SNEAK PEEK OF GANG HARRY PART 4 (Patreon)

packing stinks

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iv.

Packing is one of the most strenuous, inconvenient acts out there, Y/N thinks and she has started IVs on dehydrated children. 

She was not special in her distaste for it; Y/N is almost a hundred percent positive that there is nobody on this planet that enjoys packing. There is probably some classified formula that has been deduced by an occult group that lives deep within the Himalayan mountains to packing the perfect amount of clothes for the perfect amount of days, including shoes, accessories, and toiletries. Whatever it may be, in all Y/N’s years on earth, she just cannot get it down to a science. Even on simple overnight trips, she manages to bring too much or not enough, will forget a bra, leave her toothbrush and toothpaste on her bathroom sink (in a Ziploc ready to be packed) or forget the stuffed bear that she deems good luck and then blame every nuisance on the fact that she’d left it. 

There was never enough space for everything she could possibly think to need, if she packs too much then she is holding her breath to the airport worries if she would have to pay the extra weight fee, or if she went by train, she wonders how she would heave it into the overhead compartment. Then there’s waiting for her luggage, wondering if it would show up on the conveyor belt or if she would be stress crying to an airport employee because her large blue suitcase got lost. And then she’s dragging it behind her, the wheels get caught on rocks, she has to throw out her shoulder to lift it over curbs, only to find out when she unzips it the first time, she failed to bring her phone charger. 

So when Harry told her she was going with them to Sweden, she made sure that he heard her grievances about what it would entail -- at least concerning that aspect of it. She was still sort of trying to wrap her head around the rest of it. 

Like how when she slammed the door open to whatever exclusive meeting among coworkers she had impeded on, she was greeted with widened eyes, raised brows, and perturbed gazes. There were far more people than she had originally expected -- where she had thought there to be a handful of bodies, around six to seven, over twelve pairs of eyes are set on her. She recalled from Thanksgiving that she had meant them all though she would have been lying if she said she remembered their names. They all looked much less pleased to see her this time around though, apart from Mickey and Mitch who look toward her solemnly, and Harry, who appeared as if he wanted to crawl out of her skin. 

The day’s events had not felt real at that point but what did feel real was that she was being left from something. Some decisions, regarding something that it was apparently debatable whether or not she could comprehend it, though she believes that if she can wrap her head around the concept of a piggyback heart transplant then she thinks she could stomach whatever they have to say. Which, if Niall was correct in any sense of the word, is that there was much more to their business than media relations. And hell, she had begun understanding that a while back, but she would like the semantics of it to be explained to her, especially when she’s being dragged into the back of cars. 

Nobody speaks. The only response given to her was a couple of throats being cleared and Harry sighing heavily, looking among the room with a knowing gaze that she soon realized they were all sharing. Mickey stood from the burgundy wing chair he had been sitting in as Harry spoke, “Come in and sit,” he told her, and when she showed on her face that she was reluctant to (who would want to when some of the men and women there were looking at her like she had threatened to dismantle their company), he went on, his face softened, “It’s okay Darling, I’m just going to explain everything.” He doesn’t take his stare off her and despite the way her heart hammered, and her brain spun, and she was irritated that they were so unwilling to tell her what was going on, she tried desperately not to melt, “Do you want to speak alone? They don’t need to be here.” 

That might have helped the nerves that had begun to dot up all across her body but she did not need to give them all any more reason to think she was feeble, so she shook her head and made her way to the chair. Now that Y/N looks back on it, she thinks they were just as nervous as she was about opening up their close-knit group to an outsider, no matter how friendly she was with Harry and Gibson. She lowered down, sinking into the cushions that were warm from Mitch’s body heat, the wings of the chair felt like a cocoon that managed to comfort her to some degree. 

Harry wasted not a second longer. 

“You’re smart, Y/N, you know there is more to what we do than what I’ve told you but in an effort to maintain your safety, I was told explicitly to let you know the least amount it was possible for you to know. Now, considering that telling you nothing has failed from getting you involved, I’ll explain what I can, which isn’t everything --” her shoulders slump, “But it will be enough for now. Until Gibson gives me the okay, I can share nothing explicitly he has told me not to share.” 

“Get on with it then,” she urged him, her palms clammy.

