Y/N is abducted by aliens part 2 (Patreon)

Oooooooh, spooky! I hope you're all doing well :D HAPPY OCTOBER!! You can expect a visit from our werewolf pals very soon!!

part 1

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ii.

Harry visits her often and it soon becomes the highlight of her time spent here. 

Which, well, isn’t saying much. There was surprisingly not a whole lot to look forward to when you’re locked away in a cold, dark room, post-alien abduction, but a cute guy with curly hair, dimples, and quite possibly the warmest hands ever was certainly something. At the very least, he gave her the social stimulation that was severely lacking otherwise, apart from the video camera that she spoke to, fixed in the corner of the room (if she needed or wanted something, she beckoned for it by looking into the camera’s lens and asking politely). Someone would bring it to her, and they were as nice as they could be, but it was very much against protocol to spend more than an allotted amount of time with her. 

So when Harry comes every other day stays for around an hour and listens to her bellyaching about the conditions -- she’s overjoyed. Especially when those complaints are meant with solutions. The stiff, unforgiving steel table that she had been sleeping on was replaced with a soft, plushy daybed and two extra blankets for her to sleep in. The sedative helped put her to sleep and keep her asleep, so despite the position she was in here, she was well-rested. And, when she had whined about them giving her the same rotation of food, he made sure that there was more variety in her meals. 

Did part of her wonder if he were only making these accommodations in the attempt to soften her so she doesn’t write an expose enlightening everyone about what happened to her? Yeah, but in the moment, it was hard to see it as anything but acts of kindness that otherwise were not being doled out to her. He was the first thing that had made her feel warm. 

She found herself looking forward to his visits, asking the people who came to do her routine assessments if she was supposed to see him or not. If she was, she tried not to appear too excited about it. . .it felt like she was being furtive about a crush on her professor. And sure, while she was a little melty toward him, she had certainly not bridged that gap quite yet, where he became more than just eye candy and pleasant company. Though it didn’t take much for her to fall head over heels for someone, so she wouldn’t be surprised if that happened soon.  

All this said, her weird, melty feelings towards him that could be a crush but not just yet, aren’t why she keeps asking when he is going to come around today. Y/N remembered something -- she thinks, at least, that she remembered something, and she wanted to get it out before she forgot. Wanted to say it aloud so that it’s a tangible, physical thing rather than just a floating memory. . .she fears it might slip away just as quickly as it had returned to her. 

So she wasted no time, when Harry stepped foot through the code locked door, greeting her with a smile, the words fell from her mouth like lava erupting from Mount Fuji, “I was on a walk.” 

“Pardon?” Harry’s brows furrow but he reaches into his pocket for his notepad all the same. 

“The night. . .the night I think I was taken,” she continues to say, clearing her throat as she tries sorting through it in her head, “I laid down for bed, but I woke up in the middle of the night. . .at --” she fixes her eyes closed, visualizing the clock beside her bed, glowing red numbers that read, “--2:42, and I was confused because I didn’t have to pee. Only wake up when I need to pee,” she opens her eyes again, and Harry is staring, his gaze inquisitive, “Um. . .there’s a blank space, but then I remember being on a walk. I didn’t have shoes on, and there’s a bit of the road I live on where the pavement is gravel so it was hurting my feet but I. . .I don’t remember why I wouldn’t move over. I don’t -- oh fuck sake,” her shoulders slump forward, body slouching where she stood, “I don’t remember anything else. I’m sorry.” 

Harry shook his head, “Now why would you be apologizing? You remembered something, that’s good! It may not all come flooding back at once, but that. . .that would be expected. In periods of stress, it’s normal for the brain to sort of -- I don’t want to say shut down,” he kisses his teeth as he looks for the word, “To sort of detaching itself from the memory. But it’s coming back, and that’s good news for everyone. . .we’ll get closer to the root of what happened then.” 

She nods, albeit still feeling defeated. Harry must sense it, because he flips his notepad shut, “C’mon, why don’t we have a seat and chat a bit?” He had convinced them to give her a chair, and while it was unremarkable, it was still something other than her bed or the table to sit on for a little while at a time. It was a stool, with no backing, but she could roll and spin on it to her heart’s content. . .it helped ease some of the boredom. 

While she places herself on the cushioned seat of the stool, he leans his bum against the table and crosses his arms over his chest, but not in a closed-off way. No, he shivers a little and she realizes that he’s doing it because he’s cold -- if he could barely handle it in a long-sleeve button-down and slacks, how was she meant to handle it in her hospital gown? Harry nods towards her lap, a small smile on his mouth, “I see they’ve let you keep the restraints off. Haven’t tried wringing anyone by the throat then?” 

Y/N huffs around a laugh, “I thought about it when that one doctor checked my reflexes. I reckon he hits a bit too hard and I think he does it on purpose.” 

“Crawford?” She nods, and Harry sighs, tutting his tongue, “That bloke is something different. Think he would kick kittens if someone paid him a suitable amount.” 

