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Oct 20, 2015

The Strip

for: Celia humanitysoldier

by: Becca earthshake

Lucky rides the elevator with the same boy every day. She wouldn’t say she’s learning a language for him (she’s supposed to know Arabic anyway), but he certainly is her motivation.

word count: 12,623

Warnings: None!

main pairing: Harry/OFC

“The best thing in the world happened to me today,” she announces as soon as she opens the door, eyes immediately landing on her focused flatmate slash best mate. Ever the reliable human, he is exactly where he’s been every other day at six-thirty PM on a Monday. He’s been here exactly two weeks before she has, the extra time needed for his teaching credentials. Lucille is just helping distribute food. She doesn’t need as much preparation.

“Of course it did,” said mentioned Flat Mate slash Best Mate mutters under his breath. She’s always bursting into his presence, declaring those words, and then wasting ten minutes of his time discussing a topic that most definitely is not ‘The Best Thing in the World.’

“Hmm?”

“Okay, what happened?” he concedes, per usual, closing his laptop and patting the seat beside him on the couch. Lucille claps her hands together and bounds over to him, snuggling into the couch to get comfortable before sharing her story.

“So I get in the elevator and it’s about to close and then I hear this deep voice yell ‘Wait!’ and so I hit the door open button and it’s honestly a miracle I did it in time because he startled me so much-I’m not good on my toes, ya know?

“Lucky, get to the point,” he drawls, the affectionate use of her nickname counteracting his annoyed tone.

“Okay, so in a nutshell the guy who entered the elevator with me is my soul mate,” she rushes to the point, this time forgoing perhaps too many details.

“What makes you think that?” he snorts , nudging her calf with his toes.

“He was beautiful, and the way he talked, Harry, you would not believe,” she gushes, covering her heart with her hand. Harry swears he sees her irises turn to hearts.

“What’d he say?”

“SabaaH Alkhayr,” she tries, attempting to sound out the words she’d heard just nine hours earlier.

“You mean, صباح الخير ” Harry repeats, his accent coming out much smoother than hers.

“Yeah, what does it mean?” she presses, leaning forward excitedly.

“Good morning,” Harry answers her flatly, rolling his eyes. He then turns back to his computer. He tucks his feet, always cold, under Lucky’s thighs, but otherwise ignores her.

“It sounded so incredible when he said it, I don’t know, there’s something about his voice. He’s so fit, Harry. He’s got this tan skin and dark hair that he’s let get just a little too long-and the tattoos! Oh my god, you’d get along great you should see them-“

Four Palestinians from one extended family were killed and more than 40 others were wounded on Thursday after military ordnance exploded in Gaza…

“Harry, you’re not listening.”

“Lucky,” he whines, sticking out his bottom lip. “I’m reading the paper.”

“Harry,” she mocks in his same child-like tone. “We’re talking about my future husband. Way more important than whatever is going on the world.”

“You can’t say stuff like that,” he scolds, rolling his eyes. He fails to notice that in the midst of his offense at her blunt language, she’s gained his attention again.

“The bloke doesn’t speak English, Harry,” she states, giving him a pointed look. Harry sighs. At least they’ve gotten to the point of the story he’s interested in. He knew they’d get there eventually.

“He speaks Arabic?” Harry guesses with minimal effort.

“I think he’s straight out of Palestine,” she breathes.

“Palestine isn’t an actual country, Lucky,” Harry corrects, covering his face. He doesn’t know how she’s going to survive the next six weeks, much less the next two years. Harry gets an aneurism just thinking about it.

“I know that,” she mutters, feeling exceptionally idiotic for not knowing it was. She swallows back the overwhelming feeling of being in WAY over her head. “Anyway, the point is I have to learn Arabic.”

“You were supposed to do that anyway,” Harry points out. Lucky ignores him.

“So can I borrow your book?” she presses, ignoring his comment. Harry gives her a look that’s some mix of shock and exasperation.

“You don’t own the book yet?”

Week One

On Lucky’s second day of training Harry accompanies her. He hadn’t yesterday because he needed to get in early to discuss his passport information, but from here on leave with his flat mate. This means he doesn’t have to listen to her complain about his alarm waking her up. Between the two of them there are minimal funds and they share a bedroom to make up for it. They’ve got bunk beds like they’re children. Harry has been coerced into taking top.

Much to Lucky’s delight, she and Harry enter the elevator at the exact same time as the man from the day before. Lucky holds back a squeal of delight.

“, صباح الخير ” Lucky repeats from the day before. She wracks her brain for the words she’d tried to memorize last night. “انا محظوظ” My name is Lucky.

“Huh?” The stranger looks confused. Harry rolls his eyes.

“She means أسمي هو Lucille,” he corrects. She’s confused the translation by using her nickname. Harry knows she hasn’t even touched the book he’d reluctantly lent her and instead turned to Google.

“أنا أتعلم اللغة.” I am learning the language. This sentence Lucky knows is right. She read it in Harry’s book before she discovered how ridiculously boring it was. There is no way she’s going to be able to learn Arabic. Lucky thought it would be like learning Spanish or French; she hadn’t anticipated new letters.

The Love of Lucky’s Life locks eyes with Harry and smirks, like he’s holding in a laugh. Lucky visibly swoons, thinking he’s smiling at her. Before either of them have a chance to respond, the elevator door opens. It’s Lucky’s floor. Food distribution training is on a different floor than the teaching one Harry’s doing is. Lucky doesn’t know which floor her elevator boy goes.

&&&

“You’re excited to go, right?” Harry asks at precisely eleven-o’four PM.

“Of course I am,” Lucky promises him with a little laugh. She’s been browsing her phone for the past half an hour, but sets it down because Harry isn’t usually up this late to talk to.

“What are you most excited for?” Harry presses. He knows he should have been asleep thirty-four minutes ago, but he can’t. His mind’s too busy.

“Getting out of England. Being somewhere I’ve never been. Making a difference. No way for my parents to contact me, you know, usual stuff,” she prattles off the list. Harry lets himself laugh a bit.

“Your training’s going well then?” he changes the subject, thinking about his Arabic book sitting on the bathroom sink where Lucky had forgotten it after only an hour of having it in her possession.

“For the most part, yeah.”

“Lucky,” Harry groans. He can see through her lie almost instantly.

“Okay, so there’s kind of this creepy guy. He keeps hitting on me and at first I thought it was kinda nice, like flattering, you know? Because it has been a long time since I dated Louis-“

“Lucky,” Harry reminds her to keep to the point.

“Anyway, I want him to leave me alone, but he’s a creep who can’t get the picture,” Lucky summarizes.

“Want me to talk to him?” Harry asks, his voice reaching an octave of threatening. If Lucky didn’t know he was incapable of hurting a fly, she might have been concerned. Instead she laughs.

“No worries, babe.” Harry smirks a bit. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

&&&

“So my mum called today,” Lucky breathes once their feet make it on the damp grass. Lucky immediately slips off her shoes, wincing a bit in surprise at the wetness. “Jesus, I forgot it rained last night.”

It’s always raining in Washington, D.C. It’s the middle of June and the sky is pouring like the heavens have opened up. It comes up on them, going from sunny to cloudy within the hour. Harry has reached a point in his life where he now brings an umbrella with him everywhere, just like they were in London.

Rainy London weather should have really prepared the two of them for this, but on top of the downpour it’s warm and even worse, it’s humid. It suffocates Lucky, forcing her to stop and adjust every time she exits a building into the disgusting air.

“That’s no good,” Harry acknowledges. His hand brushes against hers lightly while the walk. Lucky bites her lip, jogging forward a bit until she finds a nice spot of grass. She practically falls on the ground, waiting for Harry to join her. The Washington Monument stands tall and proudly above them. It can be seen from nearly everywhere in the city, but it’s admittedly a bit more grandeur when you’re only meters away.

