Viva La Vida

Part 5

  "Not to be dramatic," Louis says, which Liam knows by now always precedes Louis' more dramatic statements, "but I feel like shit."

"Yeah, you and the rest of us," Zayn mumbles without fire; Louis disregards this and blithely continues.

"I feel worse than I did the time that we got sold out by that weasel Calvin and ended up in jail for five nights with two bullets apiece in us. I feel worse than I did the time I fell through two stories worth of plywood planks in Scotland. I feel worse—"

"For the love of God," Zayn says loudly, "would you please shut the fuck up."

There's a short silence, and then Louis sniffs haughtily. "Let me complain, Zayn. It's the last shred of human dignity that remains. When you're tired, hungry, wet, and angry, the only thing that is left is to complain. I intend to exercise that right with vigor."

"And I intend to exercise my right to punch you in the face with vigor."

"Oh, for God's sake, Zayn—"

"Speaking of God," Zayn says abruptly, waving off Louis' words like a cloud of irritating flies, "I just realized this whole mission made me break my New Year's resolution."

Louis frowns. "And you were doing quite well up until this point, weren't you?"

"Almost one hundred percent success rate, yeah."

"What was the resolution?" Liam asks in spite of himself, because at the least it'll keep those two from bickering and keep his mind off his aching feet, empty stomach, and rain-sodden clothing.

Zayn flicks him an unreadable glance. "I was trying to pray every day. S'one of the Five Pillars of Islam. I haven't been very good about doing it these past couple of years, so . . ." He trails off and shrugs.

"I didn't know you were Muslim."

"I would hazard a guess that there are a lot of things you don't know about me, Your Highness, at the risk of sounding like a cliché."

"It's not a cliché if it's true," Louis says, wringing out his fringe with a grin.

Zayn stares at him flatly. "Yeah, it is."

"Oh, good God. You're no fun." Louis turns to Liam and Harry with his arms outstretched suppliantly. "Do you see how boring he is? He always has to be right."

"I always have to be right? What about that time when—"

"I don't know what you're about to say, but I'm sure it was only one time," Louis says smoothly.

"It definitely wasn't. You have an oldest-child complex."

"That's probably true," Louis concedes. "Have you heard anything from base yet?"

"Nothing. I'm sure they'll get back to us soon."

"What happens when we get to base?" Liam asks softly. "Are they gonna—"

"No," Zayn says. "You're going t'be fine, Your Highness. I promise."

Despite the mud and rain and general unhappiness, there's a note of warmth in Zayn's voice. He sounds like he actually cares whether Liam and Harry live or die. This isn't reassuring enough to release the knot of anxiety in Liam's stomach, but it is enough to loosen it a little.

"If they're not going to kill us, then what will they do?" Harry asks practically.

Louis and Zayn exchange glances. "Not sure," Louis says after a moment. "You're hostages, so you'll probably just sit around waiting for a deal to be hammered out so you can go back. But you'll be kept safe and comfortable; we're not in the business of abusing prisoners, especially ones as valuable as you two."

"Could've fooled me," Harry says, raising an eyebrow, but there's no real malice behind the words. Once someone has saved your life once or twice, once you've been walking alongside them in pouring rain for twelve hours, once you know they've loved and lost people the same as you have, it's a little hard to resent them for being on the enemy's side. It's not understanding, and it's not peace, and it's not forgiveness, but it's something. A tiny sliver of realization wedged into the ingrained hatred they all carry on their backs.

"There are going to be people there who hate you," Zayn says eventually. "People who want you dead, people who blame you for things are aren't entirely your fault, people who will unkind and work against you. You shouldn't let that worry you. Unless someone very powerful talks Azoff into killing you—which probably isn't going to happen—you should be okay as long as you keep your head low and try not to—"

"You want us to cooperate with you," Liam blurts.

"Yeah," Zayn says as though this is obvious. "You're hostages, Your Highness. You want to stay alive, don't you?"

"Yes, but as the Crown Prince I can't just—"

"Martyrs have a one hundred percent failure rate in that field, Your Highness. I suggest you remember that before you try and become one."

***

Zayn sings when he's rationing out the food.

Not loud, just a few murmured lyrics mixed in with some humming, but it's obvious he'd have a great voice if he really let loose. It feels private and secret, like Liam's listening to something he shouldn't—Zayn obviously isn't aware he's doing it, which makes it seems like Liam should ignore it. But it's pretty, and it's one of Liam's favorite current songs, and somehow it makes Zayn seem young and vulnerable and normal in a way he isn't usually, with his guarded looks and iron-hard fists and stubborn adherence to titles and propriety.

Liam imagines the royal soldiers bursting out of the underbrush and ripping through their tiny makeshift camp with their machine guns. He wonders what would be left after the rescue, wonders if Zayn's song would still fill the green space under the trees or if it'd be cut short by the choking tide of blood. Wonders when he started caring what happened in the aftermath of him getting home.

