Safe & Sound

The lights bouncing off the walls scream freedom in a language she's never heard before. She takes solace in the constantly vibrating cell phone erupting from within her pocket. For foolish reasons likely the result of the Solo cup of alcohol in her hand, she's enjoying this reckless behavior. But her oblivion works against her. She's ignorant to the potion she's gulping down her throat, mixed up with more than the rum and Coke she thinks she poured into it. The drink that's making her so loose will eventually deceive her and ruin the entire rest of her life.

When the betrayal takes action, the stench of cigarettes and more booze is all she can remember aside from the coarse hands prying open her legs and the arms holding down her hips. They shout profanities into her ear amidst laughs, of all things. Snickers and hoots that root each other on. Complete amusement above her while she’s numb, clearly not in on the joke. She might as well have tape over her mouth. They'd hear her screaming just the same.

By the time dawn in cracking into the window and the muscles in her legs are throbbing, she awakens in an outcry. Her body jolts at the feeling of someone's hand on her bare shoulder, shaking her back into consciousness. She recognizes neither their face nor the room she’s in, but upon their frantic instructions, she rises despite the soreness. She reaches down to the hardwood floor to pick up the black dress she fished out of the back of her closet just hours before. It’s torn now.

She stumbles four times on her way out. No one bothers to help her. She cries in the backseat of the taxi cab. The driver doesn't bother to ask why. She walks into her neighborhood amidst the company of wealthy business owners and entrepreneurs getting into and out of their shiny Cadillac’s, and not one of them stops to ask why her hair is bunched into handfuls of tangles or why her makeup is smearing down her face in erratic streaks.

Inside her house, she climbs the stairs with difficulty, pausing every few steps to regain her balance after her ankles twist from the heels pinching at her skin. She turns to the door of her parents’ offices and just after her grazed knuckles meet the wood, the door creaks open and no one's inside. She tries the bedroom, the study, and the library. Even the maid is off duty. She searches half the house with no luck and, out of exhaustion and disappointment, eventually finds herself on the floor of her room, screaming out.

''Mum,'' she sobs, pulling at the already ripped dress across her shoulders, ''Dad! Florence!''

No voice answers, not even the distant ones she occasionally gets from downstairs on a good day. She despises the silence. She despises the loneliness. She despises herself and everything in her mind at this moment.

''Someone,'' she yells, ''Anyone!''

Her aching head falls back against the side of the bed and she almost wishes she were dead. She'd rather be dead than feel this.

Slowly, her neck rolls to the side and her red eyes land on the lamp table. Instantly, her heart falls.

''Harry,'' she whimpers, gazing at the single rose in the vase beside her reading lamp. It sits in a pool of water that was filled just a short while ago. She begins to tremble as her hands tug at the dress more, folding it over the bare parts of her skin, desperate to cover herself up completely and hide behind the clothing where no one could ever find her, no one except him.

''Harry,'' she cries out over and over, watching in agony as the first petal of the arched rose falls delicately down towards the oak wood below it.

''Kenn, I'm here. I'm right here. It's okay. Gemma, help me hold her down.''

Gemma obeys straight away, propping her arm across Kennedy's shoulders and pushing back against the pillows. It takes a few moments of brute strength, but the force eventually startles Kennedy awake.

''Finally,'' Gemma sighs, lowering her defenses, ''God, Kenn. You’re like The Hulk.''

Before them, Kennedy gasps for air to recover. She curses her brain out in her mind for allowing her to have these nightmares again.

The question of whether she's alright or not is on the tip of Harry's tongue, but he refrains. Of course, she's not alright. She's been thrashing about in tears for ten minutes, yelling out his name. Despite her being awake now, he doesn't remove his hands from atop her waist.

''Sorry,'' she breathes erratically, unable to look either of them in the eye.

''It's alright, love.'' Gemma wipes the width of her forehead with the back of her hand. ''But now that you're awake again, I better run and tell the doctor, alright?''

