away, but he's nowhere to be found.

"I have to evacuate, call the bomb squad-"

"They'll never be there in time. My friend, he's on his way." he interrupts me. The phone beeps on the other end and the line disconnects before I can respond. I was panicked before, but I am even more panicked now. I felt like I was going to throw up or pass out or both. I bend down in front of Jamie again and grab her hand.

"Hey Jamie, it's going to be okay," I speak to her in a soft voice. "I like your shirt. Do you like Jojo? I love her bows."

She starts to tell me all about Jojo, her vlogs, and the bow collection she has until a man in khaki shorts and a t-shirt approaches us. He's speaking in German and I can't understand what he's saying, but he's unzipping her backpack and examining the bomb as it ticks away. My heart pounds in my chest as the bomb ticks and the German guy clips a wire, the beeping stops. But it starts again, this time faster, faster than my heart was beating in my chest. The whole word was spinning around us, people stopping and staring, some of them running. He clips another wire.

This time, he throws his hands up in the air, yelling something in German, grinning to himself and the ticking stops. I hold my hand out to him to take the bomb so we can book it into evidence and destroy it, but he's running away before I can.

And out of nowhere, Harry approaches. I want to say that I am surprised, but I can't. Everything today has been happening so methodically, so planned, all the right people show up at the right time. It's freaking me out. Harry yells something in German happily waving at the man.

"What are you doing? He can't take that." I yell at him. He's still smiling as he looks down at me, until he realizes I am bleeding. He lifts my shirt, his hand gently grazing my stomach, a frown plastered on his lips.  

"Don't worry, I'll have him killed," he mumbles under his breath as he takes a handkerchief out of his pocket and presses it to the wound.

It takes me a long minute to even realize that Harry wasn't supposed to be here right now. In fact, I only realize whenever SWAT and Cooper show up that he wasn't with them. He grabs my hand, placing it onto of the handkerchief before places his own hands on top of his head, ready to be cuffed as they run towards us. I just stare at him, dumbfounded.

"We're going to make a great team," he grins as Cooper reaches him and forcefully puts him in handcuffs.

-

[softxharry]

Blacklist (three)

Harry Styles, one of the FBI’s most wanted criminals turns himself in– and all he wants to do is speak with one rookie agent.  

It’s her job to figure him out and it’s his to protect her from her past, but all secrets have to be told eventually.

AN// You can keep up with this story here via the tag HSBlacklist or on Wattpad at brutallybeautiful !

Chapter Three

Grace

Harry wasn't lying. Within an hour of our conversation in the cold confinements to the black sight, Kurt Weber had picked up the General's daughter from soccer practice and they were quickly heading out of the city. And here I was again, hours later in front of this fucking smirky British boy trying to figure out why he was here and why he turned himself in.

"How was lunch Gracey?" he asked, cocking his head to the side as I walk back into the warehouse. I can't help but roll my eyes at him, his comment, the nickname.

"How did you know that Weber was going to take that little girl?"

He looks up at me, not wavering under the fact I'm practically in his face now. "I'm the one who got him in to the country," he said flatly.

I was growing increasingly frustrated by the minute with him. I take a step back, my hands on my hips as I look at him.

I was trying to figure out clues to him. Nervous ticks, facial expressions and their meanings, but all he was was stone cold.

"And what do they want with the little girl?" Agent Cooper's voice bellows behind me. His voice is much stronger and more convincible than mine. Harry looks beyond me in confusion, cocking his head. He wasn't going to speak to Cooper, I knew because he looked me in the eyes to answer.

"That's all I know." He smiles at me.

"What do you want, Styles?" Cooper asked. "What is in it for you?"

Harry rolls his eyes, shakes the curls from his forehead and takes a deep breath. "Owen, may I remind you of my initial request? I speak with Agent Tyler."

He is undoubtedly annoyed, both Harry and Cooper.

I look back at Agent Cooper and he nods, pointing to his ear to remind me that I can hear them in my headset. I felt like I was actually doing something right for once. Or maybe Harry was letting me think that to gain my trust and get under my skin. I nod at Cooper, letting him know that I understood his silent communication before I turn back to Harry, repeating the same question that Cooper posed. Harry smiles.

"Immunity," he says calmly. "In exchange for names. On my terms."

A deafening no sounds in my ear from Cooper before I can even respond to the ridiculous request. He must know that we won't give him immunity, he can't be that stupid.

Absolutely not." I cross my arms over my chest. "You're mad."

He laughs again, sending shivers down my spine. "Very well." His eyes advert down to my hands and he raises his eyebrow.

