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[Jason]
As a child, the squiggles on his arm had mystified him, but so had a great deal many things. He knew what a birthmark was, and he assumed this was just a weirdly defined birthmark. Even learning about soulmates at the tender age of seven had not clued him into the fact that the squiggles on his arm might have meaning—even though it was, of course, in the exact right spot for a soulmark.
He wasn’t exactly the most observant, though, so he didn’t notice the disapproving looks his parents gave him when they caught sight of the uncovered loops on his wrist. The double takes from teachers also went unheeded—this, too, he was used to. When you’re not the brightest bulb in the box, you make do with what you’ve got, and if he can get a laugh for the bargain price of an hour in detention, well. That was better than being known for being a dumbass.
Or other, perhaps more derogatory terms.
So no, he didn’t pay much attention to the words on his arm until his mother took him aside in middle school and sat him down.
His first reaction, of course, was to assume he was in trouble, which, again. Not as far off as it could have been.
“I didn’t do anything wrong, I swear! Lizzy’s just mad she forgot to put her diary up—if you leave it on the kitchen table it’s fair game!” he immediately said, and his mom’s face scrunched up in an unreadable emotion.
“That’s a conversation for later,” she told him, and Jason’s stomach sank as he went through his brain trying to think of what other things he’d done recently that might have gotten him on his parents’ shitlist. He could have sworn it would be the whole “reading his sister’s diary on top of a table in the cafeteria” thing, but apparently there was something worse, which is amazing because he cannot remember anything. Were they mad he’d overslept for church last Sunday? They’d already yelled at him for that, but maybe it was time for round two. He doesn’t understand how anyone could be in a rush to go to church, anyway, since it was just a place where you went so that a man could yell at them for two hours about how awesome and mighty God is and how you’re always two seconds away from eternal damnation. He didn’t particularly relish the idea of damnation, not when he had a hard time picturing something worse than living in this sad, angry town.
“Jason,” his mom said, snapping him out of his thoughts. “This is about, well. Your soulmark.”
“My soulmark?” Jason asked, suddenly less interested. His hadn’t come in yet, and he didn’t think he really wanted one at this point. If he didn’t have one by now it meant one of two things: either he didn’t have a soulmate, or his soulmate was twelve years younger than him and, well. Yuck. He didn’t wanna marry a baby. He’d be fine enough without a soulmark, as he didn’t really feel the need for one—they weren’t exactly a requirement for a relationship, and they weren’t even a clear sign of romantic suitability (though that did tend to follow).
(The other reason, the back of his mind supplied, was that he didn’t want the universe to hand him a boy’s name and confirm something about himself that he very much wanted to go unconfirmed. He’d heard enough sermons about where that led).
The other option, of course, meant that his soulmate had not been born yet, and he didn’t really wanna think too hard about that, either.
“Yes,” his mother continued cautiously, “your soulmark.”
Jason reclined in his seat and crossed his arms. “Yeah, what about it? You know it hasn’t come in yet, so I dunno what there’s to talk about.”
His mother looked briefly stricken, but gathered herself quickly. “That’s not…” she started, and then resolved herself, “that’s not actually correct. I didn’t realize you didn’t know, but I suppose we’ve never really talked about it.”
“I have one?” Jason repeated incredulously, looking at his uncovered wrist where the weird birthmark was. “You’re not telling me this nonsense is supposed to be a soulmark?”
His mother said something that sounded like “oh, goodness,” under her breath, and then continued, “yes, that is a soulmark.”
“But I’ve had it my entire life and you never said anything about it,” Jason said, “what in the word is it supposed to say, then? It’s definitely not English.”
“No, it’s-it’s not,” his mother told him. She paused, and it was then that Jason realized that his mother was not happy about this, was not happy that he had a soulmark and that it looked like that, and suddenly Jason wondered what sort of person this soulmate might be.
“The mark is-well, I don’t actually know much about it, really, but it looks like Arabic. Or something like it, I don’t-I don’t know,” his mother faltered.
“And where do people use Arabic?” Jason asked.
“That’s-you should probably try reading up on that, I don’t really know much about it,” she told him, and he sighed loudly.
“I hate reading!” he said petulantly, “I guess I’ll just never know my soulmate’s name.” Jason then starts in his seat, and asks, “You can’t read it, can you? What’s her name?” (Even as he used the pronoun it felt wrong, but he pushed that away for another day.).
His mother’s answering snort is harsh, and immediately puts Jason off.
“I definitely can’t, and I dunno anyone ‘round here who could,” she answered him, a bit callously, considering Jason had just learned that he apparently had a soulmate somewhere far away who didn’t even speak the same language as him.. “More importantly, Jason, I need you to start covering it up.”
Now that was like dumping cold water over his head.
“Why?” he immediately asked.
“It’s not-” she started, then stopped, like she hadn’t expected him to ask why.
“It’s not a good language,” she ended up on, as if trying to pick the least complicated answer.
For once, Jason wasn’t satisfied with a simple answer, if only because it sounded dumb as hell.
“What the heck is a ‘good language’?” he asked with exaggerated air quotes. This, again, seemed to stump her. “‘You already said no one around here can read it, anyway, why should it matter if I don’t cover it?”
“The places that use that language, they’re-we’re at war with them. There are many bad people who speak that language, and it’s causing people to talk.”
This answer further enraged Jason, who responded, “well, what the fuck do I care about what they think, if it’s my soulmate?”
This caused her to pop up out of her chair like a rocket, shouting, “Jason, language!” Suddenly, the conversation wasn’t about his supposedly evil soulmate, but rather about his foul language and the mighty ass whoopin’ his father was going to give him when he got home. His legitimate question was lost in the shuffle, and the next day his father wordlessly thrust a leather banded bracelet into his hands, specially made to cover a person’s soulmark. Grumbling, Jason slipped it onto his arm and trudged out to the end of his driveway to wait for the bus.
