A/N: This movie was so super intense. I loved it, but I felt like what happened afterward needed to be written

Disclaimer: The Last King of Scotland is not mine

Claimer: Harley Compton and all back story associated with her is mine

Growing Up

June 27, 1976
Air France flight 139, Athens to Paris
hijacked by Popular Front for Liberation of Palestine – External Operations
+ German "Revolutionary Cells"
3:15 pm, arrived Entebbe Airport, Uganda
248 passengers
12 crew
July 3, 1976
some passengers released
today, July 4, 1976
seven survivors to arrive at Glasgow Airport

Harley smoothed the front of her skirt with the hand not holding her notepad. She shifted from one foot to the other, then took the pen that was tucked behind her ear and pretended to add to her notes. None of the other journalists were just standing and waiting, and the newscasters were all chattering for introduction clips. She studied the dozen lines on the page, scrawled in the less than two minutes she was on the phone with her editor, and wondered what else there was to write down.

She looked over her shoulder, out the window she was leaning against, then directed her stare to the terminal doors, willing them to open and seven Entebbe incident survivors to come parading out, all eager to tell their stories.

The doors did open moments later, but it was no different from the unloading of any other plane. Businessmen in suits and ties carrying briefcases and rushing past reporters, mothers and fathers dressed in comfortable travel clothes holding children or leading them by the hand.

The Entebbe survivors were hardly distinguishable. Their clothing was rumpled, but not damaged. Their steps lacked the urgency of other passengers, and they searched the crowd of onlookers and reporters more intently for their families, but that was all.

Except for one man standing toward the back with his hands in his pockets. He was younger, lean built with shaggy, dark hair. He wore a new jacket, but the shirt underneath was mottled with copper colored stains. The buttons weren't done right. His pants were dusted with dark spots of dirt, and one knee was busted. Both his eyes were black and swollen. His bottom lip was split. There was an abrasion on his left temple.

Naturally, that was who the camera crews swarmed. They were like a school of piranha with microphones and notepads for teeth, and he was about to be their next meal.

"Hi," Harley offered a hand and a warm smile to the man wearing an untucked button down and loosened tie. "I'm Harley Compton from the Hudson News." She flipped to a blank page in her notes, and snuck a glance at the feeding frenzy of reporters, hoping they would leave her something to interview.

Harley withdrew her hand when it became apparent the man wasn't going to shake it, and tugged her pen free from the spiral of her notebook. "Could you tell me about your experiences at Entebbe Airport, specifically anything relating to Idi Amin?" She kept a smile plastered on her face the entire time as she continued, "I'm sure it was a difficult experience, but the world would like to know – "

"Go the hell away!"

All heads whipped around to stare at the now scattering circle of reporters. The center of their attention shoved past a camera man, knocking him off balance and into his partner carrying the oversized microphone.

Harley's story was making a break for it. She abandoned her current interviewee and jogged toward this new, more interesting one. No other reporters followed her. The disgruntled newscasters and journalists had disbanded and were now picking off the more docile Entebbe survivors.

Harley caught the sleeve of his jacket with one hand.

He flung himself around, one arm swinging into Harley and knocking her pen and pad from her fingers. Harley winced away, half afraid he'd hit her. She wished she hadn't chased after him.

"What part of go the hell – " He cut himself off.

Harley peered sidelong at him as she bent to pick up her notebook. Her pen had rolled too far away to bother with. It wasn't until she was standing upright, that she realized why he'd stopped.

Harley's notebook dropped from her fingers, and landed with a nearly silent fwap on the tile floor. She made no move to pick it up this time.

She walked several paces ahead of him. Her arms were wrapped tight around a stack of textbooks. A few longer, faster strides put Nicholas right behind her, so that he could hold his own umbrella over her head.

"You shouldn't be walkin' around in the rain without an umbrella."

She stopped so short he nearly ran into her. Her grip on her books slipped when she spun to face him, and she fumbled for a moment to regain her hold. He thrust out a hand to catch anything that might fall.

"Didn't mean to startle you."

She tucked a strand of dyed indigo hair behind her ear and smiled. "It's fine."

