Blacklist [h.s]

six

Grace

Tuesday 8:21 a.m. Examiner Hatch.

Subject: Grace Elliot Tyler.

Before Monday of last week did you have or have you ever had personal contact with Harry Styles?

Did Harry Styles notify you before he surrendered to the FBI?

Do you know why Harry Styles surrendered himself?

No. No. No.

Hundreds upon hundreds of questions, three separate lie detector tests, all videotaped, all audio recorded. Negotiations with Harry, negations with the FBI criminal division, surveillance of my apartment, the list goes on and on. And I was fucking exhausted from it all.

I've done nothing but sit on my laptop with coffee next to me searching Harry Styles' name over and over again, reading news articles about his disappearance five years ago, reading about the murder of his mother, how he sold classified documents to foreign countries when he was twenty and then disappeared off the grid. How he was the FBI's most wanted criminal. 

I run my hands through my hair out of stress, my eyes burning from staring at the computer screen for far too long. I couldn't understand why Harry wanted me, why he asked for me, why he turned himself in to talk to me. I was going mad trying to wrap my head around it. The news about a plane crash where a United States Senate died echoes in the background, but nothing they're saying resonates with me for more than a second.

Ding.

I pick up my phone to see a text message from Agent Hunter asking me to come to the black sight.

There's been an emergency. Styles would like to speak with you.

And just like that, here we go again.

-

"Tell me about the plane crash."

"It's so good to see you again Gracey," Harry grins.

"It's Grace, not Gracey. To you, it's Agent Tyler," I sit forward in my seat across from him. "I ask you questions. You answer. Screw with me and I walk."

We're sitting in the same old dingy warehouse, inside the makeshift cell that Harry was being kept in. Agent Cooper has been fighting with the criminal division trying to get immunity for him— He knows that Harry has secrets and without him, there are thousands of threats that we may never find. We need him and he needs us.

Harry doesn't budge under the threat, nor does he take it seriously. He still has the same smirk on his face that he's had every second that I've seen him. It irks me.

"The plane was no accident. An assassination rather, the guy who did it is responsible for a slew of other killings disguised as accidents," he said, looking down at the restraints that confined him to the table. "Shall I go on?"

I shake my head and grab the set of keys from my back pocket, rolling my eyes as I slide the key into the lock and open the door for Harry.

--

We're back in the same room where we were a week ago before Weber almost blew up the entire Metro, Harry pointing at photos taped on the glass again, giving us information that we couldn't figure out ourselves (again).

"More than 3000 innocent civilians have died as a result of this man's secret assassinations. There's no proof, but the victims are there. Circuit judge in Ohio, even one of your own agents in Kansas," he's pointing to the news article he's displayed on the projector.

Circuit Judge dies in house fire, no foul play suspected.

FBI agent killed by drunk driver.