When he thought back to the event from over two years ago; he remembered too little to give a proper account of it, but he did remember the pain and the eventual feel of submitting to it, welcoming the sweet serenity of oblivion.

He remembered the child, the car, the man who had appeared out of thin air and dragged her out of the trunk. He remembered the feel of the gun, the crunch of snow beneath his feet, the searing pain to his side, a deafening blow to his head. He remembered emptying the magazine into the man's chest, the terrified gaze of the girl, her cries. He remembered the rush in his veins as he had burst inside the house, found the open trap door. He remembered the clench in his chest at the sight of a gun pointed at his mate's head. He remembered the wrath of his omega at the indignation of someone trying to hurt his alpha. He remembered his wrath unfolding on the two men. He remembered being cradled in his mate's arms. He remembered his surrender to oblivion.

And then he remembered nothing.

His last thought had been of acceptance; he had done a lot of damage to his mate, but at least he had saved him before succumbing to his fate.

After that, it had been bits and flashes in a white room. A warm hand over his, always shielding him from the cold that threatened to slip into his bones the moment that hand was not holding his. Whispers of yearning and love, caresses to his face, lips pressing to his head. And he knew, he knew if he were to slip away, his mate would follow him.

The thought had always lingered in his mind, but it had flashed at the forefront at the time; how could he have ever left this man? This magnificent man who loved him more than life itself, who would blindly walk into the arms of death for him, who would slay dragons for him if he could.

The projector finally shut down, and he disconnected his laptop, smiling at the handful of cadets who lingered after the lecture with their questions. He answered them patiently, always slightly amused how readily he had been accepted after what Harry had dubbed as 'The Stint'. Apparently, murdering criminals out of rage could be called self-defence if it served the FBI's purpose.

His classes had been filled to the brim during the first semester, most of the cadets opting for his lectures. After that, he had started filtering the requests, only accepting those who showed a promise. It was still time consuming, going through hundreds of applications before the semester began, but at least it tamed down the number of fanatics and enthusiasts.

Over the semesters, Louis had mastered how to refute any advances from his students; still, some tried and it made Harry laugh each time he recounted the heartbroken look on a cadet's face, which turned to horrified when they learned who exactly he was dating. No one wanted to step on their possible-future-boss's toes.

The same dread flashed on the lingering cadets' faces when footsteps echoed down the stairs of his lecture hall. They looked at each other, and then glanced at the person walking closer, ducking their heads as they rushed out of the door.

"You should try and smile once in a while," Louis advised, amused, leaning against his desk as arms caged him in. He could smell the pheromones of an on-coming rut, still a week or so before others could pick up on it, another week before they would lock themselves in their home. The thought sent a tingle down his spine; if he had learnt anything from the last rut, it was that he could easily have Harry using his Voice during that. And wasn't that a pleasing notion? It had opened him up to a world of unknown pleasure. They had to take additional two days off to let Louis recuperate. The ache had been torturing and pleasing, a combination so addicting Louis could get lost in it. And he had, riding the alpha long after his rut had subsided, even as his own thighs quivered from exertion.

"So, they can think it's an easy task to work at the FBI? I don't think so, Professor Tomlinson," Harry shook his head, placing a small kiss at his lips.

"But it's all right if they think I married a brute?"

Harry grinned, whispering in a confidential hush, "That would take them knowing in the first place."

After other units had come to know of their relationship, Rowen had given a single commanding bark to 'mind your own damn business!' and 'if I hear a single person gossiping, I will replace the whole unit!'

Louis thought of the rings they took off each morning, the sadness that came with not wearing the weight of it, the relief in the evening when his finger no longer felt undressed. "I think we should wear our rings to work," he said, biting his lip when he saw the alpha's eyes darken. How easy it was to please him; he could read Harry like an open book. The alpha could preach and sing about autonomy all he wanted - and he did follow his words - but the man was a possessive bastard through and through.

"And what should we say?"

Louis shrugged, pushing his glasses up his nose, "Nothing. They can come to their own conclusions. Maybe we eloped, or went down to the City Hall." When, in fact, Harry had given him the wedding of his dreams.

Harry hummed, "Sure, they can think we married on a whim, that would help me not coming off as a brute."

"Like you care what they think," he indulged the alpha, loving his playful mood after the stress of the previous case.

"How's your leg?"

"Better," he glanced at the metal cane in the corner. Oh, how he hated that thing. But it was not like he could discard it. There were days when he woke up with a numbness in his left leg that persisted through the day; lasting effects of The Stint.

It had been difficult at the beginning; he had felt like a burden, someone needing to look after him at all times, driving him to the physiotherapy sessions, not letting him leave the house or strain himself. He was not allowed to do anything himself, and yet, he had never felt so tired. They had argued - Harry and him - or rather, he had lashed out numerous times during those months, while the alpha had remained level headed, reasoning with him and letting him take out his frustrations. He still wondered at times what good deed he had done in his past life to get a partner like Harry.

"Amy's in the car?" He asked, moving to collect his things, smiling gratefully when Harry bore his weight.

"No-"

He turned his neck sharply, "Harry Edward Styles, don't tell me you forgot to pick our daughter from day-care!"

Harry chuckled, fond as he shook his head, "She's in my office. Niji brought in the twins today, their nanny was sick. Amy got too enamoured and asked to stay there until she absolutely has to leave."

Louis breathed in relief, "Don't scare me like that."

"I didn't-"

"Shh," Louis placed his finger at the alpha's lips, "You can apologise later." Giggling as the alpha bit the pad of his finger.

They left the building hand-in-hand to the adjacent one.

-

Believing in luck was something Harry no longer battled with. Not one moment where he would deny the possibility of its existence, stating with confidence that luck truly did exist, and was not merely a whimsical notion. Miracles occurred every day; parents lifting a vehicle to save their child, people surviving falls from great heights, a rush of adrenaline pulling one out of a life-or-death situation.

His luck had brought back his reason to smile.

It would be naïve to say that luck did not exist.

~ The End. ~