Her voice was the accentless flat of American.

"Are you new around here?"

She nodded. "Third day."

"Know where you're goin'?"

"Yeah." She gestured over her shoulder to a chemistry building. "Just right there."

"Oh."

"Yeah… uhm… I need to be getting to class. Thanks?" She was already backing out from under the umbrella, and turning to take the last dozen steps to the doors, but stopped when she noticed the shadow of his umbrella over her head again.

"You shouldn't go anywhere in Scotland without an umbrella." He nudged the handle between her palm and her books.

This time her smile was less timid. "Oh, no, that's alright." She handed the umbrella back to him. "I like walking in the rain. Thanks, anyway, though."

He watched her let herself inside, and through the glass double doors, he saw her run a hand through her dripping hair. She never looked back at him, but she must have known he was staring.

She expected him to be waiting for her after her class let out, and sure enough he was. Leaning against the glass panel next to the door with his arms crossed over his chest and his umbrella propped beside him.

"Hi." She offered the hand not bracing her books. "I'm Harley."

"Nicholas," he introduced, taking her hand and kissing the fingertips.

Harley's hands flew to Nicholas's face, stopping just short of actually touching him. "Where… what hap… how… are you okay?"

"Do you always stammer when you're interviewing?"

Harley froze, then jerked her hands back to her sides. "…no."

"Then put your reporter face back on, ask your questions, and be done with it."

Harley crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head back so she could meet his stare. "No."

Nicholas turned and started to walk away, but Harley grabbed his wrist. He stopped, but wouldn't look back at her.

"I'm not asking you as a reporter. I'm asking you as a person who cares about you."

Nicholas snorted.

Harley pretended she didn't hear. "What happened to you, Nicholas?"

"I went to Africa."

"Uganda, I know. Your mom told me." The forearm in her hand tensed. "But just traveling to Uganda doesn't do this." She stepped around in front of him and traced the pads of her fingers around one black eye.

"How would you know?" He couldn't look her in the face, and instead glared at the multicolored carpet to his right.

Harley spun around and made for the exit with determined steps. Unprepared for the sudden movement, Nicholas stumbled after her. Before he could ask, she answered.

"You need to get to a hospital."

She smacked the button to open the door harder than necessary, and dragged him through before it was open all the way. It wasn't until they were a ways into the parking lot that he managed to speak.

"I don't need to go to a hospital."

Harley's march never faltered.

Nicholas shook his arm loose when they reached her car. "I'm not going to the hospital."

Harley unlocked the passenger side door.

"I have two black eyes and a busted lip. My nose isn't even broken." He reached up to tweak the tip, just to prove it to her. "There's no reason for me to go to the hospital." He tugged the lapels of his jacket closed.

"I don't know what diseases you might've picked up."

She meant it in the nastiest way possible.

Nicholas snatched Harley's arm and backed her against the car's front bumper, pressing himself what would have been uncomfortably close to anyone else. "I'm not going to the bloody hospital," he hissed. His breath washed over her face.

Harley shrugged and squirmed free. "Whatever. Then I guess I'll just take you home." She got in the driver's side and slammed her door shut. "Get in the car."

"Is this the same car you had freshman year?" Nicholas touched a noticeable scratch in the convertible's silver paint. Above the right headlight, the hood was misshapen, and the back bumper was far from spotless.

"Yeah." She stuck her key in the ignition and started the engine. It groaned and growled for a moment before starting.

"It's a little worse for wear now, no?"

"Whatever. It runs."

Nicholas just stood for a second in his open door. "I can't believe it. The great Harley Compton, with her unending supply of cash is actually down on her luck."

"Shut up," she bit out. "And get in the car."

"Daddy not paying the bills anymore – "

"Get in the goddamn car!" she snarled, then dropped back against her seat and ran a hand through her hair. "Just get in the car, Nicholas," she reiterated, much softer.

Nicholas slung himself into the car and gave the door handle just enough of a tug that it shut behind him with a metallic thunk. "I'm not going to my parent's house either," he informed her, propping his feet on the dash.