“She wants me to come home,” Lucky sighs. She can still hear her mother’s shrill voice like she were right beside them.

Lucille you can’t possibly be serious! You’re not really going to follow this boy halfway across the world and back, are you? It’s dangerous. No boy is worth that. Are you sure you aren’t in love with him? Please don’t go.

She was more pleading this evening, rather than the angry she emitted when Lucky first told her she would be joining Harry on a two year trip to help Palestinian refugees in the Gaza Strip. In truth, it had come as a shock both to her and her family. Lucky had never planned or intended on traveling. She was supposed to get her Art degree and then pursue the (physically) safe career of selling pretentious art in some gallery to rich people.

“You still can,” Harry reminds his best friend. He’s just as surprised, if not more so, that Lucky has joined him. The conflict in the Middle East has always been one of interest to him, but never to her. He used to come back from classes for his degree-Middle Eastern Foreign Policy-and spew off hours of knowledge about the complexities of the region, all of which Lucky ignored.

“I don’t want to,” she argues, sticking her lower lip out in a pout. The truth is, as little as she knows about Palestine and Israel, she’s never felt more committed to something. All throughout her final year of uni, Lucky had no idea what she was meant to do once she finished. She knew what her classmates were doing, she knew she had a plethora of options to choose from, but none of them seemed right. There was never anything Lucky could picture herself doing for the rest of her life, and she wasn’t about to get started down the road of some career she hated.

Harry had always known what he was meant to do. He’d applied to work for the United Nations the minute he could with the intent of moving straight after graduation. The United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees in the Near East has a well-respected two-year program, which invites young adults to travel to various locations in the Middle East and work at Palestine refugee camps. Harry had graduated a year earlier than Lucky and used the time to get a teaching credential so that he could go work in a school. Lucky, who had decided to join the movement on much shorter notice than him, would be working in the kitchens helping with food preparation and distribution.

She’d approached the last months of uni with no idea what to do next, and in typical Lucky fashion, thought a radical, life changing trip to the Middle East with her best friend would probably be the best method of figuring it out. Needless to say, her parents were not pleased. Lucky, per usual, ignored them and boarded a plane to the United States, where she’d be staying the nation’s capitol for six weeks to receive training and preparation for the trip.

“Your mum will come around,” Harry encourages. Lucky smiles at him, but she isn’t sure he’s right. As much as she feels like this trip is something she needs to do, her parents hold an equal weight of fear and disapproval. They argue so frequently over it that when Lucky does come back in two years, she isn’t sure what sort of relationship with them she’ll have.

Harry, though he’ll never tell her aloud, understands her parents’ position exactly. While she’s worrying about what life will be like when she returns, they’re all hearing if. Regardless of how things change in the next two years, Harry thinks they’ll all be lucky if the two of them return at all.

Week Two

“Lucky, hurry up! We’re going to be late,” Harry yells, pounding on the door of the bathroom. He’d told her to be ready by nine in the morning. It is now nine-ten and he can still hear the water from her shower running.

“Late for what, exactly?” Lucky mutters to herself because it’s Saturday and they don’t actually have any obligations. Harry doesn’t see it that way, of course. He’s got a long list of perfectly timed activities they’re to accomplish in the next sixteen hours. He’s all about making the best of the six weeks they have here. Lucky thinks it’s exhausting.

By nine-thirty, which Lucky considers pretty on time, all things considered, the two are heading out the front door. Harry’s got his head buried in two separate maps, one of the city and the other of the metro.

“First is Arlington National Cemetery. JFK is buried there, you know,” he informs her, pointing her in the direction of the metro.

“Who?”

“He was an American president. The one who dated Marilyn Monroe,” Harry sighs before prattling on about how they have to be careful to take a certain colour metro or else they’ll be lost and the whole day’s itinerary will be more ruined than it already is.

The two are quiet on the metro, but as soon as they arrive at the cemetery Lucky is all wide eyes and excitement. Harry’s signed them up for a guided tour and he eagerly pushes himself to the front of the group so he’s in a prime place for hearing all the fun facts that are sure to be shared. To him, taking advantage of their limited time in the city means taking in as much information as possible. To Lucky, it means seeing as much as she can. She doesn’t listen to one word out of the tour guide’s mouth, preferring to let herself get lost in the environment until staring at the seemingly endless rows of identical graves makes her dizzy.

“Harry, did I tell you-“

“Shhh!” a handful of bystanders hush. Lucky waves her hand apologetically, unaware she’d been so loud.

“You aren’t meant to talk here,” Harry informs her under his breathe without taking his eyes off of the guards. They’re in front of “The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier,” which apparently means no words are to be spoken. Lucky squints and leans forward, watching the guard pace. She thinks it’s sort of silly, actually, that some well respected officer wastes his time pacing in front of an empty tomb in the blazing heat.

“Can I talk now?” Lucky whines once they’ve returned to the regular grounds and begin making their way back towards the entrance. They’ve been there for over two hours and Lucky is sweaty and her feet hurt. Worse than that, she’s had to go the whole of the time without talking; Harry had been ignoring her in favor of paying attention to the tour guide.

“Yes, thank you for your patience,” Harry permits, his gratitude honest. Up until the tomb mishap, she’d been very respectful about leaving him be to observe. Harry liked that he and his best mate were two very different people and he liked it even more when they understood that about each other. He thinks that’s why they work so well; he lets her live life in her own messy, unorganized way and she does the same for his maniac tendencies.

“So I think the elevator guy and I have been making progress,” Lucky goes straight into the topic of discussion. “I found out his name, in fact.”

“Yeah?” Harry snorts. Normally Harry didn’t like hearing about the men Lucky fancied, but this particular situation is exceptionally humorous.

“Zayn,” Lucky sighs. “Beautiful, perfect, lovely Zayn.”

“Well I’m very proud of you for figuring that out,” Harry deadpans. She’s been studying Arabic every night, picking out a few new phrases to impress Zayn with every morning. Harry gets to witness all of it and despite his annoyance at Lucky’s obsession, he must say watching her make a fool of herself every morning has become one of the highlights of his days here.

“Anyway, it’s been a week now and we’re really getting along, don’t you think? I mean, you’re there, so you know how he looks at me-

“How he looks at you?”

“-And I think the language barrier thing could actually kind of work for us, maybe. Like, I’m learning Arabic and he really should be learning more English, right? I think maybe he’ll put more effort into it once our romance blooms, but up until then the physical aspect of our relationship will have to suffice-“

“Physical aspect?” Harry chokes, his eyes bugging out.

“Well, yeah, Harry. I’m not a prude,” Lucky scoffs. Harry locks his jaw and grits his teeth.

“Have you..?”

“Well not yet! That’s what I’m asking about! I wanted to know if you thought it was too soon for me to ask him out,” Lucky gets to the point. Harry sighs, running a hand over his face and sitting down on a nearby bench. They’ve made it to the entrance of the cemetery by this point. The walking paired with the stress of the conversation has tired him out.

“You do realize you only have five weeks left here, right? What exactly are you going to accomplish in five weeks?” Harry, always the logical one, asks.

“Well he’s going on the program, isn’t he? Whatever I don’t accomplish here I can just finish there,” Lucky rationalizes with a shrug. Harry leans over, thinking he may be sick on his shoes.

“Lucille,” he uses her full name to indicate how stern he’s attempting to be. “You can’t-I mean he’s not-that’s not-“ The effect of his scolding is ruined by the way he splutters his words. “That’s not why we’re going! You’re not going to have time to focus on your romantic life. I would highly advise against pursuing whatever you want with this guy. It’s dangerous and will make things way more complicated than necessary,” Harry rants, waving his arms around for affect.