They continue like this for a while. . .a back and forth that eases her into a comfort, that aids her in forgetting her frustrations with no remembering everything at once. Several times he reminds her how well she did in recounting her memory and how happy he was that she didn’t keep this information to herself. As he does his assessments on her, he reminds her again that -- though it doesn’t feel like it considering the scenery -- when he’s in here with her, they’re in a safe space. She could say or tell him anything and it would not bring harmful repercussions. 

“Harry?” She began toward the end of their discussion when he was finishing up scrawling a note onto his paper. He hums to let her know he’s listening, so she continues, “When I remember everything, will they let me leave here?” 

He pauses for a moment -- stands still, like the question had overridden some part of his brain. Y/N waits with bated breath, a sinking feeling in her gut when she realizes what his silence implicates for her. . .if Harry knew something, he had a habit of telling her as much as he could. .at least from her understanding. 

“I’m not sure, Sweetheart.” 

They drop it. 

                                                  .                    .                  . 

Y/N thinks being abducted by aliens and therefore being sequestered in an underground government operation, desensitized her to a lot of things. One of them being the fact that she’s spent so much time in the cold, she thinks that someone could drop her in the frostiest bit of the Atlantic and she could survive no problem. Another being horror films, which she hadn’t seen since she’d been in here, but she reckoned that after being involved in whatever the hell this was, a jumpscare might just not cut it anymore. And another, she would say, is being jarred awake by the door opening and someone in a lab coat coming to poke and prod on her.  

Still, she can’t say that she wasn’t a bit startled when she opened her eyes and saw Harry looking down at her frantically. 

He’d been weird the past few days, but not in a way that someone would notice if they were just chatting with him. Y/N only noticed because he preoccupied the better half of her brain when she created little stories in her head about what his life must be like (she imagined a wife and kids probably, maybe a dog and a picket white fence. . .seemingly perfect, but his girl is starting to question why she can never visit him at work or why business trips seem to be month long expenditures). She observes him a lot, had recognized the patterns in how he operates as a person, what his good moods are like, what his bad moods are like -- the face he makes when he’s indifferent, or if he’s truly passionate about something (if she got him talking about space, he would chat her ear off). 

Harry had started staying later than his normal time frame -- that was the first bit. The normal had been his hour-long visits, and he was incredibly punctual, from what she could tell without knowing the time. He was always checking his watch though, and if she asked him for the time when he walked in and the time when he was leaving, it was always precisely an hour difference. So when she asked him the time after it had felt that he’d been in there for a little while, and she learned that it had been budding closer to a two-hour visit, she was confused. Even more confused as these longer visits became much more frequent, and she wondered if she was exhibiting signs of isolation psychosis that she couldn’t remember but was worrying them enough they thought she needed more stimulation. 

His questions were much less focused on what happened and much more in tune with her life outside of this. While she did tell him memories as they came to her, that was the extent of them digging into what might have happened. She thought maybe he felt the assessments were silly considering she’d at least been here close to a month and nothing physically or mentally had changed about her (apart from the emotional scarring this whole situation will leave on her psyche, but that was beside the point), however, even then she was confused by some of his questions. If she had family and friends who lived around her, who would be alerted if she disappeared, had she ever given consideration to studying abroad. . .was she the type of person who kept a big suitcase or a small suitcase. . .did her flat have any items that she has brought with her everywhere. Things like that, that made her face scrunch up a little but she answers them anyway -- maybe he was orienting her? 

A few times she wondered if they were planning on doing away with her or something and trying to figure out the cleanup, but when she poses the question he looks horrified that she would even suggest it. 

“Jesus Christ, no! Of course not!” 

She should have known things were changing, but how could she? She was locked in this room 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, if there was something going on, or tension in any portion of the “experiment” she was, Y/N wouldn’t know. Her only inkling was Harry being a bit odd, and now, him hovering over her in the middle of the night. He’d shaken her from her sleep and it had startled her a considerable amount, especially as Harry is out of his typical attire, dressed in something fit for burglary with his hair hidden beneath a dark-colored beanie, and a black jacket and pants that obscure him, “Come on, hurry, we need to leave.” 

Y/N wipes at her eyes, rubbing the sleep that was clouding them away, “What? What’s going on?” 

“I have no time to explain, we need to leave before the systems start back up,” he held out his hand for her, helping her up from the daybed but leaning down to grab the small, plaid throw blanket that she’d been cuddled in. He fixes it around her shoulders, urging one of her hands to clutch it around her while the other he grabs her wrist and coaxes her forward. 

“But won’t I -- won’t I get in trouble?” She asks, still foggy, trying to process the situation as he punched in the code to her door and swung it open. For the first time since she was put in here, however long ago that was, she was stepping out of this room. It was scary and relieving, and so fucking confusing her brain could not make sense of anything at all, “Won’t you get in trouble? Will -- they’ll make me stay longer if I disrupt progress I thought.” 

Harry shakes his head, they walk with urgency down the long stretch of hall, making a sharp right turn down a darker hall where the lights are barely flickering. At the end of the hall, a blearing red EXIT sign glows, “Sweetheart, they were never going to let you out.” 

