Drive (Brendon Urie/P!ATD FanFic ft. Green Day)

Chapter 13

That night, I didn't get any sleep. I spent the whole night skimming through and reading the contents the file I had dropped earlier held. By the time the morning rolled in and the sun had risen, its beams shining through the windows and illuminating the vast room I was miraculously bestowed with, I knew everything about the forbidden relationship, everything Harley didn't tell me during the short time we were together.

The file contained everything about her, everything about him, and everything about the dynamic of the relationship the two of them shared. You name it, it was contained in the file. How Armstrong acquired such information bewildered me, but I was too overwhelmed and too engrossed in the wild story I was assigned to read to even consider trying to figure that out.

Around six in the morning, there was a knock on my door. "Come in," I grumbled, struggling to keep my eyes open as I sat on the floor in front of my bed, papers surrounding me and scattered atop the bed.

The door clicked open to reveal my new boss, a dry cleaner's bag in one hand and a thin packet in the other. A smile appeared on his face when he saw the distressed and sleep-deprived state I was in. "Wow, I'm surprised."

"Why?" I replied lackadaisically, my eyes rolling in their sockets to meet his, "I did exactly as you told me to."

"I know, I'm impressed." I watched as he entered the room, draping the bag over the side of the bed and then squatting down in front of me. "Most of my recruits need a lot more convincing before they follow my commands."

I heaved a sigh and shifted uncomfortably on the floor. "What's in the packet?" I questioned, my voice low and hoarse. I hadn't had anything to eat or drink in hours, despite the fully stocked mini fridge tucked away in the one of the two nightstands by the bed's headboard. I looked in there once the entire night, pulling out a water that had since been tossed to the side, a small pool of clear liquid wading within the plastic bottle lying on the ground in the corner of the room.

"Well now that you've learned all about your target, you've got to learn about you." He extended the collection of stapled papers out to me and grinned. "It's impossible for us to complete any mission without knowing what we're supposed to do beforehand. If we just blindly go in, who knows what will happen?"

I shot a glare in his direction and snatched the packet out of his grasp, flipping through the pages and scanning over the details of the role I was supposed to play in all of this.

It didn't take long at all for me to realize what he wanted me to do.

I dropped the packet into my lap and met Armstrong's raccoon-like gaze. "You want me to be her bodyguard," I stated bluntly, "Protect her and make her feel safe, only to stab her in the back when all is said and done."

"Look, you're the only one she doesn't know personally," He explained, "You can get to her like no one here can. You can make her trust you, believe you're the only one she has. It shouldn't be too hard with a face like that." He waved his hand at me.

I bit my lip, contemplating whether or not to disclose to him that we did know each other personally. Sure, we didn't know each other like she knew Dallon and his coworkers, but we knew each other. If she saw me, she'd surely recognize who I was. Hell, she took me home when I was too wasted to know my right from my left and even spent the night to make sure I was okay when I woke up, if I woke up. And as far as I knew, she was sober that night. She couldn't not remember me.

"Weekes' address is on the last page," Armstrong continued to explain to me, snapping me out of the daze I'd fallen into, wondering what would happen when Harley and I would cross paths again, "We know that's where she is because we saw her return there yesterday, sometime around three in the afternoon. When you're ready, we'll provide you with transportation and you'll drive yourself there. There's a GPS already set up for you, so just follow the directions. And once you get there, knock on her door and tell her Dallon sent you to protect her. She'll have no reason to believe otherwise, so getting in should be easy. Getting close to her, though, is a different story."

I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat and asked, "And what if she doesn't let me in?"

A chuckle slipped past his lips. "Why wouldn't she?" He met my gaze, his deadened eyes bearing into mine, as if he was looking through them into my mind. "She loves Weekes, and she'll do anything to be with him, even if it means putting up with a bodyguard for a little while until she can be reunited with the man whose heart she stole."

The way he spoke about her, it was like she was the only one to blame for this situation. He made it sound like she lured Dallon into the relationship on purpose, like she intentionally made him fall in love with her so that he would disappoint Armstrong and lose focus on his missions. But from the story she told me, there was no malicious intent. They were just young kids who fell in love at first sight.

"Urie, you with me?" Armstrong questioned, snapping his fingers in my face and bringing me out of the stupor I'd returned to.

I shook my head and met his gaze, muttering, "Yeah. Yeah, I'm with you. I just...what if this doesn't work?"

He extended his hand out and placed it on my shoulder. "It's on you whether this works or not, Urie. If you want to work, it will. If you don't, it won't. The way this mission turns out depends on you and you alone. We'll take care of her once you bring her here, but until then, it's all you."

I scoffed. "Wow, thanks. No pressure there."

He smirked. "You're welcome." He stood back up and adjusted his jacket. "Someone will be downstairs waiting for you with the car, Urie. Good luck, and I'll see you later."

Armstrong stood up from the place he had taken on the floor in front of me and abandoned the room, closing the door behind him and leaving me in silence. I let out a long breath and gave another quick flip through the packet I was gifted with.

Tears began to waver in my eyes as I stared at the words printed on the white sheets, some of them highlighted and some of them italicized.

A long time ago, I performed in one of my school's plays. I remember auditioning and crying to Spencer afterwards because I thought I'd bombed it, for sure. I'd never wanted a role so badly in my entire life before then, and the sheer thought of not getting it or being made the understudy terrified me. Luckily, the drama department thought I was perfect for the role and gave it to me the second I left the stage. When I received the script, I remember the excitement that coursed through my veins and the immense joy that flooded my mind. It was amazing.

This, on the other hand? This was completely different. I didn't want this role. I was crying because I got it, not because I didn't. Spencer wasn't here to comfort me, no one was. And the thought of playing this role terrified me, not the thought of being the understudy.

It was horrible.

I had a choice with the school play. There was no obligation, not until a couple of weeks in when rehearsals really started going. I had time to prepare myself for the role, really get into character.

I had no choice with this. There was no two week grace period where I could decide to step down from the position. I signed a contract, and that contract bound me to this role I needed to play immediately. There was no fully immersing myself in this character, I just had to do it.

I threw the packet down and hoisted myself up, using the bed for support. I grabbed the dry cleaner's bag and unzipped it, heaving a sigh and muttering, "Looks like I got dragged in after all."