Scandal // h.s au

seven: "Stay here, Aimee."

Hours went by, but he showed no signs of tiring, so naturally, neither did she. She always felt that need, that urge, to keep up with him. She knew she never could, after all, he seemed to always keep himself in check, always calculating his every move, and how every one of them would lead to the next. And she was nothing like that. She was spontaneous, inexperienced, and simply small, both in value and effect.

It must have been at least three in the morning, when he shifted his position, bringing his feet firmly to the ground, standing, but remaining hunched over the pictures ahead.

" There's a house right across the Banks'. I can clearly see at least one camera pointed towards their house. Maybe we should check the tapes, see if it filmed anyone going in, or coming out of the Banks' residence." She rose to scan through the pictures he had previously examined, as he began putting on his jacket, and collecting his belongings.

" We're going now?"

" We need every minute, Miss Montgomery. You can stay here, or go home if you'd like."

" But it's three in the morning, Mr. Styles. No one would be awake now, and we can't alert them, or else it'd be too much of a fuss."

" Miss Montgomery, it's -" Before he could finish his sentence, his phone was ringing in his pocket, the ringtone completely unrecognizable to her. He rolled his eyes, retrieving it, before announcing that it was Katherine.

" Katherine, I think we might have someth - alright, slow down. What? Oh no. I'll go to the morgue now. No, Kath, I can handle it. Don't come down. Alright." His entire demeanor dimmed, all his energy seemed to have been sucked out of him, after whatever he had heard. She watched him intently, as he put his phone away, his mouth opened agape, toothpick between his fingers, as he ran a shaky hand through his hair.

" I - I have to go." For the first time, she noted, his voice had lost its firmness. He didn't sound as stable nor as confident.

" Wait, where are we going?"

" No, you can't come. I have to do this alone. This is - fuck, this is on me." His shoulders had hunched forward, an invisible weight seemingly resting upon them, taking him down.

" Hey, Harry," She didn't know how she mustered up the courage, but her hand held onto his arm, pulling him towards her. To her surprise, he relaxed under her touch, squeezing his eyes shut, and taking in a single deep breath.

" What happened?" She weakly spoke.

" Owen; you know, our lead photographer, was run over. He - Katherine said he's dead, but I have to see for myself, Aimee. I - I have to see what they've done to him."

" Oh God, I - I'm so sorry."

" So am I." And every single bone in his body screamed that he indeed was eternally sorry. He sighed, releasing himself from her grasp, to rub his face in exasperation.

" I have to go, but I need you to stay here."

" No, but - we're supposed to be in this together, H -"

" I don't give a fuck. The case can go to hell. Ian, and his wife, screw them. Screw it all, if it had to cost Owen his life. Stay here, Aimee. I mean it."

His green eyes held her own, for a mere minute. She tried to ignore how effortlessly he seemed to have called her name. How beautifully it had rolled off his tongue. He leaned in, and she thought he'd hold her, or hug her, or even kiss her. The anticipation built in the pit of her stomach as she held her breath. But as quickly as it happened, he pulled away, shaking his head to himself, his steps quick and determined as he walked away from her.

His drive there was frantic, careless. He thought of all those times when Owen used to tell him about his little daughter, and how him and his wife were trying to get her a brother because she wished for it for Christmas. He remembered laughing with Owen, whenever he told him that someday, he'd win an award for his pictures, and he'd be famous and have his own paper and shut them the fuck down. He remembered Owen stealing random pictures of him, and telling him that he'd keep them to use them against him when needed. The stubborn remorse grew within him, with every fleeting memory that ran through his mind.

This was all his fault.

He was the one who was so keen on taking this case, knowing that it open up doors to hell that he had no way of closing. He never should have let anyone work on it, and now, Owen was dead, and everyone else was in danger. So much blood was on his hands, and he found himself staring down upon them, to see if it was visible.

Lengthy minutes passed by, before he was pulling up in front of the morgue. He ran through the hallways, down the stairs, until he got to the fridges. One of the doctors he knew well stood there, offering him a compassionate smile, laying a hand on Harry's shoulder before letting him be. He opened a chamber in the fridge that had Owen's name on it, and there he was. Pale as snow, purple bruises spotting his skin, head cracked open, but no blood seeping through. Other than that, his features held no emotion at all, and he couldn't help but wonder if he had the time to feel any pain, or if it just happened. The lump in his throat continued to grow, as he shakily took the report into his hands.

" Cause of death: head trauma. Died on impact."

It was all so suffocating, so draining. He ran a hand over his throat, willing his lungs to take any air in, and not give out on him, but it was of no use. He hung the report back in its previous place, walking towards the door. He couldn't help but tilt his head backwards, taking Owen in one more time, knowing that he'd never forget that scarring image.

" I'm sorry." He whispered. He then opened the door, left, and closed it behind him. He felt utterly lost in his own head, his feet shaking under the weight of his increasing guilt, hands trembling with nerves, worry, and fear. But then, he heard her voice, calling his name so weakly, so cautiously. He lifted his eyes off the ground, allowing them to fall upon her. Her arms were behind her back, chest heaving rapidly, features twisted in concern. He found himself resisting the urge to throw himself into the security of her arms. He cleared his throat, searching for his voice, or maybe even, his words.

" He's - um - he's in there. I need to call his wife to inform her, then we need to talk to Katherine, and everyone else in the paper, and -" Before he could finish his sentence, her arms were wrapped around his neck, as she stood on his feet, burying her face into his shoulders, and simply holding him to her. Or holding herself to him. He couldn't bring himself to hold her back, but his face fell into her own shoulder, taking in her scent, and her radiating warmth.

" I'm so sorry, Harry."

Something about the way she called his first name, instead of his last, stirred something within him. And he just stood there, letting her hold him, losing his train of thought to her, and being surprisingly okay with that.

_____________________________________________________________________

a/n: so this story isn't getting nearly as much recognition as I had hoped for but I love it too much to give up on it, so please, if you do read this, just communicate with me in any way to let me know what you think of it, whether it's good or bad :)

this chapter is dedicated to one of my favorite authors on here, she's absolutely brilliant and her writing skills just make me feel it all.

ily x