Her blood will be on my hands. I know. I turn around and storm out of the giant openness of the warehouse. Suddenly it smelled like metal and anguish in here, like the smell her blood would be on my hands and now it seemed suffocating, like it was caving in around us forcing us tighter together, the little girl's blood and myself.

I don't know why I felt so attached to the girl and her death that may or may not happen. Perhaps, it's because I held too much empathy for people I don't know. Perhaps because she's only 7 years old, someone's daughter, and she has so much left to do in this world.

I can't imagine her father never seeing her walk at graduation in her cap and gown, her never knowing how to open a locker in middle school or graduate or get her heart broken or actually live.

Harry could be leading us down a dead end road, on a fucking rabbit chase for all we know. But somehow, if for some reason he wasn't lying, I wanted to take a chance to save this girl. Because I wouldn't be able to live with myself if we didn't. I run my hands over my face in defeat and push the door open to Cooper's office. Everyone is looking at me through the giant window before I'm through the door.

"You have to make a deal with him," I breath out before the door is closed behind me. Agent Hunter is already on my case before I get the words out. "No," he says flatly. Harry is tapping his foot loudly on the floor in the warehouse. I know because they have cameras pointed at him to watch his every move and he's purposely tapping loudly to annoy us.

"May I remind you that you're running out of time here, she'll be dead in less than 18 hours."

We all stop talking and turn our heads to look at Harry. I can't describe the look of pure muse on his face, this was a game for him. I knew it was.

I'm storming out of the office now and my hand is around his throat as soon as I'm close enough to touch him.

"Fucking tell us where that little girl is." I am practically spitting in his face. And now, even with my hand cutting off the airflow to his lungs, he's still smirking.

I don't know what's gotten into me in this moment. But I can take a pretty good guess. The pressure of this girls life on the line, the fact that he's playing a game with it, or both.

"How about a trade? You help me and I'll help you," he chokes out. I let go of my grip on his throat, but not without giving it an extra push inward to cause him a jolt of pain.

"Fine. Help me," I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest. His eyes advert down to his hands in confinement and then back up at me. I shake my head at him and take a deep breath.

"You're really pushing yourself here, Harry."

-

"Ah, ugly bastard." Harry leans in closer to the photo of Weber taped onto the glass.

A small smile draws on my lips. He was a funny looking guy, oval shaped head, nose too big for his face, small thin-lined lips, just a few grey hairs pocking out of the top of his head. Nobody was denying it.

Harry is walking slowly around all of the glass boards, looking at each and every one of the photos of evidence, humming to himself. He takes one off, struggling a bit in the confinements of the handcuffs.

"This is wrong," he said. He moves the photo to a completely different board.

"This," he said as he places the photo, sliding his thumb gently over the tape. "This is Carrie. She's most likely moving the money." He looks back us, as if to clarify. "For the girl."

"She left MIT to work for a Russian named," he pauses and picks up another photo. "Artem Mikhail, he builds bombs. A cock, too." He fakes a Russian accent, laughing at his own joke.

Hunter and Cooper are leaning against one of the many desks behind me as they watch Harry connect the dots that we couldn't. Cooper looks interested, nodding along to everything that Harry was saying, sometimes mumbling quiet words to himself. Hunter looked like Hunter, pissed off. His face was contoured into a scowl at Harry, either he has an extreme resting bitch face or he's just a really angry person.

Harry's looking at me with his eyebrows raised. "I said, what do you know about Kurt? The girl?"

I clasp my hands together, pretending that I wasn't just spaced out. "Given your 24 hour timeline, I would suggest this is a singular event. I'm not sure how the girl fits."

He points his hands up to glass again.

"What about Carrie?"

I turn around and walk closer to the glass, glancing over the photos of the woman. I pinch the bridge of my nose.

"She's important, well paid. Some sort of ransom?"

He shakes his head in disappointment. "Think like a criminal, make it personal."

The way he looks at me is encouraging, like he wants the pieces to turn and click inside my head. He knows, but he wants me to figure it out. But why? I take a few moments to think over everything I know.

Kalmin Brown has secrets. The General has fucking secrets.

"Kurt, he was disciplined in Germany. For initiating a wrong attack on a town." I look over at Agent Cooper. He nods proudly, silently telling me to go on. Harry's looking at me too with a smile on his face.

"Weber's home," Harry mumbles.

Click. I felt like I had just found a solution for world hunger or something. So much so that I can't help but excitedly shout out the answer.

"It's about his family." I'm walking between monitors and the boards, looking for every bit of information that I can. I stop at a photo of Weber's family.