''I'm fine,'' Kennedy interjects, ''Tell them I can check out already.''

''I'll try, but I'm not making any promises.''

Gemma eyes Harry on her way out the door in a way that assures him that she's not planning on telling anyone that Kennedy is anywhere close to ''fine.''

''Nightmare?'' Harry asks once they're alone, taking a seat beside her on the bed. His hands are by his sides now. He's apprehensive the more he looks at her; he's never seen her like this.

''You could say that.''

He wants to say something in response. Something to make her come out of the shell she's just put up, hiding herself in her hands. The retelling of what happened made everything new in her mind. The memories have never been so vivid. He can see that. But what can he possibly say to help her?

All he can do is merely watch as she tries to compose herself once more, like she's done countless times before almost flawlessly. Why should this time be any different?

Perhaps because this is the worst it's ever been. This is the most she's ever had to stuff back into the bottles and the cages and the demon cellars. It's never been more difficult for her to distinguish between what happened in the past and what's happening now.

To his surprise, she forms a crack between the fingers over her eyes and then lowers her hands entirely, displaying the fear all over her face that she knows she can no longer hide. Not when he knows the truth behind why it's there.

Silently, she holds out her arms and beckons him forward.

He obliges, resuming his position with her held against his chest for the second time these past few hours. She realizes that this is her confirmation that she’s in the real world and not lost in her mind once again. This time, when she calls out to him, he's there. He'll come. And that reassures her that things will soon get better more than anything.



The room is quieter than it’s ever been. He stares down at the child asleep before him with his hand nestled against her forehead. For hours, he's been here, brushing the backs of his fingers against the icy surface of her face. She was awake just moments ago, her eyes brightening the more she gazed back at him. She was happy to see him. He knows she would have smiled if she could. She would have reached her arms up towards him to wrap around her neck like she always used to if she could. But she can’t. Not anymore. All she can do is lie there, wilted and—although the word terrifies him—lifeless.

Oddly enough, his mind is empty now, free from the spinning thoughts. For now. Looking at her clears him. It makes things make sense, even though the brain rattling around in his head tells him they don’t. He keeps running through his actions for the past few weeks, feeling the regret as strongly as ever. He should have given Kennedy the chance to explain long ago, but it’s clear now that their story is full of he should’ve done this and she should’ve done that’s. Countless mistakes that both of them have made and both of them have suffered from. Mistakes that, at entirely their faults, even the helpless child below him has suffered from. She’s perhaps suffered the most and he knows he can never forgive himself for that.

“Kenn fell back asleep. Took ages to convince her to try.”

He hears his sister’s tired voice enter the room, passing her usual corner and sitting across from him in Kennedy’s chair with an exhausted sigh. She sinks down into it, crossing one leg over the other and closing her eyes.

“I’m so glad this day is over,” she exhales.

It's the first indication he's had that it's evening. Time has escaped him entirely, ever since he got that dreadful story from Kennedy. He held her for ages afterward, not just for her own sake but for his. He wanted so badly to lean down and make her believe that whatever happened before is long gone and over now. She's safe. She's not alone, as alone as she might feel. But before he could work up the courage to speak, a doctor entered and asked for a moment alone with her. It was the last thing either of them wanted to happen in that moment, but Harry was ushered out, leaving Kennedy alone to bear through a summary of the havoc she'd caused to her nervous system and the dangers of an ''attempted suicide.'' For regular intervals after that, he'd been in and out of the room with her, holding her when he was in and thinking of her when he was out. She won't be allowed to leave until she's proven she's not a threat to her own life, even though she keeps insisting to everyone that what happened was purely an accident. When she finally surrendered to some much needed sleep despite the nightmares, Gemma took over and Harry began tending to the other Ellis girl in his life who needs him.