He nods, “I will preface this by saying that the media company is real - G Industries is an actual company where we are employed, it’s on our tax statements, it’s where I was 9 to 5 every day, prior to Gibson getting sick.” Harry removed the glasses that remained perched atop his head, dragged his fingers through his curls and shook them out, folded the arms of the glasses and setting them beside his hand. His rings knocked against the walnut wood of the desk below him, “But there is much more to it than that. The men we are in business with are not good men, and preceding his illness, Gibson had been speaking with a company that he had planned on merging a section of the company. Upon further study and hiring a private investigator, he found something that unsettled him, withdrew from the deal, and apparently pissed them right off. We believe these are the people who have been following you and the people who did what they did today.” He swallowed thickly, shaking his head, “And I swear to it, Babe, we’ll fucking get them back for what they did to you, but right now the most important thing is keeping you and Gibson safe. We don’t know how aggressive they’ll get or how much further they’ll take it with you, which is why. . .” he cast a glance around the room, exchanging a look that suggested they all knew what one another was thinking and Y/N suddenly understands how patients feel in a room full of nurses, doctors, and physical therapists, “Which is why we need to send you and Gibson somewhere.”

She remembers clearly how her heart dropped to her stomach, her bones felt rubbery, and she grew lightheaded all at once, “But I work --” 

“We’ll have that all sorted,” he promised, “It is in no way safe for you to stay here though.” 

It took some convincing on Harry’s part and later when the others had finally filtered out of the room and it was only she and Harry left in the study, she looked to him with worried eyes. 

“You’ll be there too, right?” She asked him as she pinched her nails into the meat of her palms, despising how needy her voice sounded, “I feel safest with you.” 

Harry had looked at her like she’d given him a star. 

“Of course I’ll be there.” 

So, the plan went as follows: 

Harry and a few other coworkers (or perceived family members) went to the hospital administrators and informed them that Gibson had family in Sweden who was not only having a family reunion but there would also be involved in a wedding, and since the family member in question wanted Gibson to give her away at the wedding, it was necessary he went to both. While the hospital is usually lenient with allowing someone to out for a day or two when there is a large family event going on, allowing him not only to fly but to be gone for longer than a week, was up for debate. However, with the pathos of this possibly being “Gibson’s last chance to see this family” and how it would, “crush the bride if she were unable to be walked down the aisle by the man who saved her life,” the administrators were more inclined to hear them out. This is where they introduced the idea that not only would they pay the roaming fees for Gibson’s doctor to contact a Swedish doctor of the same caliber who would be checking his health status regularly, but they could take two nurses with them. 

One of which would be Y/N and the other, whom Harry took into consideration who she wouldn’t mind spending her time with both socially and in a “working” setting -- would be Gibson’s former nurse, Niall. 

Y/N didn’t think that it would work at all, but she gave them little credit. She doesn’t know if they are just incredibly persuasive or if the administration was very impressionable, but somehow when Harry followed her out during her lunch break, he had a big dopey smile on his face. 

“Reckon I should be a lawyer,” he had teased, shaking off his large, black winter coat and slinging it over her shoulders (because Y/N always left the hospital feeling sweaty so the biting air outside feels good for a moment but past three minutes and she’s shivering, “You, Niall, and Gibby have been released.” 

“So they took the bait?” 

“What bait was there to take?” He reached over, breaking off a small piece of her granola bar, and hovering it over her mouth, “He does have family out there and there are some events goin’ on, Gibby jus’ couldn’t give a rats ass about them. I only omitted the fragment suggesting that the lot of you are in danger.” 

Y/N nodded, tearing off a big piece of the granola bar and handing it over to him which he takes gratefully as he pushes it into his mouth, “Well, Thurgood Marshall, now that you’ve won your case you know you’ll be helping me pack, yeah?” 

That’s how they ended up here, Y/N sat on the floor with her legs straight out and parted, surrounded by a mountain of laundry that she’s filing through in order to determine what would be making the cut and what wouldn’t. She knew nothing about Swedish winters which is why Harry was useful, and she had hoped since he told her he went on trips often he would be good at keeping her focused and on task. However, the attempt to concentrate on the clothes before her proved futile when instead of Harry’s main priority being sifting what he believed she wouldn’t need with key items that she would, he was looking at the prints on the front and commenting on band tees. They’d gotten distracted about twenty separate times discussing the different music she dips her feet in, so by the time it hit 1 AM and she only had three sweaters in her suitcase, she had mentally given up. 