“It’s worth it, Harry. Don’t you think it’s worth it?”

Harry bites his lip. He runs a hand through his curls, wild from the humidity. His eyes are closed and his forehead pinched together in thought. If Lucky didn’t know better, she’d think he were in pain of some sort. Before she can ask about it he stands, pacing off in the direction of the metro without looking back to see if she follows.

“Come on,” he barks. “We’re going to be late for the Spy Museum.”

&&&

Zayn speaks English. Harry knows this because Zayn told him the first day they met, right after Lucky had gotten off the elevator.

“She’s convinced I’m some mysterious foreign bloke, but the truth? I’m from Bradford.”

Harry couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so hard. In uni he’d gotten used to guys fawning over his best friend. She’s short and blonde and curvy, with an innocence about her that makes guys think she’s easy to take advantage of. She never wore enough clothes to cover up and personally, Harry thinks that sometimes her eyeliner makes her look a bit like she’s for sale. It’s all sort of endearing, though, or at least he thinks so.

It’s all beside the point because Zayn shows no interest. They both can see how obvious it is Lucky fancies him and he thinks there’s nothing funnier than her reciting a new Arabic phrase (in a bad accent) to him each day. Harry agrees. It’s quite refreshing and so the two boys find a kindred spirit in one another. They spend their first lunch break on a bench in front of the building. Harry eats a sandwich he’s prepared the night before while Zayn smokes a fag. They talk about how annoying it is the way one of their instructors hisses whenever he uses the letter “s” and share stories about some of their tattoos. Besides Lucky, Harry can’t remember every meeting somebody he gets along with so well.

Today Harry is quiet. He can barely eat his sandwich. They’ve gone through an especially painful session just prior about what the proper safety protocol is should the camp ever come under military threat. Harry hates safety presentations. He’s been through many in his lifetime-mostly what to do in a fire or snowstorm-and he hates how they’re always given with a sense that the issue at hand isn’t really something to worry about. A fire in the building is unlikely. It’s important to have a plan, but it’s not that important because chances are it will never happen.

Harry leaves nothing up to chance. Something terrible could happen to anybody at any time and it’s useless to think otherwise. You never know when a building is going to catch on fire and you can bet that every single person in it was probably thinking “this will never happen to me.”

Of course, hearing a safety presentation given with the understanding that the issue at hand is highly likely is far worse than Harry could have anticipated.

“You all right, mate?” Zayn inquires, tapping the ashes off the end of his cigarette. Harry swallows.

“Sure,” he squeaks. Though he’s only halfway done, Zayn puts out his cigarette, folds his hands together, and waits for Harry to continue.

“Go on, out with it. What’s got you bothered?”

“I’m just-I mean, I never really…I didn’t think I’d be, uh, aren’t you scared?” Harry finally gets out, breathe leaving his mouth in a loud whoosh.

“Well, yeah,” Zayn admits shyly. “I think everybody is, aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” Harry murmurs in agreement. “I feel like a prick sometimes because I know people die everywhere, but more definitely die there and I can’t get over how fucking terrified I am of it.”

“Don’t think that makes you a prick, mate,” Zayn says kindly. He pats Harry’s back gently a few times before letting his hand rest there. “You’re still going, aren’t ya?”

“Of course,” Harry affirms without a second thought. He’s never questioned that. Zayn chuckles a little to himself, beginning to run his hand up and down Harry’s back in an effort to sooth him. Harry’s a high anxiety guy and Zayn can already hear his ragged breaths turning to wheezing.

“Can I ask why?” Zayn blurts curiously. “What’s a bloke like you doing going somewhere like Gaza if he’s so terrified?”

Harry is quiet for a long while. His eyes are shut and he focuses on the feeling of Zayn’s hand on his back. He can feel the familiar push of panic rising in his throat like bile. He swallows it down, almost choking. He hopes Zayn doesn’t notice how much the question affects him.

“Do you remember in 2005 there were those bombings in London?” Harry begins. Zayn nods. Everyone remembers those bombings, regardless of how old they were. “My parents…” Harry trails off. “They were there, and uh,” he coughs. “I guess they didn’t come back.”

“Harry, mate,” Zayn exhales, the information hitting him like a bucket of ice water.

“They never usually went to London, you know. We live in fucking Holmes Chapel, which is, like the middle of nowhere. It was a day trip, for business. They could have gone any other day…”

“I’m sorry, H. You don’t have to talk about this stuff,” Zayn tells him comfortingly. His hand has stopped moving and he lets it fall from Harry’s back lamely.

“I was mad at first,” Harry continues as if Zayn hasn’t spoken. Sometimes once he starts he can’t stop. He doesn’t talk about it very often, but when he does it’s like he goes blind. All he can see is red and he has to keep talking because he’s afraid if he doesn’t he’ll just break down completely. As terrible as it is, the story keeps him together. If he can recite it, the same way, every time, to each person, then it’s like it still matters. It’s like they still matter.

“I started doing all this research on who orchestrated the attacks and why they did it and who the bombers were and I don’t know. Except for one, they were all our age. Some younger. And they believed so strongly in this thing, in Islam I guess, that they…

“Well, anyway, I had this neighbor, this crazy Irish kid Niall whose sister got engaged to a guy who’s Muslim. I lived with my grandma and we didn’t have a lot of money-I had to work in a bakery after school every day just so we could afford to put food on the table-but Niall’s dad, he was pretty well off and so he’d help us out. Helped pay for me all through uni, even,” Harry shakes his head, smiling affectionately. He’s getting off topic. That usually doesn’t happen, but being in a new place makes him miss Niall and his family. Plus, he’s been spending a lot of time with Lucky; her tendency to ramble is probably rubbing off on him.

“I talked with Ashar, the fiancé, a lot about everything and after a while he changed my perspective, opened my eyes and everything. That’s how I got involved.”

“That’s,” Zayn exhales. He doesn’t know what to say. How does anybody respond to a story like that? Harry laughs dryly.

“Yeah, I know.”

Week Three

Lucky is determined to do everything in her power to not eat lunch in the same vicinity as Liam Payne. She has suffered two weeks of him asking her nosey personal questions, making inappropriate comments about her outfits, and one too many “accidental” ass brushes. Lucky is done. She tried entertaining friendships with the rest of her group, but she can no longer. Liam must be avoided at all costs.

“Where are you headed today?” Liam asks, hands in his pocket as he begins to follow Lucky out of the room, down the stairs.

“Lunch with a friend,” Lucky replies curtly without looking at him. She’s bounding down the stairs as quickly as possible, praying to Allah that once she reaches the fifth floor Harry will be found easily. She’s yet to actually visit the teachers’ floor and so she isn’t sure if the layout will be the same as the third or she’ll have to suffer through more of Liam’s questions while she searches for Harry.

“What kind of friend? Didn’t know there were two of you,” Liam coos with a smirk as they enter a hallway. Lucky closes her eyes and feels like crying. She’s completely lost. She’d consider calling Harry, but he keeps his phone strictly on silent during the day. Sometimes his do-good nature is positively infuriating.

“Look, you don’t have to follow me. Promise I can find him on my own-“

“Him? He isn’t your boyfriend is he?” Liam presses, though he doesn’t sound concerned either way. Lucky rolls her eyes.

“No, he’s not.”

“Good,” Liam hums, startling Lucky by cutting her off and pressing her against the wall. He’s got on palm flat against the brown wallpaper above her head and his eyes are leering down at her lips dangerously. Lucky begins to squirm.

“Liam-“

“Hey!” a deep, melodic voice Lucky would recognize anywhere sounds from down the hall. Her head whips in its direction and her heart actually soars. Zayn. “Get off her, mate. Doesn’t look like she’s interested in you much.”