Harley smacked Nicholas' shin. He yelped and jerked his feet off the dash. "Oh my God," she whined, leaning over him to check where his feet had been propped. "I can't believe you!" She brushed away the half dozen specks of dirt his shoes had left behind.

"What? It's just gonna get dirty anyway."

Harley snorted. "Well, I intend to keep him clean as long as possible."

"Him?" Nicholas quirked an eyebrow up. "You're car has a gender?"

"Yes. His name is Johnny," she answered indignantly.

"Do all Americans name their cars?"

Harley started the engine and shifted into drive, but didn't answer. The engine purred to life and then roared when Harley floored the gas pedal. The car lurched forward first, then glided up to speed.

Harley squealed with delight. Her multi colored hair whipped back away from her face – she'd added several stripes of lime to the indigo the night before – and she wore sunglasses despite the sunless sky. The outline of Glasgow University's campus shrank in the rear view mirror.

"It's going to rain. Don't you think you should put the top up?"

"What?" Harley shouted.

"It's going to rain!" Nicholas repeated louder and gestured the rapidly darkening sky. "You should put the top up!"

"Nah." Harley shook her head. "It's just water. And I can always have it reupholstered. Dad'll pay for anything as long as I stay in med school."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah. I wanted to go into journalism, but 'there's no money in that'," she attempted a deep, gruff voice that Nicholas supposed was an imitation of her father. "It was business, law, or med school for me."

"And you chose med school?"

"Yup. My parents were so excited that I'd picked a 'real career' they were happy to foot the bill to send me out of country." She was grinning triumphantly. "I love it here, the people, the weather. It makes suffering through this med school business almost worth it. Still kinda hope I can get out sometime though."

Several moments of awkward silence followed. Harley's smile wavered into a frown, and she bit her bottom lip. "Not to belittle becoming a doctor or anything." She peered sidelong at him.

"Nah, don't worry about it. You didn't offend me. My dad's a doctor, got his own practice and everything. I'm here because I can't think of anything better to do, I guess. I'll become a doctor, join the family practice, then take over the family practice, and that'll be my life's story."

A smile split across Harley's face again. "You should go someplace exotic after you graduate. Y'know? Help people who really need it in like… a third world country."

Nicholas laughed. "Yeah, sure. My parents would love that."

The first rain drop landed on the tip of his nose. The second on the dashboard, and the third on Harley's bare shoulder, until they were falling in a steady drizzle.

"Are you sure you don't want to put the top up?" Nicholas tried again.

"Nah. I like the rain."

"You're parents, they weren't much into the idea of you up and leaving for Uganda, were they?"

Nicholas' grin had no humor, and he shook his head. "No, not at all."

Harley didn't think there was anything she could say. The silence was filled by the by the rush of highway winds.

Nicholas was startled out of his mindless staring out the front windshield by the crunch of gravel under the tires. Harley was pulling to a stop on the side of the road.

"What are you doing?"

"Putting the top up. It's gonna rain." She gestured toward the clouds as she got out of the car. Nicholas felt a rain drop plop onto his cheek just before the shadow of canvas covered his head.

"I thought you loved the rain," he mentioned.

"I do. My upholstery doesn't."

Nicholas was silent.

"You won't go to the hospital. You're not speaking to your parents. I figured we'd just go back to my hotel." She didn't so much as turn her head toward him.

"Yeah. That's fine." He slouched down in the seat and pulled his jacket tighter around him.

The rain began to patter steadily on the convertible's top minutes after Harley pulled back onto the highway, and off in the distance, he heard a rumble of thunder. It was down pouring when they got there.

The elevator was already on the ground floor. Harley pressed the button for the third then leaned back against the wall and ran a hand through her hair.

"What happened to the colors?"

"Hmm?" Harley looked away from the changing numbers above the door to Nicholas.

He gestured his own hair. "The colors?"

"Not professional." The bell dinged and the doors opened.

"When did you start caring about 'not professional'?"

"When I started needing a job." Harley slid the key into the lock, and let them both inside. She closed herself in the bedroom, and left him to stand in the foyer / living room just inside the door. When she reappeared, she was wearing sweats and a snug gray t-shirt and had lost her shoes.

"You have a shower in here?" he asked.