Harry doesn’t notice as such until she groans, her face dropping into the pile of clothes which muffled the sound of it. She hears him chuckle, warm and smooth, sending a shiver through her body, “What’s the matter? Do you want to take a break?” 

She craned her neck, removed her face from the pile to pout at him, “We don’t deserve a break,” she bleated, shaking her head, “We’ve done shit all in the past three hours!” While Y/N was frustrated with the fact that she still had much more packing to go, she was incredibly soft for the time that they are spending together. Harry stays true to Y/N’s belief that he is very well sorted in making her feel like the situation they were in was not a bad one. Instead of Y/N packing to run away from some smarmy businessman pissed off by not obtaining more money than they already have, she and Harry have planned a fun little getaway. They watched Midsommar and became enamored by the beauty of Sweden, subtracting the whole murderous segment of it. The decision had been on a whim, they leave tomorrow after planning it for all about three days, and now they are both struggling to pack. 

It was oddly domestic; there was a pile of her clothes that Harry had folded for her, some of her shirts are flopped over his thighs, he has a bralette slung over his shoulder, and had been helping himself to a glass of wine from the bottle he brought over. Y/N’s glass was set near him since he had more room, so he would pass it over to her and if he wasn’t doing that, he was accidentally sipping out of hers (when he’d noticed, he’d pour some from his glass into her own). No matter how stressed she would become when she remembered what their situation was, he always had an easy time taking her mind off of it entirely, so the room was pine leaves and amber (which Harry had easily pinpointed with “them here sniffers” that he’d spoken about the first time he was in her room), her heat was turned up high but that wasn’t the only thing leaving her warm. 

The last three days Y/N was not left alone but not in an insufferable way. They worried about leaving her at her flat without anybody around ever since the incident in the park, so chances were if she was not at the hospital, she was with one of them. Since Harry was running around arranging different aspects of the trip, she spent a lot of time with Mickey, who -- again, in all his 6’4 glory -- managed to be the most gentle giant she’d ever been around. He drove her around in a nondescript car, happily walked with her and Ubbe in Gibson’s gated residential neighborhood, and proved to be even more useful once revealed that he had an old college mate who went on to be a veterinarian. He was able to get her a vet visit within a day to update Ubbe’s shots and give them the go-ahead for flying. Mickey, ever the jitterbug, could not sit still for long either (and if he was, it was because he was falling asleep) so she would wake up from her postwork hour-long nap to a house that sparkled, and something that smelled all too tempting for her to stay in bed any longer. 

(His first night there he had prepared a white chicken chili, that gave her the most comforting after dinner fullness she had pressed him to admit his culinary secrets. Mickey smiled fondly, a gaze that she had only seen in older men who had gone through the wringer but is still adoring of the past -- though he’s barely passed thirty years old if he has at all -- before saying, “My misses taught me a few years before she passed,” he answered, stirring the pot that he left on simmer as he ladled himself another bowl, “Secret recipe, I only make it for family now.” Y/N, no matter how the information had rocked her, and the questions that she had, let the subject drop and placed her hand on his shoulder which she squeezed softly. He placed his hand over hers and squeezed back.)

Harry would come around nine or ten at night with intent to relieve Mickey of his duties, but normally Mickey had already shacked up on her couch for the night cuddled in her quilt. Harry, who would be lived that Mickey got the quilt, would kiss his teeth gently as he pulled her in for a hug as his greeting, “Bastard. What’d he cook t’night, m’eating the whole pot so he can’t have any in the morning.” He would eat at her table, sneak Ubbe food when he didn’t think she was looking, and they would whisper to one another about their respective days. Harry’s were filled with travel stressors, Y/N would tell him about the different patients she had, would attempt to keep the gross stories to a minimum until Harry pressed her to tell them because (italicize this) ”I know you want to, Babe, I’ve got a strong stomach hit me with it.” 