“Zayn?” Lucky yelps in shock because the words that just came out of his mouth were in no way Arabic. “You speak English?”

Zayn offers Lucky a guilty smile, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. Liam looks between the two in confusion, but makes no effort to move.

“You heard me. Get out of here and don’t make me repeat myself again.” Zayn threatens. He does look quite intimidating, if Lucky does say so herself. Liam seems to agree because he mutters some sort of incoherent apology (to Zayn, not her) before scurrying back up the stairs.

“Thank you,” Lucky breathes, staring up at him in wonder. Zayn shrugs and scratches the back of his head.

“Don’t bother about it. Uh, sorry for the, well, the language miscommunication thing.”

“Don’t bother about it,” Lucky repeats.

&&&

“Harry, the best thing in the world happened to me today,” Lucky announces as soon as she opens the door, eyes immediately landing on Harry. Per usual, he is exactly where he’s been every other day at six-thirty PM on a Monday.

“Of course it did,” he mutters under his breath like he usually does when Lucky claims something extraordinary has happened.

“I spoke with Zayn!” she shouts loud enough that the neighbors will probably have heard.

“You do that every day,” Harry reminds her, holding up his index finger.

“In English.”

To this, Harry only smirks. He tries to focus on the articles he’s reading, but he isn’t sure how long he’ll be able to hold down the laughter. Lucky is so adorably excited over information Harry knew weeks ago. He expected the moment when Lucky discovered the truth would come, but he hadn’t anticipated how much he’d enjoy it. He only wishes he’d been there to witness the truth unfold.

“Ah, so he came clean finally,” he drawls, the dimple in his cheek deepening.

“Excuse me?” Lucky huffs, placing a hand on her hip and standing in front of him so she can stare down at him in disapproval. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s supposed to mean that I already know Zayn speaks English.” Harry informs her matter-of-factly. Her eyes bug out like saucers.

“What?”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Harry teases. He gets up off the couch, closing his computer and forgoing articles for the evening. Instead he heads towards the kitchen in search for supper. Lucky follows him like a befuddled puppy.

“Are you telling me that you knew Zayn spoke English and neglected to tell me about it even though I’ve been telling you how fit I think he is ever since I met him?” Lucky cries dramatically. Harry tries to keep his expression stoic and serious, but he’s not a very good liar. Little giggles keep escaping his closed lips until all he can get out is a pitiful “Yup!”

“Harry Styles I am going to KILL you!” Lucky shrieks. “You let me make a total idiot out of myself! You know how much I like him!”

“Hey, how about the fact that Zayn never corrected you either, hmm?” Harry defends himself. Lucky’s face is red with anger, but it doesn’t worry him. She often gets herself upset like this. In time she will see the comedy in the situation.

“Zayn’s not my best friend!” Lucky shouts angrily. She begins pacing back and forth across the kitchen. Harry crosses his long arms and continues to watch her, his laughter settling back into a smirk.

“We just thought it a bit funny, you know?”

“Fucking hilarious,” Lucky grumbles.

&&&

Harry spent the rest of the evening in stitches as he teased Lucky about what he deemed her Language Miscommunication Thing. He found the situation so bloody hilarious that he couldn’t even be distracted by the whole reason Lucky found about Zayn could speak English: Liam. When Lucky told him the story of Zayn coming to her rescue he was only annoyed for under a minute before deciding Zayn had handled it and getting back to the teasing.

The next morning when the three of them entered the elevator at the same time like they did every day, the teasing got worse.

“You had to learn your Arabic somehow, Lucky,” Harry tells her sincerely. She glares.

“I was! We were learning things in our group specific to the work we’ll be doing.”

“My favorite was when she tried to ask you where you’re from and ended up insulting your mum,” Harry chortles, ignoring her and hugging his stomach. Zayn nudges him with his elbow and nods in agreement.

“I’ll never get over the first day when she tried to tell me her name,” he sighs wistfully. He turns his eyes on her, glowing with amusement. “I think that’s when I decided to keep up the ruse. Too funny!”

“Fucking hilarious,” Lucky grumbles. Not even Zayn’s attention can ease her bitterness. She really is upset over being made fun of for three weeks.

To make it up to her, Harry organizes a post work drink between the three of them. They agree not to discuss the Language Miscommunication Thing, but Lucky spends the whole time brooding anyway. Instead she listens to Zayn and Harry joke and muss around like two peas in an abusive, rude, betraying pod.

Lucky is mad at Harry. She hates when he treats her like an idiot. She knows he doesn’t mean to and that she can bring it upon herself by acting like a blond bimbo, but he’s supposed to know her better. He’s supposed to know that she’s not. Just because she doesn’t know everything about the Middle East or how to tell whether or not somebody is from there doesn’t mean she’s an idiot. She’s learning. She’s trying.

She wants to ignore him and fight him and teach him a lesson about respect. She can’t, though. As infuriating as he is, he’s all she’s got. She gave up any semblance of a normal life to follow her best friend to the Gaza Strip and the Language Miscommunication Thing is not worth losing that over. She can’t afford to fight him. She needs him. She can’t do this without him.

&&&

Lucky has never celebrated the Fourth of July before. She hadn’t really thought much about it until they got the Friday off from work and the whole city seemed like it was celebrating.

“Brunch reservations are at eleven-thirty,” Harry cheers, walking into the bedroom they share with wet hair. He grins and shakes it out like a puppy, the water droplets landing on Lucky’s face even from a meter away. “I would advise getting out of bed and getting ready because Zayn will be here in twenty.”

“What?” Lucky splutters, sitting up in bed and staring in horror. “Why didn’t you wake me sooner?” Harry only shrugs and begins to play with his lower lip while he decides what to wear. Lucky scoffs and nearly falls out of bed. On her way to the bathroom she snags the towel around Harry’s waist off on purpose. His protests are loud and whiney. She doesn’t look back to see what’s underneath.

Within the first week of living together in the same one bedroom, one bath flat, it became clear that avoiding each other in the nude was going to be immeasurably difficult. Harry was awkward and nervous about it at first, covering his eyes when he walked into a room and turning tomato red whenever he caught a glimpse of something he shouldn’t. Lucky cares much less; she accepts that this is what they signed up for.

There are more important issues at hand here anyhow, such as Zayn’s presence in their lives for the whole of the day. Lucky had invited him to join them on her holiday celebration (much to the chagrin of Harry, who had to change their brunch reservation from two to three) and Zayn, not knowing anybody else in the city either, had agreed with pleasure.

Of course, this meant Lucky needed to spend the extra time in the bathroom doing her hair and make-up just right. Thankfully she’d had her red, white, and blue outfit picked out since Wednesday. Even better, Zayn is ten minutes late so the only one left waiting is Harry.

He grumbles about the importance of timeliness the whole walk to the restaurant.

The rest of the day passes in some sort of haze. They start drinking at breakfast, mimosas with French toast and eggs. Harry’s carefully planned itinerary falls apart when they spend an extra hour after brunch sipping their drinks and by the time they leave all three of them are too drunk to make it to the Botanical Gardens like Harry had planned.

“Let’s just…” Lucky tries to suggest, but the options are limited when you’re drunk at two in the afternoon.

“Let’s see a film,” Zayn suggests. Lucky nods enthusiastically. She doesn’t hear what Harry’s comment on the idea is; today she’ll follow Zayn anywhere he wants to go.

&&&

After the film the three buy hamburgers from the nearest restaurant they can find. They make a pit stop at Zayn’s flat to fill cantinas with mixed drinks and then head towards the Washington Monument for fireworks. Lucky acknowledges the fact that Independence Day is apparently just a day which all of America uses to get drunk. She’s got minimal complaints.