''How are you doing?'' Gemma asks after some time. In the back of her mind, she recalls how deep of a shock it had been for her to hear such a story, and now she can only imagine what it's like for him to endure.

He stares ahead blankly at first, keeping his distant eyes on Addison's sleeping face. Then, he shakes his head.

''I can't believe it,'' he mutters, ''It doesn't feel real.''

''It'll sink in. Give it time.''

''I'm so sorry, Gemma.''

He turns to meet her gaze, matching it with the prominent stress lines creased over his forehead. Even now, it hurts her to see him like this.

''I'm sorry for everything I said to you,'' he goes on, ''For everything I did. For leaving, for not answering your calls, for saying all those bloody awful things...''

''You know I'm not going to tell you it wasn't your fault because it was.''

He nods. ''I know...''

''But I understand,'' she amends, ''I get that you were upset. Maybe a bit too daft for rushing to conclusions all of a sudden but upset nonetheless. We all made mistakes, Harry. But the point is we're here now. It's over. There are no more secrets.''

''I'm still sorry. I feel awful.''

Gemma rises and stretches over the bed to press a kiss atop his head.

''We're even,'' she smiles, ''I can’t stay angry with you. You're my baby brother after all.''

Harry cracks half a smirk for the first time in days. It feels good being back in proper standing with her. A lot of the outcome of this situation feels good—being in Addison's company, being free from the constant arguing with Kennedy, being back here instead of at home with the vodka and the two liter bottle of gin—except one thing. One most important thing that doesn’t sit well with him no matter how hard he tries.

The truth.

It stings him the more he stares down at Addison and newly sees her as the product of the worst night of her mother's life. It should never have happened that way. Addison should have never been conceived out of anything less than pure and unconditional love, not force and pain and anguish. It baffles him how something so innocent and beautiful could have come from such a horrible act.

''It makes me sick,'' he admits to Gemma in disgust, ''Every detail of it.''

Beside him, she shakes her head. ''I know. Me, too.''

''I feel like killing them, Gemma.''

Her eyes narrow in on him, watching as his hand flies up to his left temple as if it's trying to force the thought out of his mind.

''I can't imagine how she's lived with this all this time.''

Gemma takes a deep, unsteady breath. ''The typical reason would be that she's strong, but she's not. We’ve both seen it. I guess Addie’s what kept her going.'' She nods toward the frail toddler, adjusting Charlie beside her.

Mentally, Harry agrees. To say Kennedy's motivation the past few years has been rooted in willpower and strength would be a lie. He knows she's just been trying to get by. She's been handling the trauma wrongfully, relying on just masking it or locking it away or pretending it didn't even happen. She's traumatized, and he believes she's just now come to realize it.

''What are you going to do after the transplant?'' Gemma asks quietly.

With a sigh, he admits: ''Honestly, I don't know.''

''She loves you. You know that, right?''

He nods. ''I know that.''

''So, stay.''

Without a verbal response, he reaches across the bed to take a thin lock of Addison's hair gently between his fingers.

''I think she's yours,'' Gemma tells him in a whisper.

He shakes his head, eyes watering just slightly.

''I wish so badly.''

''There's a chance that she is.'' Gemma scoots closer and looks between them. ''I just... I have a feeling, Harry.''

''I used to be so sure,'' he sighs, ''That without a doubt, she was mine.''

''Come on, everyone who lays eyes on her knows she looks like the proper mix of you and Kenn. The hair, the shape of the eyes, and do I even need to mention the smile?''

He gapes down at the child and sees none of the above. Her hair is flat and thinning. Her eyes are closed in sleep and she hasn't smiled in days.

''We all saw those things because we all thought there was no doubt,'' he admits, ''It was just the power of influence. You should know more about that than me.''

''What do you mean?''

''It's in that book of yours.''

She scoffs, amused. ''You've been reading my psych textbook?''

''I just skimmed a bit.''

