The day after the party, Moira spent the majority of her morning cleaning the apartment from empty bottles, dirty dishes and leftovers. When she was done, her legs involuntarily moved in the direction of Harry's music room that was located next to the staircase, near the living room.

Sure enough, Harry was lazily sprawled on one of the chesterfield couches, his back flat against its cushions, his head pressed into a pillow. He held his phone over his face, a curious crease between his brows as he didn't bother the slightest bit to look her way.

Crossing her arms, she cleared her throat, earning a small look. "I'm done cleaning. Thanks for your help." She said sarcastically.

"You're welcome."

Moira rolled her eyes, climbing on top of him, straddling his waist, and hovering over his face. She could instantly feel him tense under her at the close proximity, his eyes slowly meeting hers again. By force of habit, his arms wound around her waist, urging her closer. "Whatcha doing?" she asked.

"I was trying to find synonyms for words, but now I'm looking at the meanings of names." his eyes flickered down to her tank top, and she knew a bit of her cleavage was showing since she was hunched over. She could instantly see his pupils dilate from the view he had.

"Eyes up," she said with a chuckle, seeing that Harry brought his gaze up for a split second before stealing another glance.

"It's not my fault," He grumbled, leaning his head fully back and seemingly becoming distracted by a thought. "Did you know your name means 'bitter'?"

"I did, why?"

"It kind of suits you." He sounded slightly amused.

"Careful now, you wouldn't want to release the bitter beast."

He was once looking over his phone, but his attention was now on her. "Was that... a joke?" he teased, cracking a playful grin.

"Shut up." Moira grumbled, struggling to keep a straight face -which he noticed.

Trying to ignore the humorous glint in his eyes, her focus switched to his earring -a reminder of her own oblivion. Comparing her donor's physical- and personality traits to Harry's, it was beyond her why she hadn't noticed the precise similarities before. Although on the other hand, what are the chances?

100% apparently.

She got lost in her thoughts and ran a finger from the top of his forehead to the bridge of his nose, kissing him there. Gently feeling all her insides begin to unravel at the contact.

"Do you wanna see your birthday present?" Harry questioned casually, pulling her from her reverie -he'd been observing her.

He wore an olive colored beanie over his curly hair, suppressing the bouncing mess. There was one stray curl near his ear, poking from the confinement, as if stretching for freedom. It annoyed her. She took off the beanie and marvelled at the sight of his hairdo as she ran her hands through it. "I thought we agreed on no presents?"

"You agreed on no presents," he corrected, briefly closing his eyes at the sensation of her nails scraping his scalp -close to bursting out purring. "and besides, it's not something I can give to you. Not in the literal sense."

She looked confused with a hint of curiosity. "What do you mean?"

"Pull my shirt off."

Moira obeyed without a word of complaint and he had to lift his back a little off of the cushions to assist her in successfully removing the piece of clothing. Laying back, he waited for her to see.

"You got me a tattoo?" she acknowledged, evidently dumbfounded by the new addition to his collection.

He flashed her a dimpled grin. "I did."

Leaning towards his chest, she squinted her eyes and carefully began tracing the skin. The tattoo was about the size of an egg, situated on the far right side of his ribcage and still appeared to be healing -judging by the light scabs. He must have done it a few days ago, Moira concluded.

Her heart skipped a beat when realization dawned on her. That's why he'd slept with a shirt on lately, why he hadn't taken any baths with her and insisted on making love in the dark. All because he wanted to keep her 'present' a surprise.

As if in trance, Harry's eyes followed the path of her finger. She was careful not to come in contact with the tattoo itself, only touching the skin around -gently soothing it.

"Is that.. a finger print?" she wondered aloud.

"Yours. I got it from your passport." He explained, and then pointed at the small figure in the middle of his tattoo. "and there's even a little Ollie inside."

She stilled her movements. "Oh my god."