She jerked a thumb over her shoulder, back toward the bedroom. "It's on the right."

"Kinda nice place for someone down on their luck," he noted with the bathroom door half closed.

"Work paid." She folded the dress she'd been wearing and tucked it into her suitcase. She struggled with the zipper, and by the time she looked up, the door was shut. A few moments later she heard the hiss of running water.

She stayed squatting beside her suitcase, staring at the closed bathroom door longer than necessary, and her knees were stiff when she finally dragged herself to stand. There were individual sized bottles of wine in the hotel min fridge. She took one out and twisted off the cap. It was hardly quality wine, but alcohol was alcohol. Harley dropped onto the foot of the bed, the flopped onto her back, careful to keep her bottle upright.

Above her, hanging over the headboard to dry, was a towel. The other hotel room towel was hanging over the chair at the desk. She'd seen it when they'd come in.

"Aww, dammit," Harley muttered, propping herself up on her elbows. She tugged the towel down, and, leaving her wine bottle on the nightstand, went to deliver it to Nicholas.

"Hope you don't mind this is used!" Harley shouted over the shower water as she opened the door. It took her a moment to locate the towel rack in the not yet familiar cloudy bathroom.

She stepped on something that was neither clothing nor ceramic tile. It was soft, and gave under her toes, but was stiff under her heel. Harley tucked the towel over the bar on the wall before bending down to pick up the unusual fabric.

The steam had made the fibrous material moist and frizzy. The texture was familiar, and at the same moment Harley identified it as gauze, she noticed the splotches of dried blood. She squealed, tossed the soiled bandage in the direction of the sink's counter, and flung the shower curtain open. Not finding any injury on what of him she could see, Harley less than gently snatched Nicholas' arm and spun him to face her.

More than a little startled, Nicholas could neither resist the movement nor maintain his balance. He stumbled back against the shower wall. Harley followed, stepping over the bath tub's ledge into the shower's spray, not caring that her clothes were rapidly becoming soaked.

"Jesus Christ… Nicholas…" Four punctures, two below each collar bone, marked his chest. The rest of his torso was a mottled mess of varying shades of purple and blue. Harley reached hesitant fingers toward an injury, but Nicholas winced away. Her stare jumped from his chest to his face.

Her eyes were wide with apparent worry. "What the hell happened?" Even though her voice was mostly lost in the pattering shower water, Nicholas knew what she'd asked. He looked away from that frightened stare, toward the vent in the ceiling, and watched the steam seep from the room. The memories were as raw as the wounds on his chest. He couldn't bring himself to say them out loud.

Harley's hand gently cupped his cheek and turned his head back to face her. She was chewing her lip, and frustration mingled with the worry on her face. "You don't… you don't have to tell me, I guess… uhm…" She didn't mover her hand, but she looked away from him, toward the water, with no shower curtain to hold it in, dribbling over the side of the tub. "But you… you should've… you should've let me take you to the hospital." She chewed her lip harder and glared more intensely at the escaping rivulets.

"Harley."

Her expression softened and she peered up at him.

"I'm alright."

For half a second, he thought just maybe she believed him. Then her mouth turned down in a frown. Her eyebrows knitted themselves together. The hand on his cheek fell away, and she spun so that she could stare square up at him. "No you're not! Something happened to you in Uganda, something changed you, and you won't fucking talk about it! And I thought you were just mad at me, and God knows you have every right to be, but Nicholas you're hurt and I – "

"Harley!"

"I just want to fix it! Dammit, Nicholas I – "

"Har – "

" – care about you!"

" – ley!"

"All I want to do is help, and you won't fucking let me! Dammit, Nicholas, what the hell happened to you?"

Harley showed no signs of stopping, and she'd started to fling her arms about, gesturing as she hollered. Nicholas caught one flailing wrist, and used it to drag her against him. Without giving her time to react, he crushed his mouth against hers.

Harley tried to jerk away before tangling a hand in his hair and using it to drag herself impossibly closer. Her lips, initially pressed into a resisting line, parted. Nicholas released her arm, and she laid the freed hand on his chest. He twitched nervously when her palm brushed the injury there.