Harry is a lightweight and so while they wait for the sky to turn dark and the fireworks to begin he takes a quick kip. He’s curled up on his side beside Lucky, but once his eyes shut he may as well be dead to the world. Lucky thinks this is the perfect opportunity to get to know Zayn better, one on one.

“Have you wanted to do this trip for a long time, then?” Lucky slurs, reverting to the one topic they both have in common. Zayn nods.

“Do ya mind?” he asks politely, pulling a fag from his pocket. He doesn’t wait for Lucky to reply before he lights it, but she shakes her head anyway. He even makes smoking sexy.

“Are your parents supportive?” Lucky asks, swallowing back thoughts of her own parents’ disapproval. She wonders if it’s ludicrous to think that anybody’s parents would be okay with them traveling to such a violent region.

“Oh, sure,” Zayn hums. “My dad is Muslim and my mum converted when she married him. I’ve always thought it’s totally ridiculous how fucked over we got.”

“What do you mean?” Lucky presses, thinking he’s about to tell her a story about his family, maybe the story that led him here.

“The land was theirs, Lucky. They had no right to come in and say it wasn’t. They know nothing about us or our countries, but they felt guilty over Germany and continued to interfere where they shouldn’t,” Zayn rambles angrily, his voice slurring. Lucky is struggling to keep up; apparently they are not talking about his family anymore.

“You’re talking about Israel,” Lucky confirms. Zayn all but ignores her.

“It’s no wonder people are so angry. We have nowhere to go, you know? They took the country, displaced millions, and now they’re asking why we fight back? And look, I’m not defending any terrorists or anything-I mean, Jesus, I had no idea about H-“ Zayn pauses, casting his eyes down towards the sleeping boy. “I’m just saying that you can’t take away a whole people group’s land and expect everything to be okay.”

Lucky doesn’t know what to say. She feels out of place. She’s beginning to realize that maybe she is in a bit over her head. Everyone she’s met, everyone joining her, they’ve all got these intense reasons for going. They believe in the work they’ll be doing and in the freedom of the Palestinian people. And it isn’t that Lucky doesn’t also believe that. It’s just that, well, she doesn’t really know much about it. Harry had tried to talk to her about it loads of times, but she’d never paid attention. She only knows what’s been taught to her in her sessions and even then it doesn’t seem like it’s enough. Lucky really doesn’t know anything at all.

&&&

Harry is drunk. He had woken from his nap just minutes before the fireworks began, proceeded to chug the rest of his drink with Zayn, and then spent the rest of the evening making loud comments about his English roots.

After the fireworks the three of them had taken a taxi to some bar Zayn heard was great, and at least two shots were taken together before Harry switched to margaritas, Zayn to cigarettes, and Lucky to beer.

Now Harry can barely walk straight and Lucky walks with one arm around his torso so they don’t get lost in the throngs of people leaving. The city is still well and alive as always and Lucky doesn’t want either of them to lose their way-at least alone. They’d said goodbye to Zayn when he’d run into some other bloke he knew, though he didn’t mention from where, and they’d headed off together in the opposite direction.

Eventually the streets died down enough so that Lucky could loosen her grasp on Harry. He stumbled along, gangly arms swinging at his side, his head set downwards so that his long curls covered his face. His breathing is loud and when he stops to look up at her, his face is knit in concentration.

“You have fun with Zayn today?” he asks and there’s something in his voice, like he’s mocking her.

“Uh, yeah.” Her tone is defensive.

“When I was asleep there it was almost like a proper date. Right romantic,” he continues to jeer. Lucky can’t quite pinpoint the word to describe how he’s being right now. He’s conversational, smiling, but his tone sounds almost angry.

“What’s wrong with you, Harry?” she demands.

“Nothing,” he assures her. He puts his head back down, his chin almost bumping against his chest. He doesn’t say anything to her for the rest of the walk.

When they arrive at the flat Harry heads straight for the loo and Lucky falls face down on the stiff sofa. Flat isn’t really the right word for where they live. They’re actually staying in dorm rooms owned by some American university. Apparently college aged kids flock here during the summer; they are just two of the many.

“You’re fucking ruining everything, Lucky,” Harry groans tiredly, plopping himself on top of her legs, his bony arse squeezing between her and the couch.

“Fuckin’ hell, Harry!”

“Had all these plans,” he murmurs sleepily. “Can we have a cuddle?” he asks, letting the rest of his body mold to hers, long arms around her torso and legs interlocked. Lucky smiles and silently turns on her side and slides into his embrace.

“Sorry we didn’t see the gardens today,” she sighs contently,

“Mmm, it’s not a thing.” When Harry speaks his breath blows against her ear warmly. It lulls her into a place of comfort, makes her feel close enough to him that she can ask her next question.

“Are you upset because you felt like a third wheel today?”

“Me? No!” Harry exclaims despite himself. He’s got a broad grin on his face. “I like Zayn, you know. He’s a good mate. I just…well, you know.”

“What?” Lucky is confused. Harry is babbling.

“Lux, you’re my best mate. You’re…you’re fucking everything, And I was going to ask you out, you know? But then you told me you wanted to come do Gaza and well, Gaza just isn’t the place to figure us out. I didn’t want to do that there. But I was gonna wait. Till after we got back. I thought we’d both be in a better place . Cos I love ya, you know? You’re my best mate and I love you.”

&&&

Harry wakes up Sunday on the couch, his mouth dry and stomach turning. He slowly turns from his back to his stomach, burying his head in the pillow and groaning softly. He feels awful, his whole body aching from his head to his toes. Slowly, carefully, he slides his feet to the ground and hovers propped up by his arms so that his stomach can have time to adjust positions. He trudges to the kitchen, grabbing a dirty glass on the counter without regard for whomever it originally belonged to, and fills it with water he gulps down like a fish.

The decision makes him feel both immeasurably better and worse.

His stomach churns violently and Harry almost drops the glass on the floor as he makes brisk movements towards the loo. He doesn’t pay any mind to Lucky, who is brushing her teeth in front of the sink. He just gets on his knees, leans over the porcelain bowl, and hurls.

This is his punishment for drinking for over twelve hour straight.

When he finishes he leans back against the wall, wiping his mouth and looking up at Lucky in agony. He’s about to open his mouth to complain when he catches her startled expression. She’s staring down at him nervously with her mouth ajar. Harry furrows his brow quizzically.

“Is something wrong? Does the noise make you ill? M’sorry,” he apologizes. Lucky doesn’t respond at first.

“You had too much to drink last night,” she states rather than questions.

“Bloody hell, yes. Never drank that much in my life, I think. I don’t even remember anything after that first bar we went to. Did I make an arse of myself?” Harry worries. There’s a reason he doesn’t get drunk like he did the day before. He hates losing chunks of his memory; there’s something completely humiliating about waking up in the morning and having to ask a mate what you did the night before.

“You don’t?” Lucky presses earnestly. Harry moans and topples over so he’s horizontal on the tile. The coolness of it feels wonderful against his pounding head. He may lie here all day, in fact.

“Don’t rub it in,” he retorts.

Week Four

Lucky is pretty sure Harry told her he was in love with her on the Fourth of July. It’s got her all distracted, even Monday morning, because it’s the first time she’s really spent with Harry since it happened. He was so ill yesterday he spent the whole morning lying on the bathroom floor, only getting up to return to his bed where he spent the rest of the day alternating between sleeping and the telly.

Maybe he didn’t mean it like that, though. He’d said he loved her, not that he was in love with her, hadn’t he? Maybe he meant it in a platonic way. Maybe he was saying he didn’t want to ask her out because he loved her too much to ruin their friendship.

