Written for What'dIMiss, on the Monthly OS Exchange at the HPFC.

Also for Hogwarts' Writing Club, A Year in Entertainment - Goodfellas - (AU) Mafia, Showtime - The Adams Administration: (word) Reputation; the Honeycomb Challenge - (song) Walking the Wire - Imagine Dragons and the Ship Battles - Drarry, (word) reputation.

Word count: 2076

as long as you love me truly

The thing about being undercover was that Harry missed his family. He hadn't seen them in two years, hadn't had contact apart from a handful of letters and even less phone calls, and their absence weighed on him.

Sometimes, when he felt particularly cynical, he told himself that that was why he leaned on his relationship with Draco so much, why they had fallen together so quickly—Draco filled a void in his life that would probably have consumed him otherwise, and considering Harry's current line of work, that'd have been dangerous.

Well, more dangerous than dating the son of the man you were secretly working on taking down, anyway.

It did make things more… complicated, but Draco was worth it. Harry had to believe that.

.i.

"What would your father say if he knew you were sleeping with a cop?" Harry asked, shifting his head to stare into Draco's eyes. The man's blond hair shone like a halo around his head, and it made Harry's chest constrict almost painfully.

Draco huffed a laugh, leaning in for a quick and dirty kiss. "Probably about the same thing as your bosses did when you told them that you were sleeping with the son of the man they're trying to take down," he retorted.

"Touché," Harry chuckled, pulling the dark green silk sheets up to his torso. "My bosses did eventually congratulate me on finding a way into your father's organization though. I think there might be a few more death threats and less compliments about dedication implied in your case. "

"That's a given. My father didn't rise to his position, or earn his reputation, by playing nice, you know."

"Oh, trust me, I know." Harry shivered, hundreds of pictures of dead, bloody bodies flashing before his eyes. He closed his eyes and wished the images away, focusing on the present.

Draco fell silent for a long moment, linking his hand with Harry's. "I guess you do, don't you?" he sighed.

"You could still help me, you know. I mean, actively help me. I know you don't approve of what he does—of what you family does. Help me take him down," Harry pleaded.

Draco's lips quirked up into a sardonic smile. "Sorry, but I'm not that brave." He pulled their joined hands to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to Harry's knuckles. "I can't go against my father. I just can't—so please, can we not talk about it anymore?"

Harry heaved a frustrated sigh but relented. Maybe one day he'd manage to change Draco's mind, but today clearly wasn't that day. It was just so annoying, that Draco refused to see that he was more than his father's copy—more than the heir destined to inherit the 'family business' who reluctantly followed his father around.

"I can hear you thinking," Draco drawled. "Stop it."

"Oh, sorry if I can't just shut my brain down," Harry retorted. "Some of us have a little trouble doing that."

"Harry…" Draco sighed.

"I'm sorry," Harry said before Draco could add anything else. "You didn't deserve that—I'm not mad at you, it's just… I want this case to be dealt with, but I worry what'll happen to you when that's done," he confessed quietly. He wasn't sure he had meant to say those words—as a rule, he and Draco tried to avoid talking about their feelings, a mutual decision to keep things from getting too messy, but well… Unfortunately, that hadn't stopped feelings from happening.

Draco stayed silent. "Let's sleep," he said finally.

"Yeah," Harry replied, closing his eyes sadly, "let's sleep."

Maybe, tomorrow would be a better day.

.ii.

"If you were going to miss our date, you could have at least called me with a warning," Draco started ranting as soon as Harry stepped inside his apartment. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Harry's state. Any other time, Harry would have laughed at how much and how quickly Draco paled, but tonight his mind was too stuck on horror to do anything but stare blankly.

"Are you alright?" Draco asked, urgently stepping toward Harry. His hands hovered above Harry's shoulders, and he looked so openly concerned that something inside Harry's chest melted, just a little.

I'm fine, Harry meant to say, but the words wouldn't come. He forced himself to nod instead.

Draco snorted. "What am I saying? Of course you're not alright, you're covered in blood. Harry, what happened?"

Harry flinched as he looked down at his hands. The blood had mostly dried by now, but he still couldn't get over the stickiness of it, how warm it had felt as it gushed around his fingertips no matter how hard he tried to keep his hands pressed on the wound.

Draco sighed as Harry remained silent, but he led him to the bathroom. "Let's get you cleaned up, alright? Then you can tell me what happened—or don't, that's your choice."

Harry managed a smile, but from the look on Draco's face, it came out more as grimace than anything else.

Draco's bathroom is as ostentatious and luxurious as the rest of his place is—perks of being the son of a mob boss, they often joked. Harry didn't feel like joking, and he would be eternally grateful for the way Draco just turned the faucet on and let Harry wash his hands.

"I'll get you some clean clothes," Draco said. "You can take a shower if you need to."

He moved to leave the bathroom, and logically Harry knew he would come back, but suddenly the prospect of being left alone seemed unbearable.

"Stay," he croaked. "Please." The water was still running red with blood, and Harry didn't want to be left alone with his thoughts.