"They died and he survived," I mumble. "This isn't about a ransom. It's about revenge."

I look over at the picture of the little girl, Jamie, and place my finger on her cheek.

My shoulders fall at the sad realization of what's about to happen. My eyes linger on the little girl and the room seems totally silent as everyone else comes to the same one.

"He's going to use her to get back at Brown."

[softxharry]

Blacklist (two)

Harry Styles, one of the FBI’s most wanted criminals turns himself in– and all he wants to do is speak with one rookie agent.  

It’s her job to figure him out and it’s his to protect her from her past, but all secrets have to be told eventually.

AN// You can keep up with this story here via the tag HSBlacklist or on Wattpad at brutallybeautiful !

Chapter Two

Grace

I am startled awake by a loud banging on my door and a man's voice yelling from the other side. Oh fuck, I am late to my first day. I push my hair out of my face and scramble into a pair of sweatpants laying on the floor next to my bed.

But I'm not because when I look at the alarm clock on my side table, it's only seven a.m. and I don't have to be in until nine. I shake my head as if somehow that would eliminate all of the confusion inside, my feet pad loudly against the floor as I rush to slide the chain off the door and open it. I can feel my stomach flutter as the wood glides open, creaking and groaning from age. On the other side, two men stand with their hands on their holstered guns, annoyance written all over their faces.

I don't have time to question why they're here before they're speaking. Their voices are so deep that it rattles me.

"Agent Tyler, Adam Hunter. Washington Field Office," the man on the other side of the threshold said, pulling a badge out of his coat pocket and showing it to me for a brief second. "I need you to come with me right away."

-

I sit in an old, and very ugly orange chair across from a solid wooden desk, glancing around the office while I wait impatiently, my leg bouncing up and down nervously. I was trying to keep calm after Agent Hunter informed me that Harry Styles was asking for me and that's why they showed up at my door at seven. I stop on a picture frame that sits on the bookshelf behind the desk.

It's a photo of a man, his wife, two little twin girls. They're bundled up in scarves and toboggans and ice skates. The girls clinging for dear life to the man's legs, like if they would let go he would be lost forever. I smile at the photo and imagine what it must be like to be in a family that happy. The woman is kissing the man's cheek, love is evident.

I'm shaken from my thoughts when the sound of the door opening fills the room. I stand from my chair and flatten out my blazer before holding my hand out to shake his.

"Agent Tyler, Owen Cooper," he said, grabbing my hand firmly. I smile at him and take a seat.

"Nice to meet you, sir."

I knew exactly who Owen Cooper was. Assistant Director of Counterterrorism. I learned about his work in Quantico, how he stopped a second 9/11 in 2011, how he helped find the coordinator of the Paris attacks in 2015. He was the real deal, the big shot and I was sitting right in front of him.

I sit up now and force my leg to keep still. He's a lot taller than he looks in the photo, his skin is darker and his hair more grey. The twins in the photo must be much older now, too.

"I understand it is your first day as a profiler," he said. I nod, fidgeting with my hands in my lap.

"Yes sir," I smile, almost proudly. "I was reassigned from San Francisco, I graduated Quantico last month. I've been vetted by the agency, just as everyone else same background checks, same profiles-"

"So why does Harry Styles want to speak with you?" he said, interrupting me. He seemed genuinely curious rather than accusatory. He leans back in his seat, legs crossed, hands clasped. He looks at me like I should know, but I don't. I've never spoken with with that man in my life, never seen him, never heard of him until this morning. I have absolutely no idea what he wants with me.

But I'm about to find out.

Less than an hour later I'm siting in a chair, a mere ten feet from a brilliant criminal. A criminal whose evaded capture for more than five years, went off the radar, avoided detection. A criminal who wants to talk to me. It's silent for a moment as he stares at me, a smirk plastered on his face.

"A pleasure to meet you Agent Tyler," he said, giving me a smug grin. He leans forward in his seat, to the best of his ability because his arms are secured to the chair. I glance around at the many guards, the many agents, the many faces watching us intently, watching to see what this man is going to say, watching to see if I'm going to mess up. I swallow hard and straighten my shoulders.

"How is Washington? Do you miss San Francisco?" he asks. I almost jump out of my seat. I don't know this man, but he surely knows me. I take a deep breath to calm my nerves. I have to remain calm, I remind myself, dozens of eyes are watching me.

"Tell me about Weber." I said, my voice even yet firm. Kurt Weber was who Harry promised to give information on whenever he first entered the black sight, Cooper tells me.

The black sight is a secure location owned by the FBI where they work on confidential cases, hold confidential criminals. This one just so happened to be an old Sears warehouse before they shut down.