She chews on her fingernail the whole walk to work, stealing small glances up at his concentrated profile. He’s got his head buried in his cell, reading the day’s news. She considers asking him what he meant, except that he doesn’t remember what he said and Lucky isn’t sure morning before work is the best time to get into it.

They wait in front of the building like they’ve begun doing since befriending Zayn. It’s Harry who grows impatient first when he doesn’t show up within five minutes.

“Where is he?” he complains, checking his watch.

“Maybe he’s still hungover from the weekend,” Lucky quips. Her voice comes out more nervous than it should. Harry doesn’t notice.

“Let’s just go up. I’ll give him a ring at lunch if he hasn’t showed,” Harry grumbles, opening the front door for her and Lucky is immediately hit with the sound of a shrill voice chattering in the lobby.

“Mum?” She hisses. She blinks twice, like the tall monster of a woman is a mirage.

“Lucille, you’re here. I was just chatting with this young gentleman here while I waited for you to show up. I thought we could go up together for our meeting with Job.”

There are so many things wrong with that sentence that Lucky doesn’t know where to begin.

“Hello, Mrs. Francis. How’re you?” Harry greets politely. Mum grimaces.

“I’m fine, Harry,” she replies shortly before returning her attention to her daughter. Lucky is seeing red. She doesn’t even know how to address this situation.

“Um,” Zayn coughs from where he’s so clearly been trapped in a conversation with Mum. “I think I should be going now…”

“Oh, pardon my manners. Lucille, this is Zayn. He was just telling me how important it is that participants in the program have an adequate level of knowledge about Arab and Jewish culture. I imagine it’s quite a bit to learn in six weeks, don’t you? I was worried for you all, going in unprepared, but he’s assured me most participants have a background in Middle Easter nculture and politics.”

Lucky doesn’t know how it’s possible for somebody to insult her so many times without actually saying anything insulting. It’s enough to snap her out of her dazed trance.

“I’ve met Zayn, Mum. He’s my friend,” she scoffs. “Who’s Job?”

“Job McIntosh, dear. He’s the head of this organization. I scheduled a meeting for the three of us to discuss your position here, see whether or not you might not be suited doing something else.”

“Mum, you’re not serious. Why are you here?” Lucky cries, her cheeks flaming pink.

“I just told you, Lucille. I think it’s wonderful you have a heart for helping, but there are so many ways to contribute, you know. I just think it’s worth discussing your options. You may be of much better service to the organization with an office job here or even better in their UK location!”

“Mum, I’m not going to that meeting with you,” Lucky declares, crossing her arms.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you are. Come along now everyone,” she rushes, pressing the ‘up’ button on the elevator. It opens immediately and the boys rush in obediently. “Perhaps if things go well I’ll take the three of you out to dinner.”

&&&

Lucky had never met Job before, and after her meeting with him and her mother she still wouldn’t consider that statement untrue. Job McIntosh spent the whole of the meeting with his eyes trained respectfully on Mum. She chattered away her concerns about Lucky going to Gaza, Job did little to assure her otherwise, and Lucky spoke no words. In the end, by some decision Lucky was not a part of, they’d all decided it be best for Lucky to take the next two days and figure out what she wanted.

“She’s driving me crazy, dad,” Lucky complains. She has high hopes that bringing in reinforcements will force her mother back to the continent she came from, but her dad is of no help.

“We’re worried about you, honey. We just want what’s best for you.”

Lucky knows that his use of ‘we’ means bad news. It means that her father may not want to take the heat of preventing her from going, but he wants it just as badly as her mother. They’re on the same page, even if he’s more polite about showing it.

“Harry, the worst thing in the world happened to me today,” Lucky announces as soon as she opens the door, eyes immediately landing on where Harry should be at six-thirty PM on a Wednesday. For once, he isn’t there. “Harry?” she shouts, but gets no response.

Figuring he’s probably out to the grocery store, Lucky sighs and slumps into her bedroom. It’s there where she finds Harry, lying flat on his bed and staring straight up at the ceiling. He looks in deep thought, an unreadable expression on his face. Lucky is struck with a sharp sense of worry for him; she’s never seen him like this before.

“Harry?” she repeats his name, this time softer. “What are you doing?”

“Huh?” he hums, turning his head slightly to catch her eye.

“I called your name like a million times. Did you not hear me?”

“Sorry, I was thinking.”

“About what?”

“About…” he trails off, his hand rising to habitually play with his lips. It only takes a second for his hand to pull away like he’s burned himself. “Something weird happened today.”

“Yeah?” Lucky presses. She sits on her bed and faces him, waiting for him to nervously sit up. He rubs his thighs with his hands, not quite meeting Lucky’s eye. He’s nervous, she can tell.

“Um, so I was at lunch with Zayn like usual, you know?” She nods. “And we were just talking, like usual and then…well, Lucky, you’re not going to like this but he kissed me.”

“Excuse me?” She can’t believe what she’s hearing. “Did you just say-?”

“Sorry, Lux,” he grins sheepishly. His face is a little flushed. Lucky is confused. She isn’t sure she’s ready to process all this new information, especially with her mum in town breathing down her neck.

“You didn’t…did you kiss him back?” she demands with a scowl. Never in her life did she think she’d be having this conversation with Harry of all people.

“No!” Harry shouts, a little too loudly. “I’m not gay, Lucky.”

“But?”

“But I still like Zayn.”

Lucky’s heart plummets. “So you’re not gay except when it comes to Zayn?”

“No,” Harry assures her. “Are you actually upset with me right now?”

“Of course not!” Lucky shouts, standing up and deciding now would be a good time to head to the kitchen and get away from this conversation. “S’not my fault you got kissed.”

“Fucking hell, I thought you might be upset, but I didn’t think you’d be this upset,” Harry grumbles, following after her. “You barely know Zayn!”

“I don’t fucking care who Zayn kisses, Harry!” Lucky hollers, opening the fridge door roughly. She’s not exactly hungry, but her eyes dart around looking for something that would be plausible to want at this exact moment.

“Sure you don’t,” Harry grunts. “That’s why you’re throwing a tantrum over it.”

“Because he kissed you!” Lucky exclaims, slamming the door shut and turning on her heel. Harry is raising an incredulous eyebrow at her. Lucky’s heart stops beating for a moment. “And you’re my best mate,” she adds lamely, her voice void of anger this time. “And I wouldn’t want your manliness to be compromised. He shouldn’t assume you’re gay like that.”

“Right,” Harry agrees slowly, his expression just shy of mocking. “You’re worried over my compromised manliness.”

“Yeah!”

“Well, I assure you my manliness is still intact. Nothing to worry about here,” he informs her slowly, stepping forward. Lucky bites her lip, wondering why he keeps getting closer to her.

“Good,” she murmurs. Harry smirks, reaching over her to open the fridge and pull out a handful of carrots. He starts chomping on them loudly in a way that Lucky probably shouldn’t be finding attractive. She can still feel the heat from his skin though and wonders who’s great idea it was that she start living with her tall, attractive best mate.

“Good,” Harry repeats with his mouth full of mushed carrot. Lucky shakes herself out of it, berating herself for letting her mind wander where it shouldn’t.

“Well, I hope things aren’t going to be awkward between the two of you now,” she chides, heading towards the couch in an attempt to get out of his presence. “Because the three of us have dinner with my mum in an hour.”

&&&

Charlotte Francis has never seen a group of more uncomfortable kids than the three sitting across the table from her. Whoever taught Zayn Malik manners certainly didn’t do a very good job. He’s got his head down, staring at his thumbs and avoiding eye contact with everyone. Lucille is extra silent as well, her eyes darting nervously between the two males on either side. Per usual, she is ignoring the presence of her mother. Charlotte sighs, thinking that perhaps she should not berate on the manners of other children when her own daughter barely knows how to behave herself.