Y/N would make him his pallet on the floor in the living room because he all but refused to impede her sleep in the slightest, “I'm up and down all night Babe, answering calls, snacking, getting water -- there’s no way you’d get a full night’s rest.” Despite his readily made bed, he would follow her and Ubbe into her room for a little while, like he wasn’t ready for bed himself yet, but by twelve, if Y/N hadn’t already fallen asleep mid-conversation then he would very sternly tell her that it was time for bed, and to, “Stop keeping me up, Lovie, I get no rest with you.” Before he would retreat to his living room bed. In the morning, she would wake up to a breakfast of scrambled eggs, waffles, and English toast if it was Mickey who woke up first, and if it was Harry then they all got a cup of coffee, Y/N got a bowl of cereal and maybe jellied toast. She was also often greeted with him having discarded his shirt in the night, exposing the smooth skin of his torso. It’s hard for Y/N to focus on anything when she’s outlining the tattoos with her gaze or wondering how to not think too hard about the dusting of hair that’s on his chest. 

Though it was out of the ordinary, it didn’t feel abnormal, and Y/N couldn’t say that she wasn’t reveling in the domesticity of it. 

Yet, she still found her heart racing when Harry nudged her leg with his socked foot, dressed down in his sweatpants and a black Harley Davidson shirt that was miraculously not covered in Ubbe hair (who was resting peacefully on her bed), “Yeah, I reckon we have been goofin’ off a bit,” he purses his lips, before he snaps his fingers with an enlightened look on his face, “We need incentive.” 

Her brows furrow, “Our flight being at 10 AM isn’t enough?” 

“Apparently not,” he counters, “We’ll make it a bit of a contest, yeah? Whoever sifts through their pile first gets. . .” he trailed off, though when the idea hits him, he sticks out his pointer finger cartoonishly and his mouth is in an open smile, showing off his teeth, his dimples two moon-like craters in his cheeks, “Backrubs.” His voice goes an octave higher, the lilt in his accent brings a coughed, startled laugh from her. 

“Backrubs?” She repeats and Harry nods exuberantly. 

“Twenty-minute deep tissue massage to the winner, and the last slice of cake in your fridge. A hot chocolate too, just to season it up a bit.” 

And, well, Y/N didn’t think that was a terrible idea. The thought that she could be on the receiving end of a deep tissue massage by Harry’s hands as big as they are? She’d seen him give Mitch’s shoulders a good rub once in Gibson’s room, and Y/N remembered being a bit jealous that she wasn’t the recipient, especially after a twelve-hour shift. Plus, with how she’d been hunched over, her back could use it.  

Even if she didn’t win, she’d get a chance to feel the muscles of his sculpted back, so ultimately it seemed like a win on both ends. 

Similar to many things, Harry is correct, an incentive gives them both a little push. There’s much less speaking and goofing off when they are both so keenly focused on their piles, some things going to her suitcase, and other things going to an organized pile for her drawers. Every so often Harry tells her to eat his dust and she chucks a powder blue hoodie at him, which he merely folds expertly and place in the suitcase,” You won’t shake me, my determination is unshakeable.” He bit hard on his lip like he was warding off a smile but failed by the way the corner of his lips curls upward. 

Despite Y/N’s best efforts, Harry gives a hearty cheer when she’s two shirts from winning and she looked up to see that her suitcase was full of her clothes, Harry had nothing at his side, and he’d managed to finish off both their glasses of wine. Her bottom lip puffed out in a pout, the defeat rushes her like a shove into water, and Y/N is very suddenly reminded of how competitive she is. Though there was no way to fight it, her shoulders slumped and she grunts a sad wailing groan of loss, “I was so close!” She fake gives a fake cry and Harry pauses his victory hoots and arm dancing, seeing as she motions towards the mattress, “On the mattress then.” 

Harry makes no move though, “What did you think I was gonna put you to work after you’ve been on your feet all day?” Y/N tilts her head, “Get on the bed, Babe, I’m massaging you, I just love winning a contest. Plus you think those tiny hands of yours were gonna do anything for my knots? My paws were destined for a masseuse career.” 

“Oi,” she huffs, though she’s pushing herself up from the ground, “I don’t know whether to be offended or excited.”

Y/N crawls onto her bed, plopping herself face-first into her pillows before placing her cheek on her knuckle as she turns her head to the side, watching as Harry's knees himself up behind her. She gasped a bit when she feels him straddle her, his knees astride her as he placed his bum atop of hers, “M’not too heavy am I?” Y/N shook her head, goosebumps ghosting up her skin when she feels his fingers skim against her as he takes ahold of the hem of her shirt and raises it. He presses the fabric up so that it sat rumpled at her shoulders before he very gently skates over her bra, “May I unclip it?” 