“What?” 

“They were never going to send you home!” His voice is just above a whisper, “The procedures were going to become more invasive and they were never going to let you leave that room, so I’m getting you out of here.” 

Y/N’s heart slams against her sternum with each beat like a mallet to a kettledrum, “But --” 

“Listen,” he paused them just for a moment, twisting her to face him, gripping her shoulders -- she sees her panic reflected back at her -- wide eyes just inches from her face, and his breath is minty from the gum she doesn’t doubt is in his mouth, “Do you trust me?” Y/N is staring at him, her gaze darts around his face, “Because if you don’t I’ll let you turn around and go back in there, no matter how much it would pain me to do so. But if you do, I will take you with me, and I will do everything in my power to keep you safe. So Y/N,” he squeezes her shoulders, “Do you trust me?” 

Her silent nod is all he needs. 

They continue down the hall briskly, her feet are covered in cotton socks they finally let her have (thanks to the man currently kidnapping her) but she can still feel the icy floor beneath them. She ignores how her muscles ache and her bones gripe at her from the exertion -- she hadn’t moved this much in a very long while. When they finally make it to the end of the hall, she’s struggling to catch her breath as Harry checks his watch and looks around the corner, she presumes to make sure the coast is clear. 

“I’m sorry, I know you’re tired,” he responds to her huffing and puffing beside him, “We’re almost there, okay? Just got to get to the end of this next hall, through those double doors, there’s another door on the right that leads right to the stairs outside. My friend will be waiting for us.” 

She nods, slides her sweaty palm into his, and holds on tightly, and Harry takes this as his queue to keep them running. There are doors on either side of them but they’re going too fast for Y/N to make out what might be behind any of them, so her mind wanders briefly to heads in jars of formaldehyde, failed experiments, new organisms growing in septic tanks. As they press through the double doors he’d been speaking of (after he quickly tapped in the code), an alarm sounds distant, and Y/N takes a sharp inhale but Harry shushes her, “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he murmurs, and she wonders if it's to her or to himself, as he punches in yet another code to the first door on their right -- when it swings open, a cold draft blows up the blanket and hospital gown and makes her shiver, “They noticed way later than I thought they would.” 

Harry ushers her up the concrete stairs before him, toward which looks much like how a storm cellar entrance might only with one door secured by a small latch that had clearly been broken. As the door behind them swings shut, the sound of the alarms mutes and soothes her nerves only a little, as he knocks in a very specific pattern against the steal, and just as soon as he’s finished, there are a few clicks and beeps she hears. The door opens to reveal a dark-haired, thin man with a mustache, holding out his hand for her to grab -- she doesn’t recognize him at all, but she takes it and allows him to pull her up. Harry, as respectfully as he can, aids in pushing her bottom up when she starts to trip around the blanket. 

Y/N has little time to take in their surroundings, and given that it’s so dark, it’s pretty hard to make out much of anything, but it doesn’t look like she’s been lifted out of a functioning part of whatever base they’re on. No, the functioning part seemed to be quite a few kilometers north of where they were, where there were large wire fences akin to that of a prison yard, with a light on a guard tower that swung around in circles like it was trying to spot something. . .trying to spot her.  

Where they stood appeared to be an old, decrypted barn that had long since been out of commission. She couldn’t admire much of anything else before Harry was guiding her to the back of the SUV. He grips the trunk latch, pressing and practically ripping it open, “I know it isn’t comfortable, but until we get some distance between us and this place, you’ll have to be back here, okay? And I’ll need to -- there’s some blankets and things we need to put on top of you in the rare case we get stopped.” He holds out his hand for her, and she takes it as she steps up into the vehicle, laying her head next to a seemingly brand new pair of wellies. As they begin piling blankets atop of her (Harry bundles one up and pushes it beneath her head), they have empty suitcases, but they aren’t necessarily on top of her. They’re shoved closer to the trunk door, and if Y/N could guess, it was to make the trunk appear more full than it actually was through the window. Topped off with a few puffy winter coats that they lay over her, they shut the door quickly, and Y/N can hear them get in the car. 

Whoever is driving peels out of the dirt path they’d been idling in, and Y/N’s adrenalin is still pumping so aggressively through her veins she feels like if the car broke down she could push it wherever they needed to go. “How are you holding up back there, Sweetheart, are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” she calls back, “I’m -- I’m okay.” 

“Are you warm enough? We can turn the heat on a little higher?” He offers and Y/N shudders slightly, sinking deep beneath the blankets and coats. 

“I’ll be fine, I think,” She responds. 

Harry sighs -- she can hear how tired he was, and it matched how tired she felt, “We aren’t out of the woods yet, but we’re far safer than we were,” he explains to her, “I know it might be hard to get back to sleep, but you can rest some, okay? We’re headed to a safe location about a six-hour drive south, and once we’re at least a three-hour gap from here, we’ll get you out from back there. That sound good?” 

Y/N reckons that’s as good as it could sound, in a situation like this.