Begrudgingly, Charlotte admits that the only lively one of the group is Harry. He’s been asking a slew of polite questions since the group sat down, about how her trip has been, how Lucille’s father is doing, if she’s enjoyed visiting all the landmarks. It makes Charlotte feel just a little bit guilty for the way she treats the lad.

Normally, Charlotte wouldn’t have a problem with Harry Styles. Certainly he’s not the sort of boy she would have pictured her daughter with, what with the long hair and tattoos, but he’s nice enough. He’s always been very respectful and gracious towards their family. He’s been kind to Lucille. Charlotte can tell he makes her happy, brings well needed structure into her flighty daughter’s life.

It’s just that it isn’t fair for him to project his own plans on Lucille. Charlotte has no problem with Harry, who has no family, risking his life to make a difference for others. She thinks it’s admirable, even, knowing that he will be helping the same types of people who caused his parents’ untimely death. He’s got a good heart and it’s fine.

Lucille has a good heart too, but she’s never shown an interest in this. In school Lucille had been sociable and eager. Their family was well off and so Lucille spent her time with other sociable, well off girls. She had boyfriends, though always casual, and Charlotte remembers hearing her daughter gush with her friends over trivial matters like short-term relationships, fashion trends, or what was on the telly. She was in love with some boy band member whose face was tacked above her bed. She pulled average marks. Lucille was simple and predictable and ordinary.

Charlotte can’t see that much about her daughter has changed, even in uni. She made different friends, was interested in different things, but her personality remains the same. She’s not strong enough or smart enough or responsible enough to go somewhere like Gaza.

Charlotte had offered different trips. If her daughter wants to travel, she’ll give her money to travel all over Europe with a girlfriend from school. She could have visited the States, France, Italy, even Greece. She could have gone anywhere. She was in no way trapped in England.

But Lucille said no. She plans to go to Gaza. Charlotte blames it entirely on Harry Styles.

“Are you in love with him?” she demands, cutting off another one of Harry’s tireless questions. Lucille chokes on her cocktail; some liquid dribbles down her chin. Charlotte keeps her gaze steady, despite the urge to roll her eyes.

“Mum,” she cries, red from embarrassment. Charlotte sighs.

“What? I’m your mother. You’re going to a foreign country and I may never see you again. I deserve to know the boy you’re in love with.”

“You know Harry!” Lucille exclaims. Charlotte raises an eyebrow that leaves Lucille flustered. Out of the corner of her eye she can see Harry is sweaty and nervous as well.

“I’m just,” Zayn coughs. “I’m going to use the loo.”

“I didn’t mean that. Harry and I aren’t together. We’re mates.”

“You and Carly are friends. How come you didn’t follow her to London?” Charlotte questions simply. Lucille hangs her head. Charlotte notes that she needs a haircut; her fringe is covering up too much of her face.

“Look, mum, I’ve explained this. I want to help people. I want my life to mean something and I don’t want to waste it in some office somewhere-“

“There’s a million other things you could do, honey-“

“I know!” Lucille interrupts. Charlotte narrows her eyes, but Lucille continues. “There’s a million options for me and I don’t have any idea which one to choose. All I know is I want to do work that matters and this trip, it matters. And I know you think I could have done something similar in a million other places where these isn’t war and violence, but what’s so wrong about wanting to go with Harry? What’s so wrong about wanting to help people with my best mate, with the one person who gets me and supports me and is there for me no matter what? What more could I want for my life than to do this with him?”

“What’s wrong is you could die, honey. How can you not see that?” Charlotte snaps, brushing her fingers under her eyelids. “Excuse me,” she adds before disappearing to the loo, unable to sit and watch her daughter make the biggest mistake of her life.

Lucky doesn’t mean to make her mother cry, but it was unavoidable. Lucky is doing Gaza and no visit from her mother was ever going to stop that. She exhales dramatically and opens her mouth to say something to Harry. He’s looking at her sort of funny, though, appearing almost dazed. Lucky is hit with a beat of nerves, crushed only by Zayn returning to the table and distracting her.

“Bloody hell, your mum is a madwoman!”

Harry’s trance is broken and he laughs in agreement. Lucky feels his hand slip under the table and squeeze her knee. When she looks up at him he’s smiling at her and if Lucky didn’t know better, she’d say by the look on his face that he was proud of her.

Week Five

It has been five days since Zayn kissed Harry and Harry feels terrible. It’s been awkward. He keeps replaying the moment in his head over and over again basking in the awkwardness of it all.

They’re talking about music. Harry likes to sing, thinks in another world he could have been a performer. Zayn feels the same way. He makes a joke about them starting a band. Harry says his mate, Niall plays guitar. Zayn remembers that time he caught that prick that harassed Lucky singing. Lucky’s ex boyfriend sang in school plays.

“Fuck Gaza, let’s audition for X-factor,” Zayn jokes. Harry laughs, leaning forward and letting his hair fall in his face. When he looks up Zayn leaned in as well. Like a romantic comedy he brushes some hair from Harry’s face and for a brief moment their eyes close and lips touch.

“I like ya, Harry.”

“I like,” A beat passes. “Lucky.”

Most of all, Harry misses his friend. He’s not attracted to Zayn, but the two got along well. Harry thinks it’s nice having a guy friend around. He likes watching football with Zayn and getting beers and watching him smoke during lunch breaks. He likes talking to Zayn about stuff. He’s really thoughtful and smart and often gives Harry new perspectives on things. Harry misses talking to him.

“Can we sort it?” Harry asks as soon as they’re dismissed for lunch. Zayn nods without a second thought.

“Can we forget it?” he suggests with a light chuckle. He presses the down button on the elevator. “I was being a wanker.”

“You never mentioned you were…” Harry trails off. The elevator dings and they step into the lobby.

“I like people, mate,” Zayn shrugs. Harry braces himself for the humidity that waits for him outside. His shirt sticks to his back almost immediately.

“Okay,” Harry says. “So we’re mates still?”

“Course we are. We’re going to be spending two years together, after all.”

“Yeah…it’d be dumb to start something when we’re about to go through this,” Harry mutters, remembering the countless warnings he’d read in pamphlets or received from instructors in the past four weeks about how romance and Gaza don’t really work together. Islam has strict rules about any sort of relationship between a man and woman who aren’t married.

“Does Lucky know that?” Zayn chortles, nudging Harry in the arm.

“Huh?”

“She just doesn’t strike me as the type to pay much attention to her sessions, you know? Or to listen even if she does.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry admits sheepishly. He’s only lying a little bit. He’s got an inkling for what Zayn is talking about, he just isn’t sure he’s ready for it to become concrete.

Harry met Lucky his second year at uni; they partners in a class together. She became one of his close friends and if he’s being honest with himself, he always sort of fancied her. But he was a chicken-shit who didn’t want to ruin their friendship over something he wasn’t sure of. He’s never really been sure of her, after all, because he’s organized and focused and she’s flighty and unreliable.

It works for her, though, and Harry thought maybe it would work for them too, but he was always meant to do this trip. It didn’t take long for Harry to realize that he didn’t want to date anyone seriously. It wouldn’t be fair to them. Harry could imagine no world in which he’d be okay with his girlfriend heading off for two years to a violent country with minimal means of communication. He wasn’t about to do that to a girl. He wasn’t ever going to do that to Lucky and so because he couldn’t date her seriously, he did nothing.

But then she decided to do Gaza with him, she got so upset when she found out he’d been kissed, and then there was the way she described him to her mum. It had him second-guessing everything.