He knows the next few lyrics Zayn sings to himself—darling, all I know are sad songs, sad songs, sad songs.

***

It's hour twenty eight of on and off walking when Zayn's phone rings. He scrabbles to answer it, everyone staring at him as he accepts the call and holds the device up to his ear.

"Yeah, hey," he says after a moment. "We've got the Prince and the Duke. We ran into some problems, though—did you get my voicemail? Okay, so you know what's up. We need someone to come and pick us up; the satellite locator is turned on—what?"

He falls silent and everyone leans in to try and get a snatch of the other end to no avail.

"Yeah, yeah, I get that, but—okay, that's—goddammit, Pez, listen to me!" There's a short pause; Zayn's eyebrows are furrowed. "We've got the most valuable hostages the rebellion has ever had with us right now, there's only two of us to guard them, everyone is starving and exhausted, and we got attacked by Circle members not even thirty hours ago; they're probably already on our tail again. We need a ride back to base, and we need it right now. What's that? Then goddamn make them, Perrie, I don't have the time for this shit. We're the most important thing on the field right now." He draws in a deep breath and scrubs a hand over his eyes. "Okay . . . okay. All right. Call me back when you know."

"What's going on?" Louis, Liam, and Harry asks in unison when he hangs up.

"According to Perrie, ninety percent of our vehicles were sent out on a mission yesterday, so they don't have the resources to come pick us up. Somehow, they failed to remember that their most important mission had yet to return to home. So—"

"No backup," Louis finishes. "To be fair, they thought we had the van."

"The van was for going undercover, not for withstanding any sort of major combat incident," Zayn says bitterly. "There's no way they thought that would have lasted for more than a few days. They should have kept at least one secure vehicle for us."

"Azoff has a major personal interest in this particular mission, I'm sure he'll—"

"—screw us over and leave us behind like he did to my dad? Yeah, me too." Zayn angrily thumbs his phone open again and stomps away, already dialing with shaking hands.

"Well," Louis says, watching him go with hands on his hips, "I can only hope he doesn't piss off anyone too important while he's making angry phone calls."

"What happens if no one comes to pick us up?" Harry asks.

"We keep walking. It won't be pretty, especially once our rations give out." Louis pulls a face. "But Azoff won't leave us hanging. Zayn's oversimplifying it anyway."

"How is this any better than what my uncle's done?" Liam wonders. "This Azoff bloke is leaving you to fend for yourselves just like you claim His Majesty did."

"Leaving two full grown, well trained men to guard two untrained, tired aristocrats is hardly comparable to having an entire family murdered because their dead father was involved in the rebellion," Louis says. He doesn't sound angry, which is a first when it comes to Liam challenging him on the rebellion's political beliefs. "When we're back at base, I'll arrange for you to see what Simon's done firsthand. I think you need to see it before you believe it."

***

Two hours later, they're settling down for a quick rest with no further word on a potential pick-up. Zayn is silent and somewhat sullen, but to be fair, so are the rest of them. No one's happy about the prospect of walking for another twenty-some hours.

"When we're out of this mess," Harry asks Liam quietly, "what's the first thing you're going to do?"

"Probably deal with a shit load of paperwork and interviews," Liam says. "We're not just going to get to come back and relax, you know."

"If you could do anything, what would it be," Harry repeats stubbornly. "Forget you've got responsibilities for a moment here."

"I'd sleep in my own bed for about forty eight hours," Liam says, deciding to humor him. "Yeah, I'd have a nice long sleep. Then I'd put on some music and watch something funny where the good guys always win and the bad guys always lose, and nothing is ever complicated and no one ever gets hurt."

"That sounds nice," Harry says, his voice wistful. "I miss fresh fruit. And yoga. And my mum. I'd give her and Gemma a big hug and let my mum cry and let Gemma hit me for worrying them like that. And then we'd order some hot cocoa up and we could sit down and finish that last season of The Office we've always been meaning to watch."

"That sounds nice." Liam wonders if he and Simon would do something like that. He can't picture it. "Reckon we'll ever get to do any of that?"

"Of course we will," Harry says, calm as a king assured in his power. "And I thought it was supposed to be you comforting me, and not the other way around."

"It's nice to have a change for once."

They run out of words after that—there's something deeply silencing about exhaustion—and listen to the soft murmurs between the rebels at the other of the clear they've settled down in; they seem to be debating who will take first watch.