''Harry, listen to me.'' She waits until he meets her eyes to continue. ''I'm not talking to you as a psychologist, okay? This is so beyond what's written in a book. I'm talking to you as your sister. And as her aunt. I know she's yours. I can feel it.''

Once again, he shakes his head. ''There's no way. She was on the pill and we were protected. I made sure I used---''

''Okay,'' she extends the palms of her hands, ''Too much info. I’ve accepted that it happened but I still don't want to imagine you two doing that, thanks...''

He laughs, blushing. ''Sorry.''

After a quick shiver down her spine at the idea, she reopens her eyes and advises him of his options.

''Regardless of if she's biologically yours or not, she still sees you as her father and loves you like her father.''

''But she's living a lie.''

Gemma's voice is small when she points the obvious. ''She's barely living at all.''

''All I'm saying,'' he begins when he can finally look away, ''is that what happens when she's older and we have to tell her the truth? Or if, somehow, she finds out on her own? What would we do? She would be so upset, Gemma. She'd probably hate us.''

''She'd love you both just the same for raising her as loving parents,'' Gemma objects, ''Children born out of rape grow up with adoptive parents all the time. Even in a case like this where one parent is adoptive and the other isn't. Families are families.''

He suddenly gets the feeling of déjà vu. Clearly in his mind, he thinks back to the day he told Addison that he was her father. How she held up her hands and counted off all the different types of families there are and how each one is no different in how they love compared to the next. He realizes that even she understands such a concept, and years from now when she's old enough to be told the truth, she still will.

''I'll stay,'' he decides, ''As long as Kennedy wants me to.''

''She does.''

''I'll talk to her about it when she's stable enough.''

Gemma takes a breath and admits to him that she won't be any time soon. ''But she's being discharged tomorrow. I don't think she should be, but they're cutting her some slack so she can be here for the procedure.''

He nods, knowing that Kennedy would probably go into sudden cardiac arrest worrying about the outcomes of the transplant if she couldn't be directly involved.

''You're doing a beautiful thing, you know that?'' Gemma tells him as they both gaze down at Addie, ''You're saving her.''

''I'm only doing what's right. It's the least that I can do considering how much I've delayed it.''

''Still, you're her hero, Harry.''

''Anyone would've done the same.''

Gemma refrains from scolding him for being modest and instead reaches for his hand.

''Mum will be proud.''



''If you should ever feel periods of severe panic and/or depression, the appropriate actions to take include talking about your problems with friends and/or family members, seeking medical attention, and performing relaxation techniques, including deep breathing and meditation.''

The nurse reads mechanically from a form on her clipboard. Her voice is entirely void of sincerity, which doesn't help Kennedy to pay attention.

''80% of all successful suicides occur in patients who have already attempted suicide in the past. Don't become part of this alluding—sorry, alarming—statistic. Know you are not alone and contact Suicide Prevention Centers for further guidance.''

From along the far wall, Gemma's hands stick to her hips as she stares at the nurse incredulously. Kennedy notices nothing, leaning down to the floor to quickly slip on her trainers and tie her laces.

''Well, Ms. Ellis,'' the nurse sighs blandly, ''You're hereby discharged. Don't do anything stupid, okay?''

''No problem,'' Kennedy absentmindedly answers.

Once the nurse turns on her heel and exits the room, Gemma scoffs loudly.

''How impersonal can you get?'' she complains.

''It's just procedure.'' Kennedy rips the hospital bracelet from her wrist and discards it into the bin. ''Do you know how many times I've heard that speech since I've been here? Even I have it memorized.''

''Well, did any of it get through?''

''I didn't try to kill myself. How many times do I have to say it?''

Gemma raises her palms up in defense towards Kennedy's heightened tone.

''Alright, just being sure is all.'' She helps to strap Kennedy's bag to her shoulder and hands her a hair tie to pull up her waves.

''Is he already being prepped?''

''Yeah,'' Gemma nods, ''He's with Mum. They're just waiting on you. Well, he is mostly.''