&&&

As much as Lucky could strangle her Mum, it’s hard to say goodbye. Lucky comes with her to the airport and it’s a rare moment when the hug shared between the two women doesn’t seem long enough. For the first time Lucky is struck by the fact that it will be a very long time before she sees her mother again. She suddenly wishes he father had made the trip too.

She comes home feeling lonely and drifts aimlessly towards her bed. In an attempt to distract herself she actually opens one of the book she’s been assigned to read all summer. They’ve got under two weeks left and reality is hitting her hard.

It’s hitting Harry hard too, and so around nine in the evening he suggests they go on a walk to clear their heads. Lucky agrees with relief.

They wander for fifteen minutes in silence. It’s not uncomfortable. Lucky wishes they’d done this more often; the city has so much to see, there are hundreds of things to take in, and Lucky thinks maybe she should have taken a page from Harry’s book and took advantage of her surroundings more.

They end up at a small coffee shop and Harry orders them both teas and a pastry to share. Lucky watches him lick sugar off his lips and smiles affectionately.

“What have you been thinking about today?” she asks softly, kicking his foot under the table. Harry grins sheepishly and swallows.

“I’m really scared,” he admits honestly. His green eyes are shining as he looks at her and there’s a look of such vulnerability on his face that it makes Lucky’s heart hurt.

“Me too,” Lucky agrees. She’d been thinking the same.

“I-“ Harry starts, but there aren’t really words. “I feel guilty that you’re coming with me. I know we’ve talked about it and it’s all your decision, but I don’t know. After seeing how upset your mum was at dinner-“

“Harry-“

“I hadn’t thought about it before,” he croaks out. “That you have a family and everything. For me, it’s not…I mean my parents are dead; who cares what happens to me out there?” he laughs coldly. “But for you…I’m scared for you.”

“You’re talking rubbish, Harry. Is this why you’re going? Because you think nobody will care? What about your grandma? Niall? Me?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Harry sighs in embarrassment. He runs a hand through his hair, overwhelmed. His eyes close and his face crumples. When he opens them again his face is hard and determined. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you over there.”

“You can’t promise that,” Lucky argues, shaking her head. Harry only clutches his knuckles together, his jaw set and mind made up.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

Week Six

After the last Monday the whole program goes out for drinks. Lucky sits happily between Harry and Zayn and listens to them argue over who the hottest Spice Girl is. Lucky thinks back to the beginning of their time here. Back then it felt like she had ages before she’d have to think about Gaza, but now it’s seven days away and it doesn’t seem that long ago Zayn was pretending to only speak Arabic and Lucky was making a fool of herself learning.

She used to have visions of Zayn and her partnering up to save Palestine refugees in some idealistic utopia Lucky is now certain Gaza will be nothing like. She was naïve when she started this. She’s still a bit naïve, but now she’s also terrified and it makes everything feel different.

It’s okay to be scared, Lucky thinks. She knows Harry hates it, but she thinks it’s okay. To not be scared would be to not be human. Lucky thinks there are worse things to be, just like there’s worse things than doing Gaza with your best friend.

&&&

On the night before their flight Harry and Lucky get a little tipsy and decide that, as they have to be at the airport by four-thirty in the morning, it might be best to just stay up. Harry is a bundle of energy and excitement. He looks like he’s just won the lottery and there’s something magical about it, about doing what you’ve dreamed of doing for so long.

He’s unlocking the door to their room when she kisses him. She hears the keys fall to the floor and his hand snakes around her waist, his pink lips pressing immediately against hers. His hair tickles her cheeks and she laughs a bit.

“Fuck,” Harry swears, his face redder than a tomato. He ducks down and grabs the keys, finally letting them into their living room. All their bags are packed, the only evidence that two people lived there at all. The door shuts behind Lucky. Harry looks back at her with shy, hesitant eyes. She bites her lip. It’s enough encouragement for Harry to duck his head back down and press his lips forcefully against hers.

Their kisses are quick and eager, like they’re running out of time, like they won’t be spending the next two years together. And Harry knows, logically, that he’s not promised anything with her. He knows their lives will be at risk every day and that starting this-whatever this is-will only make things more dangerous. He remembers the pamphlets and the lectures and the warnings.

She paws against him with hands that don’t know where they want to be any more than she knows what she wants to do with her life. She runs them up his arms, across his chest, under his shirt, scratching against his lower back and flattening against his spine. He keeps his hands firm, one cupping her cheek desperately while the other is at her side, keeping them steady.

She peppers kisses against his jaw, down his neck, across his chest. Harry squeezes his eyes shut. What are they doing? He opens his mouth to say something-maybe to tell her to stop-but she senses it and covers it with her own again.

“I’m in love with you, Harry,” she breathes into him, the words sending his heart to his throat. She pulls away, breathing heavily and awaiting his response. His head is dizzy and he can’t see straight and he doesn’t know what to say at all.

“Yeah,” he exhales. “I know.” He didn’t and he doesn’t. “Me too.” He presses his lips to hers again, like they’re oxygen. “I love you too.”

&&&

Lucky doesn’t know much about the Middle East. She hasn’t taken classes like Harry has and if she’s being honest she slacked off all summer on her sessions. It’s not because she doesn’t care or because she’s not committed to doing Gaza. She just doesn’t think all the details are necessarily that important.

She knows that Israel and Palestine are two distinctly different nations with two different views on how life should be. She knows that they both feel claim over land that they’re probably both entitled too. She knows that the turmoil and violence has become so prominent over the years that every other country in the world feels a need to take sides. Everyone’s got their hands on weaponry and no one trusts each other. She knows doing Gaza is dangerous.

But Lucky knows what to do under bomb threat and she knows how to tell when somebody is probably armed and to gauge how dangerous he might be. She knows what she can and can’t say in front of locals as well as what she can and can’t wear. She knows a bit of Arabic, mostly words having to do with the kitchen, and also, thanks to Zayn, how to flirt in the language.

Lucky knows she wants to help people. She wants to change somebody’s life, even if it’s just one person. And maybe she is being naïve, but she thinks that’s enough. It’s enough for her.

“My plane boards in an hour,” Lucky chokes out on the phone with her parents.

“We love you, honey,” her father tells her softly. There’s no more arguing.

“Be safe,” her mum urges. She’s accepted Lucky’s going.

“I love you. I’ll call as much as I can,” she promises. She bites her lip, not sure how she’s meant to end the conversation. “It’ll be okay.”

She’s crying when she hangs up the phone and slinks back to where Harry is standing, reading the board with information on flights. Zayn sits a few feet away, back against the wall, staring down at a ring on his finger that Lucky’s never seen him without.

“Are you ready?” she asks him, slumping to the floor as well.

“After the London bombings some older kids, maybe by a few years, cornered me in the street on my way home from school, beat me up, called me Muslim trash. I thought that was bad, ya know?” he laughs, twisting the ring on his finger.

“Gaza will be worse,” Lucky states. Zayn nods, looking up at her. She’s never seen him look so scared.

“Yeah.”

They’re all scared and none of them know what they’re doing and Lucky thinks every single person on the plane is wondering if they’re making a giant, life-ending mistake. She can see it on the faces of the all the mid-twenty year olds she’s trained with for six weeks.

“We’re helping people,” Lucky tells Harry firmly once he’s placed their bags in the upper compartments and slid into the middle seat beside her. He nods distractedly.

Lucky presses a brief, poignant kiss against his lips until he breathes out a shaky “Yeah,” in agreement. They buckle their seatbelts.

“Bloody hell,” Zayn mutters from the aisle seat.

“We’re helping people,” Harry reminds him in the same firm tone she’d used just moments earlier. He slides his hand into hers, locking their fingers so tightly there will probably be marks.

Lucky thinks this is enough too.

#harry #humanitysoldier #earthshake #1dff #1dafe

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