The two young men opposite them are haggard, Liam realizes with a jolt. He's so used to seeing them like this—tired and tense and on guard—that he never stopped to wonder if they've ever looked any differently. Now, looking at them in the soft twilight half-light, he realizes that two weeks ago, they probably looked like any other person their age, if maybe better armed. Mentally, he erases the circles under their eyes, the week's worth of stubble on their jaws, the sharp hollows under their cheekbones. Yes, the past few days have been just as rough on their captors as they've been on Harry and Liam, if not more so. After all, it's been them doing the fighting, them staying up to keep watch, them driving and forcing everyone to walk and keeping everyone moving. Liam doesn't pity them or anything, because honestly, they've brought it down on themselves, but he does respect them a bit more. Not everyone is willing to sacrifice themselves like this for a cause.

They work out whatever issue it was with the watch, and Louis settles down to nap while Zayn sits up straighter with a hand on his gun. A sentry that will kill an intruder just as quickly as he'll put a bullet in Liam's brain if he makes a run for it.

The amber light fades to purple, and Liam's eyes drift closed. Zayn's figure doesn't move, but the faint reflection of light off his eyes tells Liam he's still awake The last thing Liam thinks before the powerful currents of sleep pull him under is that Zayn is humming absently to himself again, quiet and private and reminiscent of a boy who maybe once didn't always have a hand on his gun.

***

"Get up!"

Liam drags his eyes open reluctantly; he swears he's only just fallen asleep. This should be illegal, he thinks as he pulls himself upright, and then realizes that a good deal of his current situation is.

"Whuzit?" Harry slurs, dragging a tired hand over his eyes.

"Zayn got someone to come pick us up," Louis says triumphantly. "We've got to get moving towards the highway, so get on your feet, pretty boy."

It's a testament to how tired Harry is that he doesn't protest the moniker, but instead just hoists himself to his feet and presses a hand to his gargling stomach. "Food?"

"Once we start walking."

Both Liam and Harry groan, but it's enough to propel them both forward to where Zayn is holding the half-empty packet of crackers and a few squares of chocolate.

"You blokes have done better at this whole thing than I'd thought," Louis admits as they set a pace and start walking. "I thought we'd have to be carrying you by the end of this."

"Us nobles are tougher than you'd think," Harry says, determinedly plodding along beside the older man. "Got lots of stamina."

"Do you, now?" Louis winks and practically skips away to catch up with Zayn.

Harry watches him go with an expression that hovers between annoyance and amusement. "Y'know, if things were different . . ."

When he trails off, Liam prompts, "Yeah?"

"Never mind."

As they approach the highway, Liam begins to feel a growing apprehension. Louis and Zayn have been decent to them, but how will the other rebels treat them? He can't imagine there'll be any love lost for nobles among such a crowd, much less for the nephew and heir of their greatest enemy. And he doubts that they'll be in Zayn and Louis' hands for long once they reach the base; two young men like them can't have much authority.

So. He could be dead in a few hours' time, despite all of the promises he's been given that he'll be fine.

Which is, you know.

Fine.

Facing down your own mortality is not the best way to wake up, to be honest.

Zayn makes them wait in the trees at the side of the highway so they're not seen, even though the road is deserted and there's no one there to see them. Louis accuses him of being clichéd as well as paranoid, to which Zayn replies, "Better paranoid than dead." Louis next claims he's being dramatic, and another petty squabble ensues between the two, strengthening Liam's already firm belief that despite the fact that they're not related in blood, they're definitely brothers in spirit.

Not even half an hour later, another van (not a bread van this time) pulls up on the roadside next to them, and Louis shoves them out onto the pavement. Liam and Harry stumble towards the vehicle with feet numb with fear before rudely pushed into the back after the door is hastily flung open by someone already inside.

Inside, there are seats but no seatbelts; Liam sinks into one gratefully, suddenly hyperaware that he hasn't showered or brushed his teeth in days in the enclosed space. There's a person in the driver's seat who takes off the second everyone is seated, and one other rebel who's in the back with them.

"Took you long enough," Zayn says, sprawling out over two seats, a feat Liam hadn't imagined was possible for someone with such a slight build.

"You blokes all stink," says the other rebel, wrinkling her nose. She's young and pretty, with long blonde hair and a round face; again, nothing how Liam pictured a rebel would look. "When was the last time you—"

"That's on your head for not picking us up sooner."

"Are you gonna let that go, or what? I told you it wasn't my fault."

"Give him a couple hours to recover and he'll forgive you, Perrie," Louis says easily. "You try roughing it for a few days and see what kind of mood it puts you in."

Perrie shrugs and turns a fierce blue stare on Liam and Harry. "So this is them?"

"Yeah," Zayn says.

"You look pretty decent for someone who's related to a cold-blooded killer," she tells Liam with an almost curious note to her voice.

"Don't judge a book by its cover," the driver calls back.

"Ah, let them be. They're not bad, as far as nobles go," Louis says. "What have people been saying back at base?"