Kennedy quickens her movements, pulling her jumper on and zipping it up hastily.

''Alright, let's go.''

Back in a separate room with Mr. Harry Styles, Bone Marrow Donor Patient printed on the identification card on the door, Anne sits with her hands enveloping her only son's. It's the first time she's seen him in quite a while.

''Don't be scared, Mum,'' he assures her with a smile, ''It'll take twenty minutes max. Easy.''

''Oh, I know,'' she nods, cupping the side of his face, ''I'm just proud of you, darling.''

''I don't know why you and Gemma keep saying that,'' he laughs.

''Because it's true. How many people would do this?''

''Loads. It's not like I'm giving up my heart or something.''

''But you would,'' she tells him honestly, ''For that little girl, you would.''

Something in her eyes concerns him. Gemma told him his mother knows nothing about his relation, if any, to Addison, and yet he can sense that she knows something that nobody has told her.

''How do you know?'' he asks.

She smiles at him, squeezing his hand. ''Because it's in your nature.''

''There he is. Look, we come bearing cupcakes.'' Gemma waltzes in with Kennedy close on her tail, evidently holding plastic cases of frosting-covered desserts. Harry erupts in a smile immediately and not just because of Gemma's generosity. Seeing Kennedy finally up and about is comforting.

“Kennedy, dear, are you feeling alright?” Anne rushes to ask.

“Wonderful,” she answers with a deceiving smile.

Gemma’s attention remains on the cupcakes. ''Harry can't have any until afterward though, so don't die in there or anything.''

''Gemma!'' Anne scolds.

She merely chuckles, setting down the boxes onto a table. ''Sorry.''

Kennedy maintains a spot at the foot of Harry's bed as she allows his mother and sister to properly wish him the luck he doesn't really need.

''Just be calm when they put you under,'' Anne advises, moving a bit of hair from his eyes, ''And don't be nervous, alright?''

''Mum, relax. Seriously. It's not a big deal.''

''When you come out, it's my turn to be in a hospital bed seeing as how all of you have had a go except me,'' Gemma teases.

Anne's eyes widen despite Harry's stifled laughter. ''Gemma, what is wrong with you today?''

''Just trying to make him laugh. Look, it worked! Okay, sorry. In all seriousness, Haz, you'll be alright. Come back quick so we can get Addie done, yeah?''

The amusement is wiped from his face instantly. He knows what he's doing is a matter of life and death for that child. ''Absolutely,'' he assures.

''Come on, Mum,'' Gemma grabs hold of Anne's hand and beckons her out of the room, ''Addie will be awake soon.''

Kennedy knows she's trying to give her enough time alone with Harry. With a few too many kisses along her son's face, Anne finally departs and allows it.

It's quiet as Kennedy stands over him, staring down at her hands as she tries to think of what to tell him. ''Thank you'' doesn't seem like it's enough.

''I owe you everything,'' is what she begins with. ''You're giving me the world by giving me her back.''

''Just returning the favor,'' he softly replies.

She meets his eyes and understands what he means. He thanked her a while back for bringing Addison into his life, and now he's doing the same for her.

''It's for Addie,'' he clarifies, ''Mostly. But not like I said earlier. Not only. It's for you, too.''

''I'll never be able to repay you for saving her life. Nothing will ever even come close to amounting to this.''

''You don't have to.''

She sighs. ''Even after everything that's happened, you're still treating me so well. You're still so noble and selfless, and you still care about her, even after what I told you.''

''It doesn't make any difference,'' he tells her.

He waits until she's looking at him to see that he's being entirely honest when the words come out.

''After the prepping,'' he motions to his hospital gown and the IV in his arm, ''And before my mum came in, I was thinking about asking the surgeon to take blood samples. Compare them. Find out if Addie and I have any relation.''