Draco sighed, but he stepped back closer to Harry—close enough that Harry could feel his body heat, but not so much so that they were touching. It was probably for the best; Harry wasn't sure how he'd have handled being touched right now.

Eventually, Draco had to physically pull Harry's hands away from the water. Harry kept scrubbing them, even though the blood was long gone now, and Draco feared Harry would end up hurting himself. He wet a cloth and settled for washing the dry specks of blood on Harry's face, ignoring the way it made his boyfriend shiver.

"There," Draco said once he could find no more blood to clean, "all done now."

Putting his glasses back on with shaky fingers, Harry stared into the mirror above the sink, taking in the dull green eyes and pale skin. He almost didn't recognize himself.

"Thanks," he said nonetheless, turning to Draco and linking the fingers together. The close warmth of another—living—body was all that mattered right now.

"Anytime," Draco answered truthfully. He squeezed Harry's fingers once, before pulling him out of the bathroom and toward the bedroom.

He wrinkled his nose as he stared from Harry's state—his exposed skin was as clean as it would get, but there was no way Draco was letting anyone, even the man he loved, sleep in his bed in dirty, bloodstained clothes.

He reluctantly let go of Harry's hand to grab a clean shirt for Harry to put on. "You sure you don't want to take a shower?" Draco asked as he handed Harry the shirt.

Harry shook his head, already removing his own shirt. "I just want to sleep, honestly. And possibly forget this day ever happened."

"Well, I can give you the first one," Draco said. "But I'm afraid the second is a bit above even my formidable skills."

Harry's lips didn't even pull in the fondly amused smirk they did when Draco gloated—Harry loved to pull him down a peg or two, which was initially how they'd started talking—and Draco's heart twists painfully in his chest.

He gets in his own pajamas, watching Harry carefully, and slips into the bed. "Come here," he said, opening his arms, and moments later, Harry did.

Harry's body was tense against his, and Draco sighed as he pressed a soft kiss atop Harry's messy black hair. "You feel better?"

Harry shrugged. "Not really." He chuckled darkly after a while, "I really hate your father, you know."

Draco tightened his arms around Harry, eyes prickling with tears. He could tell that Harry was trying to provoke him, to make him angry, but Draco wasn't about to let him do that. "Yeah, well," he said, surprising himself with how truthful he was being, "if this is what he does to you, I think I might hate him too."

Harry let out a surprised gasp, but in their positions, Draco couldn't see his face. He did feel Harry relax though, and in the end, he supposed that that was all that mattered.

.iii.

Sometimes, Draco remembered the early days in his relationship with Harry, when he hadn't known that Harry was anything more than an unusually kind-hearted man working for his father.

Sometimes, he missed those days. Draco honestly didn't think he had worried about his lover's safety during those days as much as he did now; not when the most dangerous thing for Harry to do would have been to crew up on a job—and even that wouldn't have been punished too harshly, not given Harry's importance to Draco, who, despite not really being part of the family business, was still Lucius Malfoy's son. And everyone knew not to go against Lucius Malfoy's immediate family—he had a reputation for not letting those people live very long.

So now, every time Harry was late for something or missed a phone call, a terrible dread settled in Draco's stomach, saying what if they found out that he's a cop and killed him?, and it only ever went away when he did finally hear Harry's voice or see him again.

It was torture, pure and simple. It was killing Harry, too, Draco could tell. He may try to stay away from his father's business, mostly, but Draco had seen enough to know the kind of horror his father perpetrated—the kind of horrors Harry was having to deal with, day after day, as he looked for evidence that would help the police take down not only Lucius Malfoy but his entire organization with him.

And all Draco could do was watch and whisper apologies in Harry's hair at the end of the day, hoping that a tiny bit of kindness would help offset the balance of violence that was the rest of his life.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I wish I could help you."

Harry just nudged at Draco's neck, sleeping. His breath was hot against Draco's skin, their legs tangled up together, and Draco wished they could stay in a moment like this forever, that they didn't have to worry about the outside world—about Draco's father running a criminal empire Draco was supposed to inherit one day and that Harry was supposed to help dismantle.

He could almost hear Harry's voice, determined and yet still soft, so full of conviction as he tried to tell Draco that, yes, they could have this.

How long? Harry would ask. How long until your father asks you to do something you can't come back from, something too terrible for you to ignore? How long? You have to choose, Draco—choose, before someone else does it for you.

Harry, who had only ever asked for Draco to do the right thing, who pushed him to be the kind of man he believed Draco could be—the kind of man Draco himself could be proud to be.

Well, maybe it was time Draco really started listening to what his boyfriend was saying.

.+i.

"What will you do, now that this is over?" Draco asked, feeling no small amount of trepidation.

Harry smiled. It was amazing, how different this smile was to all the previous smile Draco had gotten used to—how happier it was, how free Harry's eyes looked.

To tell the truth, Draco realized as he smiled back helplessly, he felt freer now, too.

"I don't know," Harry shrugged. "But I do know one thing," he said, stepping closer to Draco.

"And what's that?" Draco asked, closing the gap between them.

"I want to do it with you," Harry replied, green eyes twinkling behind his glasses.

And then they kissed.