I imagine the workers, packaging and ticketing merchandise before it even hit the shelves. Probably sweating in the heat of the summer, keeping cool in the cold of the winter. I imagine them letting out a sigh of relief when they finally got to sit down for their 15 minute break and I compare it to where we are now, how this came to be, what's gone on in here.

Harry is smiling again, tugging lightly on the confinements that keep him in the chair. The air around us feels everything but easy. It feels like the moments before a storm, when the trees are rustling and the sky starts to get dark. It feels much like that only 1000 times stronger.

"Did your boyfriend move with you?" he asks. His tone is so mono that it sends shivers down my spine, I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

"Cut to the chase Styles, I don't have time to banter," I tell him, my tone more harsh than it was a second ago. He looks a bit taken aback by it and shifts in the wooden chair that he's occupying, staring at me bemused. "Why did you want to talk to me? It's my first day, nothing special about me."

He laughs a hearty, deep laugh and shakes his head at me.

"Everything is special about you, Gracey."

My breath hitches in my throat at the nickname. The one my dad used to sing whenever he'd call me to his office, the one he'd exaggerate in the stories he told me as he sat on my bed at night, the one my mom would hum in the kitchen when dinner was ready. He knows, I know he knows by the look on his face.

He places his hands on his knees.

"Within the hour Weber will abduct the daughter of U.S. General Kalmin Brown. He wants to be out of the country within 24 hours. If you don't move quickly, that little girl's blood will be on your hands."

The way he talks so confident, so smoothly is rattling. A part of me wants to believe what he is saying, but another part of me reminds myself that he is a criminal and criminals are notorious for lying.  But something inside my gut tells me he's not bluffing. I am about to speak again when Harry casually leans back in his chair.

"But you don't have to believe me," he said.

"Why should I?"

He laughs again. "You shouldn't. I am a criminal. Everything about me is a lie," he looks down at his fingernails. "But I guess that's what we have in common, lying. You being raised by a notorious criminal, your mother dying for it..." he trails off and shrugs. Then he looks around at all of the agents in the room. Unbeknownst to them, this is news.

"Oh!" he exclaims finally catching on. If he wasn't confined to the chair, I'm sure he'd be clapping his hands together.

"Oh, they don't know, do they." He makes a I'm-sorry-I-totally-knew-they-didn't face and frowns at me. "Well," he smirks.

-

The door to Agent Cooper's makeshift office slams loudly, with such force that I swear my bones are rattling inside my body.

This office is different than the one at the branch. This one holds no comfort, no pictures, just an old bookshelf and a desk with a computer.

"Why didn't your father's criminal record show up up on your screening?" Agent Hunter demands, his hands resting on the desk. It irks me to know that he- someone who is nearly as a rookie as I am- wants to demand things from me. I stand up from my seat. Cooper gives him a stern look and his eyes advert to the ground.

"We need to order a SWAT and get to that girl now," I said, avoiding the question entirely. Agent Cooper looks at me warily, like somehow he didn't trust me. Hell, I didn't even trust myself right now, but something inside me said that Harry wasn't lying. And I needed to know why.

[softxharry]

Blacklist (one)

Harry Styles, one of the FBI’s most wanted criminals turns himself in– and all he wants to do is speak with one rookie agent.  

It’s her job to figure him out and it’s his to protect her from her past, but all secrets have to be told eventually.

AN// You can keep up with this story here via the tag HSBlacklist or on Wattpad at brutallybeautiful !

Chapter One

harry

“Hello, I am hear to speak with director Owen Cooper.”

The blonde woman on the other side of the glass sends me a warm smile and presses the button to speak to me through the speaker. I think about tapping the glass, wondering if it’s bulletproof.

“Do you have an appointment?” she asks, her voice sounding robotic and far away from behind the glass. I come to the conclusion that it probably is bulletproof.

I shake my head and look her in the eyes. “No, but he’ll want to see me. Tell him it’s Harry Styles,”

“Okay, one moment. I believe Cooper may be out for today,” she said.

He won’t be for long. She types something in on her computer and I smile at her graciously. I turn around and catch eyes with a security guard. He sends me a curt nod and continues his conversation with the woman next to him. I nod back and shrug my jacket off, placing it on the floor next to my feet.

The sound of an alarm goes off moments later and I don’t look back at the blond woman to see the horrified look on her face, I just know it’s there.

Before the security guard who just nodded at me could yell for me to get down, I’m on my knees and my hands are behind my head in a surrender.

The FBI just caught one of their most wanted criminals.