Kennedy's pulse accelerates. She doesn't know how she'd be able to handle knowing the truth if the truth told her what she didn't want to hear.

''But I decided against it,'' he affirms, ''Because it doesn't matter. It shouldn't matter.''

She smiles because he smiles.

''What you told me about that party changes nothing about the fact that I love her.'' The words escape him slowly; he wants her to memorize them and never forget them. ''And that I love you.''

Already, she can feel the stinging in the back of her eyes.

''I want you to know that I want to be here with you both. It doesn't matter if Addie is my daughter by birth or not. I still consider her mine. But it's up to you. You think about it before you tell me what you want. I'm not pushing you to do anything. Just...let me know what you decide whenever you decide it. I'll be here.''

Hesitantly, she wipes her sleeve across her face to catch the tears before they fall and embarrass her.

''Okay,'' she nods. She has more to say. Oh, so much more to say. But she accepts his offer to contemplate the situation. Right now, today, on this pivotal morning, she has enough to think about with this transplant and this recovery for both of these people whom she loves so dearly. She'll battle the rest of the future later and she's thankful that he understands that.

She's about to lean down and hug him for being so supportive, but there's a gentle knock behind her and the morphing of Harry's expression has her on her toes before she can turn to see who it is. Once she does, she can feel her defensive stature return. Not today. Definitely not today.

''Hey,'' Miranda tries to smile.

For once, she doesn't look entirely too posh to be in a hospital. Dressed in black trousers and a lime blouse, she looks perhaps two-thirds of the level of unnecessarily extravagant that Kennedy's used to.

''Miranda, what are you doing here?'' Harry asks apprehensively. He's debating whether or not he should stick his finger through one of Kennedy's jean hooks and pull her back should she lunge forward. He remembers Gemma telling them about their fight.

''I wanted to make sure you were alright. I guess I came just in time.''

Harry clears his throat, but once he sees Kennedy turn toward him with quite gentle eyes, he's not as frightful.

''I'll go,'' she tells him, accepting that it's just not worth it to give the woman her time anymore, ''It's alright. I'll be here when you wake up.''

She smiles and turns to leave, but now that Miranda's watching she wants to do one more thing. Swiftly, she approaches him again and ever so gently presses her lips to his forehead. He knows why she does it, eyeing the way Miranda averts her eyes, and blushes once her lips leave his skin.

On her way out, Kennedy doesn't pay even a sliver of attention to Miranda, even when she tries to smile at her.

''Charming,'' Miranda sighs.

Harry knows he should say sorry on Kennedy's behalf, but frankly he doesn't want to. He remains quiet, waiting for her to explain why she's here.

''Look,'' she takes a deep breath, ''I'm sorry things didn't work out with us. I hope we can still be friends.''

''I don't think so, Ran.''

It's curious how no sign of rejection touches her face. It's as if she expected that answer.

''Right,'' she nods, ''Well, I saw that coming.''

''I'm sorry.''

''It's fine. It's my fault anyway. I should have never expected anything more.''

He senses hostility in her now, but he doesn't act on it. He just wants her gone.

''I knew from the beginning that you'd never care for me like that,'' she confesses, ''She always had your heart.''

He knows exactly who she means.

''She's a lucky girl. She'll be stupid not to take you. I don't know, maybe you're just like me.''

He bites his tongue to prevent himself from blurting out that that's the last thing he wants to be.

''You like being with people who hurt you,'' she admits.

''You don't know what you're talking about.''

''Maybe. Look, I didn't come here to argue. I just came here to wish you luck. What you're doing for Addie is admirable. And to ask you to give her this.''

She steps back out of the room and returns with a balloon she evidently tied to the door handle.

''Thank you,'' Harry tells her honestly, ''She'll love it.''

Miranda nods, gripping onto the strap along her handbag before raising her hand in a wave.

''See you around,'' she mutters before starting for the door, her heels clacking against the linoleum as they walk away from him for the last time.