Gotta Be You

15 Rodney: Sheep's Clothing

AN: After apologizing for a six month break it feels evil to apologize for a two year break but I am nothing if not reticent about this. I am sorry. I am sorry to my four readers and my number one fan (myself). I am sorry to Rodney and Harry. And I am sorry to God. It will not happen again.

France was nothing like Rodney expected. From Harry's descriptions and all he'd read of the place, he had come to imagine it as a winding array of romantic, cobble-stepped streets with dark ivy and softly glowing lanterns decorating the vintage, stone homes that lined the roadways. He pictured that he would step off the lush tour bus straight into a café to the tunes of a four-piece jazz band, the smell of cigarette smoke in the air.

Instead, he walked straight into a puddle of unidentified gutter juice and the deafening sound of screaming fans. Rodney was immediately assaulted by the flash of cameras and grasping hands of young people reaching for the boys behind him. Rodney turned in place, suddenly disoriented. He felt a hand brush his shoulder, gently redirecting him forward—Harry.

His voice was soft in Rodney's ear among the din. "Don't worry. We just need to make it inside."

Rodney nodded and let himself lean into Harry's touch to be guided forward.

"This way," Chad said sternly, holding out his arms to block some of the crowd from the walkway to the hotel doors.

The boys and Rodney rushed ahead, faces towards the ground (except Zayn who waved happily and even stopped to sign some autographs, although it cost him his scarf and a large tuft of hair in the process). Once they were all safely inside the lobby, Rodney collapsed onto a chaise lounge.

"What was that all about?!" He put a hand to his forehead and stared out the window in dismay. "I've never seen anything like that in my life. Except for the time some bots in my hometown stampeded the local Bot-Mart because there was a sale on 40-inch plasma TVs... Anyway," he said, "what the heck were they all screaming about?"

Niall looked confused. "Us. They're screaming about us, obviously."

"But, why?" Rodney said, exasperated. He knew he was breaking contract condition number two to only offer positive feedback and compliments to the band, but he couldn't help it. His brain was breaking to experience the violent energy a young stan can bring upon the world. "What's so special about you?" He looked to Harry to answer, but it was Zayn who spoke.

"Everything," he said. He slowly walked towards Rodney, much like a lion stalking its prey on the endless, grassy fields of the Serengeti. "70 million records sold, second highest-earning celebrities of Forbes' 2016 30 Under 30 list,"— He was close now, a flicker of his breath fogging the shiny metal of Rodney's face— "ninth most popular ship on an extremely well-known open-source repository of fanworks. Do these things mean nothing to you? When Niall had said some people would kill for the chance to be in your shoes..." He tilted his ear towards the sounds of fanatical shrieking outside. "He meant that rather literally."

Rodney swallowed hard but refused to back down. Even as Zayn's eyes bored deeply into his own, Rodney thought he could sense a crack there. Some sliver of vulnerability in those deep, cocoa-colored eyes that featured flecks of rich coffee and an umber forest reduced to ashes. Was it fear? No, it couldn't be.

The reverie was broken as Harry cleared his throat and clapped a hand on Zayn's shoulder. "Anyway," he said. "There's no need to worry about them." He nodded out the window once more where a few feral women had begun to throw themselves against the glass. "We have Chad, Brad, Thad, and Jimmy for exactly this reason. They've kept us safe for years, and now they'll keep you safe, too," he said firmly.

Rodney nodded, his eyes still trained on Zayn's, daring the other boy to look away first. When he did, Rodney felt a streak of pride run through his heart. Still got it, he thought with sly satisfaction.

"Fine, then," he said, turning his back on the boys to face the fans outside. "I'm implausibly lucky to be here, I ought to fear for my life that someone else might want to take my place, blah, blah, blah. So, what's next?" He looked to Liam, who seemed like the only one who hadn't been dropped on his head as a baby. "What exactly am I supposed to do for you?"

Liam nodded approvingly. "It's all outlined in the contract I gave you," he said. "You, of course, are free to exercise creative liberties and make this opportunity into something that works for you. But, some duties those who held your position previously did was to shower us in compliments every day, bring us breakfast in bed, wear nice outfits and cook food." He shrugged. "That sort of thing."

"Ah," Rodney said, hoping he successfully masked the utter revulsion that he felt for such domestic duties. After all, he was an inventor. He had made Wonderbot and fixed outmodes who were on the brink of death. He had infiltrated a gala and been chased by the cops. He wasn't made to be a housewife! But damn it all, if that's what he would have to do to bide his time to freedom, so be it. He lowered himself into a deep curtsey and smiled in what he hoped was a charming and demure manner. "Then, I am happy to be of service, Oh Handsome Ones."

The boys all murmured approvingly and gave a light round of applause. With his head bent low, out of sight, Rodney's sweet smile became a devilish grin.