Alcatraz

Bonus: Full Chapter 1

How he'd managed to survive the blast that destroyed the prison he'd called home for nearly a year, Zayn had no idea. How he'd escaped Alcatraz virtually undetected was a miracle of perhaps even bigger proportions. He'd always thought of the Warden as a friend of sorts, but to think that this man who was supposed to uphold the law to the utmost of his ability—in Alcatraz of all places—would be the one to bust his arse out was truly astonishing. He'd heard the expression "count your blessings," sure, but he'd honestly lost track of the ones bestowed upon him long ago. He was a blessed man, but he would never understand what he'd done to earn it.

So the story went something like this: first, there were the bomb threats. That was bad, very bad. Then came the actual bombing and that was so much worse. God, he could remember the searing pain of his broken arm so vividly it pained him even now, when it was in the process of healing. He was positive he was going to die that day. He was covered in heaps and heaps of shit, burning shit that fucking burnt his skin to a crisp, to be more accurate. But then—then—he was being pulled from the rubble and this part's a little blurry, but he remembers kind blue eyes and light brown hair and the slight jostling that came with being carried. Next thing he knew, he was in some hotel room with a plaster cast around his arm and salve and plasters all over his aching body.

Warden Hamilton was there too, much to Zayn's relief. He had no clue where to go from there; he was still very much a wanted inmate. Investigators probably figured he'd been burnt to little more than a pile of ash, but he still had to lay low. His face was known across the country and there was little he could do to disguise himself, as far as he knew. Hamilton had proved to be a truly amazing friend, one he could count on. Zayn could only hope he'd be able to offer some advice now that he was free. It felt as though it had been ages since he'd lived in the real world outside Alcatraz's walls and he couldn't for the life of him remember how to be an ordinary citizen. He was positive the guilt was tattooed upon his face and how to disguise it, he couldn't fathom. So yes, the Warden.

Lucky for Zayn, Hamilton was a brilliant man, Princeton educated, even. Why he'd become a prison warden, Zayn had no idea. It worked to Zayn's advantage in his current situation, though, so he wasn't complaining.

First, Hamilton had said, Zayn needed to heal. His cuts were no big deal, but the broken arm was an issue. Hamilton apparently had allies in every conceivable field of work and a doctor friend of his had agreed to set Zayn's bones on the down low, considering he was going to be aiding a wanted criminal. It took a while, but once the hard plaster cast was replaced by the soft gauzy version, he was able to easily cover it with the sleeves of his sweaters.

Second came his incredibly recognisable features. His previously dark-as-night hair was allowed to stay mostly untouched, save for the highlights of golden-blonde he'd allowed, only because the colour reminded him of a certain blonde whom he missed wholeheartedly. He felt a bit like Jack Barakat, but since when was that a bad thing? That dude fucking rocked. If Zayn weren't so focused on the beauty of Niall, he'd have a massive crush on the musician, he was sure of it.

Next came the issue of his easily distinguishable eyes. Blue contacts, the exact hue of the cloudless sky Zayn so loved covered the beautiful brown irises and he figured a pair of black plastic-rimmed glasses couldn't hurt, either. He couldn't say his blonde cutie hadn't inspired his choice of contacts, either. God, Niall was just so beautiful and Zayn couldn't help but to try and hold onto him in whatever ways he could.

That was a start, but Hamilton had taken one look at him and scoffed. There was still a lot of work to be done before Zayn could go out in public without worry of being recognised. After many hours of brainstorming, Zayn's eyes lit up in excitement. "Tattoos! That's it, Hamilton! Tattoos!"