At the shakiness of her voice he looked up quickly to see her blue eyes darken, growing glossy with unshed tears. And when the first few drops rolled down her cheek, he dove forward, letting his rough fingers wiped them away. Harry pulled her tightly into his chest, nearly crushing her with the ferocity of his grip, and rocked back into the cushions. Her entire upper body leaned into him, his arms strong and powerful around her.

"Nothing could top off your present to me but hey, at least I tried." He said, smiling feebly.

Her cheeks flushed -remembering how she'd covered Harry in amniotic fluid. She heaved a shaky sigh, and the crying only seemed to get worse as she tried to muster a response that he could understand. It was stuck in her head.. But it was the matter of explaining verbally that she had trouble with.

"B-but what if we..." she waved her arms, trailing off and hoping that he understood her point because she couldn't quite find the words to finish the sentence. Not without sounding like a complete pessimist.

"...don't last?" He instead finished it for her, and he stole the words right out of her mouth. All traces of his smile were wiped clean as he realized that, and his drooping expression sent a pang of guilt niggling at her chest. She swallowed thickly before nodding in confirmation.

Harry hummed in response, his dark eyebrows jutting downwards as he mulled over something. And she suddenly noticed the dark bags under his eyes -presumably the effect of his hangover. Needless to say, he looked exhausted, though she oddly found his tousled appearance... hot.

"Listen to me," he demanded sharply, finding his words and grasping onto her chin to force their eyes to lock. "I am so in love with you, I'd probably tattoo your face on my ass if it made you happy."

Moira giggled a little at that.

"I want to make you forget how bad love existed and all the ways that it shook you. I want to show you I love you as much as you hate the idea of being left again. My heart no longer beats out of habit, it beats for you. This tattoo is my way of saying 'I am here, and I am here to stay'."

"Really?" she asked quietly, her tears drying.

"Really." He whispered, and when his warm thumbs rubbed across her cheek, she froze up at the gentleness of his action. His eyes stared down at the wetness on the tip of his finger before he wiped it off on his shirt -that lay beside them. "Now please stop, I don't like seeing you cry."

"I'm sorry," she sniffed. "I just.. I never thought anyone would get a tattoo in honor of me. A beautiful tattoo, at that. It really is breathtaking, Harry. Thank you."

Moira found herself leaning down towards his face. Her eyes couldn't seem to look away from his entrancing gaze. There seemed to be some kind of electric chemistry between them right then; stronger than ever before, like they literally attracted.

Their lips touched just barely, in the softest of ways, making her heart flip viciously in her chest as she sank into his embrace. She felt him grinning against her as he pulled away just a bit and murmured, "You're welcome, baby."

--------------------------------------------

A week later, Moira had just brought their sleepy son to bed for his afternoon nap, and was drinking some water from the tap, when the phone rang. She wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve and drifted around the corner, through the dining area and into the living room.

"Moira King speaking."

"Moira, is Haz there? Is he home?"

She recognized the voice to be Finn's, it sounded frantic and hurried-the complete opposite of calm. She could instantly sense something was amiss, if not by his tone of voice, then by his questions. Causing her to tense up and hold her breath, an uneasy feeling slowly settling inside the pit of her stomach.

"I thought he was supposed to be with you guys, in LA??" She was panicking now. Harry liked being on his own, and tended to disappear for hours on end -usually in his music room or Central Park or some other random place-- but never without letting her or the boys know he was ok. Or at least telling them when he'd be back.

Finn sighed, rushing out his words as if he refused to believe them. "He quit the band two days ago and left without any further explanation. We can't get a hold of him, he switched his personal phone off and left the other in the studio."

"What?"

Nobody had heard from him in 48 hours. Including her. He'd sent a brief text to inform her they'd made a safe landing in LAX but besides that, nothing. At first she'd found his lack of phone calls odd, since he'd promised to ring her whenever he had the time. Not wanting to push her luck and act like the typical, clingy girlfriend, she'd brushed it aside, assuming he was either too busy or too tired.

A cold shiver ran down her spine, terror seizing her body. Petrifying thoughts spurting within her, the worst coming to mind.