"About them? No one's too excited to have them; it puts us in greater danger of being found and attacked. But everyone's under strict orders to leave them alone, so it's not like there's a mob waiting to tear them to pieces. They'll be confined, anyway, right?"

"Probably," Zayn says. He looks like he's about to fall asleep. "How long is it gonna take us to get there? M'knackered like I haven't been since Scotland."

"Another half hour," the driver says. "Take a power nap, Knockout. God knows you need one, and there's another mission that's taking off in a few hours that might need you, so you might as well sleep while you can."

"Are you fucking kidding me," Zayn mumbles, and promptly falls asleep without further ado.

"Knockout, indeed," Perrie says fondly. "Man can sleep like no one I've ever met."

Louis and Perrie make small talk for the rest of the journey—most of it goes over Liam's head, as it's filled with the names of people he's never met and places he's never been to—and before he knows it, they're pulling up to a tiny shed a few miles off the highway.

"This is your base?" Harry asks incredulously. It doesn't even look big enough to fit ten people.

"Oh, just you wait, pretty boy," Louis says, flinging open the van door. "God, I cannot wait to shower." He prods Zayn in the ribs. "Rise and shine, brother of mine. We're back home."

Zayn grouchily rubs his eyes and stretches before jumping out of the van. "If you'll follow me, Your Highness and Your Grace," he says, heading off towards the shed.

They bumble after him fearfully, followed by Perrie and Louis. Liam's breath is coming quick and ragged, but he keeps his face as straight as he can, his chin up and mouth set.

Be a prince, be a prince, be a prince . . .

Inside the shed, there's a trapdoor and beneath it, a flight of stairs plunging steeply into the ground, a descent into darkness that makes Liam shiver.

"Who's there?" The voice that calls up from the blackness is hostile, with a distinct Irish brogue that sounds vaguely familiar.

"It's Perrie; I'm back with Zayn and Louis and the prisoners."

"Password?" the man asks.

"There's no fucking password, you son of a bitch, when are you going to stop with that?" Perrie snaps. "We're coming down, get ready."

She leads the way down, followed by Louis, then Liam, Harry and Zayn. The darkness is absolute for a few yards after the stairs, and then, after they turn a sharp corner, they're ushered into a dimly lit concrete-walled room occupied by a blond-haired man whose face Liam recognizes with a jolt.

For a moment, he's utterly speechless.

"You're with them?" he asks. His legs feel like they're about to give out.

"Afriad so," Duke Horan says with a rueful smile.

Tell the Duke I say thanks for making this so easy. So it had been Niall Zayn had been talking about that first night when he'd paid off the guard. Liam's shaking with rage and betrayal—it makes sense that the rebels have powerful allies in the palace, because they'd never get in without them, but the fact that it's someone he considered his friend is a pill too bitter to swallow.

"It's not personal, Your Highness," Niall says with a shrug. "Just doing what's best for the country, yeah?"

"It is goddamn personal," Liam says loudly. "It's goddamn personal when I fucking trusted you, and you paid me back like this. Don't give me that bullshit, Your Grace."

Niall regards him for a moment with a cocked head and curious blue eyes, and then says, "Zayn, you're being sent out again. They're leaving from exit C in an hour; you'd better hurry."

Zayn swears softly. "I just got back, for god's sake."

"No rest for the weary, mate."

"Where are we going?"

"Brisbane. It's not going to be pretty, so pick up some ammo before you go."

Zayn swears again and turns to Louis, clapping him on the shoulder. "You can take this from here, yeah? Tell the girls and your mum I say hi."

"Sure thing."

"Oh, and thanks for picking us up, Perrie."

"No problem, love. Stay safe."

"Will do." He walks towards one of the doors that lead out of the closed concrete chamber and then pauses. "If I'm not back again this time tomorrow—well, you know what they say."

"You'll be back," Louis says softly. "You always are."

The door slams shut behind Zayn, and Harry turns to Louis with a furrowed brow. "What does that mean?"

"It's a line from Bohemian Rhapsody, Sherlock," Louis says. "If I'm not back again this time tomorrow, carry on, carry on. He's telling us to keep fighting if he dies on the mission." He shrugs. "Partially serious, because a lot of people get demoralized and give up after their friends and family die on the field, but mainly just his attempt at gallows humor."

Liam feels something cold slide down his spine, and has no idea why. The life of one rebel does not matter to him. He does not care if Zayn dies. In fact, he should be hoping he does, because that means whatever mission he's been sent on fails, which can be only good for the crown.

"Let's get you two to your chambers," Niall says.

"You mean cells," Liam says flatly.

"Chambers sounds nicer, though," Niall says, seemingly irrepressible. "Follow me, will you? Tommo, you bring up the rear."

And for what feels like the millionth time in the past few days, Liam swallows his fear, keeps his head up, and lets a group of people who have every reason to want to kill him lead him into a darkness which seemingly has no end.