She wonders if he knows what he’s doing when a little sparkle dots her lower abdomen in interest. How low and syrupy his voice is, the tender way he touches her, the way he very lightly traces his fingers at her lower back as he waits for her response, “Yeah,” she clears her throat, wriggling a bit beneath him, “Go ahead.” 

Tentatively does he unclip her bra, pushing the straps out of his way and she feels the cups relax from around her breasts. Harry starts at the middle of her back, digging the heels of his palms into the muscle, coaxing a startled squeak from her. He chuckles; it drips through her ears like molasses, “Silly thing,” he tuts his tongue, she could imagine that he’s shaking his head in that slow way he does when he’s playfully scolding her, “All these knots in your back. You oughta get massages more often.” 

When she opens up her mouth to speak, he rubs the pads of his thumbs deep beneath her shoulder blades, and a noise leaves her that she can’t describe -- something between a groan and a squeal -- before she responds honestly, “I don’t normally let people touch me like this.” She doesn’t know why because Y/N herself is a very touchy-feely person, but she does get a bit squeamish at the thought of letting a stranger rub her back and shoulders. Which is quite hypocritical, because most days she’s a stranger and she is touching all over people’s bodies. However, she thinks that might be a reason to some degree -- while Y/N is not judgmental in the slightest, she’s human, sometimes your mind wanders when you’re meant to touch and poke and prod at different people all day. She doesn’t want to be thinking about what the other person might be thinking while they’re touching her, even though its most likely just how much they want to go home or what they’ll be eating for lunch later.  . .at least that’s what is going through her mind most the time. 

But with Harry, she really didn’t mind. She couldn’t explain it and she didn’t even want to try and mentally process it when she could be enjoying his hands on her back, working out knots, taking up a majority of the surface area when his hands are flat against her back. 

“I’m flattered,” he murmured, “You let me know whenever you need one and I’ll have you sorted, yeah Babe? Sound good?” 

Wordlessly does she nods, letting her eyes flutter shut as she focuses on the sensations of his hands kneading into her skin. He wasn’t lying about being skilled and she wondered absently how he was so good at this -- how many other people was he massaging? Or was it just one of those hidden talent things where he was suspiciously good without practice nor trying. Whatever the reasoning, her toes curled, and her whole body heated as he turned her to jelly. If she squeaked or squealed he would chuckle, especially if he was really digging into one spot, and it hurt but it hurt good. If she weren’t so stressed about the day to come she would have melted in a pool of her own arousal by the time it hit the ten-minute mark. 

“Could you --” her voice is a little raspy, so she clears it and tries again, “Y’know when like you lightly trace your fingers over someone?” 

“Like this?” Harry switched from his tissue deep massaging to grazing the tips of his fingers along the curve of her shoulder blade and try as she might to hold it in, a pleased shiver rattles through her body.

“Mhm,” she hums, melting even further, “You’re amazing.” Her words are slightly warped from how she’s lying her cheek on her hand but Harry makes it out enough to respond. 

“Least I could do for you, Babe, you’re always taking care of everyone else. When’s the last time you let someone take care of you, huh?” 

Y/N bites hard on her inner lip -- that’s a line that she’d been fed in many stories before and it normally had some sexual connotation behind it. She doesn’t think that’s what Harry means but her body reacts to it all the same until she pulls the reins in and tries to keep this as innocent as possible. She and Harry were friends, or so she’d like to think, and she would hate to make this whole trip awkward because she couldn’t keep her ARAS in check. 

Harry lets her get away with no response though he does lift off of her bum, taking the radiator-like heat of his body warmth away and leaving her feeling cold. His fingers draw intricate designs and patterns into her skin which he mentions is soft and that strokes some unknown part of Y/N’s ego that she didn’t know she possessed. 

She found herself falling asleep and she tells him as much, wondering aloud how much longer she had with him because if it’s anything past five minutes then she’s going to be out like a light. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he murmured gently, “Get some rest Sweetheart, I’ll keep petting on you till you fall asleep.”