"We reported him missing after 8 hours, but the police doesn't have many clues to work with. He might have taken the jet back to New York City, but there's also a possibility he's still in LA. And they can't consult the news because once word gets out that Harraël Stones has gone missing, all hell will break loose. And we'll get even more negative publicity than we're already getting now."

Too busy concentrating on the fact Harry was missing, she hadn't heard half of what he'd said. And pretty soon, she was breathing heavily and desperately trying to stop herself from hyperventilating. This wasn't happening. This could not be happening. Just when she thought her happily ever after was near. One could say she was overreacting. Yet, all Moira felt was pure and utter panic.

Not again.

Please, not again.

Not having her dad, Cooper or Derek in her life, she could handle. But not Harry. It was too soon and she loved him too much.

"Why the fuck didn't you call me mmm.. I don't know.. two days ago!?"

"We-" he sighed again. "We didn't want you to panic."

"Are you saying I'm not fucking panicking now?" she spit panicky, clearly panicked.

"Moira..."

Sucking in a deep breath, she forced herself to calm and mentally count to ten. Placing a hand over her heart, she felt the thumping as she tried to level her breathing. She squeezed her eyes shut until she felt ready to talk again.

Attempting to rationalise the situation, she said, "Look Finn, I'm sorry for raising my voice, I'm worried and it's making me act like a bitch again. Excuse my rude behaviour for now and let's focus. Did anything happen beforehand? Anything that may have been the reason Harry left, I mean?"

Finn cleared his throat. "Uhh, pictures of Haz and Ollie were published. Everyone put two and two together and they were.. well.. they flipped. Especially the fans, calling Haz a liar and whatnot. Management demanded he deny Ollie's existence in the interview tomorrow and it set him off. He basically flipped the bird, announced he was quitting and stormed out of the studio. That's the last time we saw him."

"Didn't you chase after him?" Moira ran a nervous hand through her hair, deciding to ignore the part about people publishing pictures of their son. Again. And not to forget how proud she felt of Harry for recognizing himself as Ollie's father, and standing up for their son. Bones was important to him, but his family more important. This only proved that.

"We tried!" he assured her. "But he.. he was too fast. We couldn't catch up. Not even the paps could keep up with him."

She ran another hand through her mess of blonde locks, and in that moment, she realized her hair was just as tangled as her heart was.

Throughout her conversation with Finn, she'd been nervously pacing from the living room to the kitchen, from the kitchen to the dining area, from the dining area to the hallway where she currently stood, listening to the distant sound of voices vastly approaching outside the apartment. She tensed when the voices were followed by the ringing of the doorbell.

"Hold on, Finn. Someone's at the door. I'll call you back later, alright?" Before he could reply, she'd pressed 'end call'.

Nobody was ever at the door -not anyone unfamiliar anyway-- hence why she'd immediately hung up. Each of the building's residents had a list of people who could go up in the elevator without a questioning from the concierge, Miles. And seeing as Moira and Harry's list was rather short, there were only selected options of who could be at the door.

Without looking in the peep hole, she eagerly pulled it open -with not even an ounce of caution.

"Lizzy," she sighed Harry's sister's name as she came into view, not knowing if she welcomed her presence with relief or disappointment. "What are you-"

That's when she noticed her dishevelled appearance; her swollen, red eyes and the dried tears staining her cheeks, her lip quivering slightly. The sight filled her with dread, made her blood run ice cold.

"Hey sweetie," Lizzy smiled half-heartedly, attempting to sound normal and failing miserably. "You might want to call your mom to ask if she can babysit Ollie."

The prospect of the unknown terrified her, and she felt an immense amount of fear mixed with suspicion. Almost too afraid to utter the words, she asked, "Why.."

"Because Harraël is in the hospital and he needs you."

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My beautiful new cover is by beingellie, and she's also the creator of Harry's new tattoo!Not only is Ellie a brilliant graphic designer, but a writer as well! So go check out her work :D