Gunrunners // A Harry Styles AU

10. What Happened to Nikita?

Thursday 15th August

"That was something else..." Wendy sighs as the two of us collapse onto the bench in the changing room.

Never in my entire career have I experienced something as ridiculous as what had just happened. Once again I'm later on shift than I should be - a pretty regular thing now that I've all but stopped paying attention to the end time on my rota and just stay until one of the seniors tells me to piss off home. But tonight the image of a man with so many broken bones and bruised body parts haunts me.

I've heard of these so-called miracles happening before, but they're pretty rare. I certainly hadn't expected one to land in my lap. When the poor bloke had been wheeled in I wasn't entirely sure where to start, and it's not very often I feel useless at my job. Thankfully there were enough people around screaming out orders that I just found a way to be useful. In all honesty it was hard not to be useful when there was just so much wrong with him.

Who the fuck falls out the kitchen window of their ninth storey flat? Obviously alarm bells are ringing in my head - because that doesn't happen by accident. But it was an altercation that happened outside of Streatham and outside of Thornton Heath. I'm hoping that rules out anything to do with Harry and the rest of SW16.

As I change I'm feeling a little spacey, much too caught up in my head about everything. I could at least sleep knowing that the man is going to live, though part of me wonders if it's worth it with the amount of feeling he's lost. I scold myself for having such dark thoughts. I blame it on the late hour and my exhaustion.

After bidding goodnight to Wendy, I consume myself with thoughts of getting into bed with Harry and blissfully succumbing to sleep. I probably owe Harry an apology for the way I'd left him this morning...

"Harry, I'm going to be late!"

I'd watched his confused face peer around the bathroom door frame as he brushed his teeth. "What you talkin' about?" He'd asked, holding his foam-covered toothbrush up in confusion. "Don't need to leave for another half hour."

"Yeah but there's traffic at this time of day! It'll take me twice as long to get there!" I'd argued, scowling at him as I stood already with my scrubs on and my arms folded.

"Fuckin' go then, pet!" He'd grumbled, turning away with a resigned expression. He was hungover and honestly I was too. Not the best way to be for a long day but that's the price you pay when the hospital refuses to give you the day off you wanted. "I'll lock up here and we'll just have to stay at mine later." He'd huffed.

"Fine!" I'd spat, snatching my bag off the bed and stomping towards the door.

"Oi!"

"What?!" I'd near shrieked.

He was smirking when he'd approached me, and that wound me up more than it should have. "Don't know who y'think you are, leavin' without givin' me a kiss."

I'd rolled my eyes, cringing as he trapped me in a tight embrace and lowered his head to leave an intentionally long kiss to my lips with his still toothpaste-plastered mouth.

Looking back on it now I find it quite amusing, and I giggle as I remember the way he'd smacked my arse on my way out the door. I know if I play my cards right he'll do it again on my way into his place.

I think my foul mood began with the fact that I'd spent the first twenty minutes of my day watching the news, where Sparky was being led into court on the first day of his trial. I was worried - well, I still am. I've been avoiding looking at the TVs in the waiting rooms all day because I desperately don't want to know what's happening yet.