Nicholas wrapped his arms around her waist, hold tightening until she gasped and turned her head away. "Sorry." He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, only opening them when he was looking at the ceiling and not at Harley.

Harley held the hand slipping off her hip in place. "Don't apologize; you just… startled me is all."

Nicholas didn't respond. Harley used the loose grip she still had on his hair to tug his face down to hers. She brushed her lips against his. "I missed you," she whispered. There was an unstated but understood "too". "I never… never… stopped loving you, never stopped caring about you, worrying that you'd…" He could hear impending tears in her voice, and silenced her with a kiss as gentle as her own.

"I know… me neither… I mean, I never… I don't think… Harley." He closed his eyes again, his resting forehead against hers, their noses touching. "I loved you… love you, need you…" He gave up talking, took her face in both his hands, and kissed her again, first her mouth, then her cheek, her jaw, under her chin, her throat.

"Nicholas!" Harley threw her arms around his neck and her entire body weight against him. He stumbled, and his hold on his books slipped, but he didn't drop them. Harley lifted onto her toes to kiss him, and he bent his head to meet her half way.

"What?"

"Look!" She thrust a sheet of paper at him. It bent into thirds at two parallel creases and the ink was pristine.

"It's a piece of paper," Nicholas acknowledged, grinning when Harley's nose wrinkled with irritation.

"Read it!" she whined, sliding the letter on top of his books.

Nicholas scanned the letter. Harley shifted from one foot to the other, glancing between Nicholas and the planters beside the door. "Well?" she demanded.

"I haven't finished," Nicholas grumbled. The corners of his mouth had turned down and his eyebrows were now furrowed together.

"Hurry up already!" Harley didn't notice the concern on Nicholas's face. She continued to fidget.

Finally, Nicholas looked up.

"Isn't it exciting?"

"You're leaving."

Harley froze. "Yeah…"

"You're not just leaving here; you're going all the way back to the States."

"It's the New York Times, Nicholas, of course I'm going back to the States…"

"I thought you were going to be a doctor."

"I had to be a doctor, I was meant to be a journalist. Nicholas… you knew that."

"You could be a journalist here," he tried.

"No, Nicholas! This is THE New York Times. Do you have any idea how big this is? How many people would kill for this opportunity? I thought you'd be happy for me. "

"So, how many strings did your rich friends pull for you to get this 'opportunity'?"

Harley was too stunned to reply.

"I should have just left," she finally muttered, taking her letter and turning away. "I can't believe you."

Three hours later, Nicholas stood outside Harley's dorm room, knowing she wouldn't answer, but knocking anyway. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and stared at his feet, then up at the peep hole in the door. Five minutes passed.

Nicholas fingered the sticky note in his pocket. When he took it out, the glue was speckled with lint, but the note still adhered to the door with no problem. Neatly printed were only two words:

"I'm Sorry."

The next day, the yellow paper square was lying on the floor outside Harley's dorm. As he was bending to pick it up, Harley's room mate opened the door.

"Nicholas…" She frowned. "You know Harley left early this morning, right?"

"Yeah," he lied, crinkling up the note and pocketing it.

Nicholas traced mindless patterns between Harley's shoulder blades. The whisper of her breath when she sighed tickled his chest. "Are you still writing for The New York Times?"

Harley grumbled a negative and shook her head as best she could without lifting it.

"Why?"

"Shit happened."

Nicholas didn't press the matter. "I have a story for you anyway."

Harley laced her fingers together on Nicholas's chest and propped herself up so she could rest her chin on them.

"It needs to be told." Nicholas's head was tilted back so he was looking at the headboard instead of Harley. "And you're a writer and all."

Harley stretched her arm out and retrieved the hotel notepad and pen from the bedside table. She scrawled the date and Nicholas' name at the top of the first page.

Nicholas closed his eyes, inhaled slowly, then exhaled. One hand touched the scabbing puncture below his right collar bone. Harley chewed her bottom lip and opened her mouth to tell him he didn't have to tell her anything, but Nicholas began before she could get the words out.

"I was on that plane because I was escaping Uganda, but I wasn't an Entebbe hostage…"