[Salim]
Across the world, a man kept his soulmark neatly covered, the messy scrawl hidden away from the world. He’d had it for ten years now, and had known the meaning for four of those years. “Jason Kolchek,” the scrawl said, in tight, messy handwriting. He’d known for nearly as many years that the name Jason was typically given to boys, and had only come to accept that fact a year previous. When his parents had asked him, just the one time, if his mark had come in, he had given the cautious answer: that it was between him and Allah. His parents had accepted that answer readily, especially when he made it clear to them that he had no intent to pursue his soulmark, and would defer to their judgment should they wish to arrange a marriage.
He didn’t have the resources to pursue anyone from far away; it had been difficult enough to learn English with what few resources he’d had. Besides, the soulmark had come in when he was ten—that meant his soulmate was still a child now. Even if he’d wanted to meet him—which he most certainly did not, not until he was an adult, at least—most countries around the world had protections in place for children whose soulmate was significantly older than them, to prevent them from this very situation.
He’d known plenty of happy marriages between non-soulmates, and he figured that if Allah wished him to meet this Jason Kolchek, he would find a way to bring them together regardless.
[Jason]
When he was alone, Jason would sometimes slip off his bracelet and trace the gentle loops of the mark on his arm. He still had no idea what it said, even though he had learned more about the language over the years—or the people who spoke it, at the very least. Once he knew what to pay attention to, it was everywhere—but only on tv. Specifically the news, which his parents let run nearly 24/7. Jason quickly realized he was better off not knowing anything about Arabic or the people who spoke it.
He had a hard time thinking that a people with such a pretty language would be as evil as the news said, but he’d never been a smart guy, so who was he to question the news.
So yeah, they were evil. Terrible. A litany of other increasingly horrible terms. He heard it on the news now, at school, at church. Once he started listening for it, he couldn’t escape it. He filed all of this away into the same spot in his head that he filed all of the things people said about men who loved men like women. Tucked it there, and did his best to ignore it.
But as he laid in bed tracing the letters by moonlight, he could think whatever he wanted about his mysterious soulmate. He stared at the letters enough that he could recognize the curves immediately, despite not knowing a lick of the language or the meaning of any part of it. He held his arm up in the moonlight anyway, tracing:
سالم عثمان
When he was alone, he could be comforted by that which he did not know.
[Salim]
Salim did come to love his wife. It wasn’t even difficult; she was easy to love, in the way she told their son stories before bed, whistled while she cooked, or spoke in soft tones to her mother on the phone. The way she smiled when he came home from work, and how she continued to smile even after he was conscripted for his ability to speak English. He saw them both less then, but she still smiled when he came home and greeted her like it had been years instead of weeks.
And Zain was so bright, so curious; he looked like his mother but had Salim’s nose. He tore through any book Salim brought home to him, and before Salim knew it he had read the book four times and was ready to give his parents a presentation about the contents.
His scores at school were consistently high, and Salim knew that when the time came Zain might be interested in going to university. He and Leyla poured through the funds, and potential schools, nearby and in Europe. They didn’t know what Zain might want to do, but they were trying to be prepared for him, doing research on admissions processes, visa procedures for a number of countries, anything they thought could help them help him.
And that was how they found Leyla’s soulmate.
Not at one of the universities they looked at, no, though it was through their research. While looking for more information about schools in the UK, they managed to get their hands on a couple year old newspaper from London, talking about universities in the area. When Salim had pointed out the headline to Leyla she had not initially seemed to take note of anything, but only moments later Salim saw her double take at the by-line.
Salim watched her mouth the name, and somewhere in his brain he registered that this wasn’t good.
“Habibti? Salim asked.
“What?” she asked, then her brain seemed to catch up with the moment, and she said, “oh, it’s nothing.”
“If you say so,” Salim responded placidly, knowing she would tell him if she wanted.
He saw her chew on her lip out of the corner of his eye, a bad habit of hers for when she was stressed about something (not that he was one to judge the healthiness of coping mechanisms, considering the pack of cigarettes in his back pocket).
The moment lasted only a beat more before she broke and said, “it’s just, the author. The author of this article. His name sounds like my soulmate’s.”
Salim took a quick breath before he could think to measure his response. They had spoken before, about soulmarks, back when their parents had first introduced them as a potential match. Salim had told her that he had a soulmark, but no intent to pursue it, and she told him that she had a soulmark, and had attempted to pursue it but didn’t have the resources to find him. They’d both agreed that soulmarks were not something they required in a relationship, and that it was not a barrier for either.
It didn’t escape Salim’s notice that she had already attempted to track down her soulmark, but had been unable to, and failing that, had decided to enter an arranged marriage. It wasn’t a lack of desire that kept them apart, only a lack of resources (again, not that Salim could say much on that front, as he had simply decided not to try to track down his soulmate).
“Do you think it’s him?” Salim asked, pursuing the thread despite the terror that was overtaking his heart.
“It could be,” she said, eyes darting down to her covered wrist. Making eye contact with him carefully as she reached for her sleeve, as if giving him time to tell her to stop, she tugged her sleeve slightly up her arm and removed the cuff over her wrist. Holding her wrist out, Salim compared the name on the wrist to the name on the article. The name on the article is written in roman letters, but the name was an entirely plausible transliteration of the name written in neat Arabic script on her wrist.
“There are probably thousands of people with that exact name, though,” she said, cautiously, eyes darting to his as she said this.
“You’re right,” Salim said, cautious in turn, but he loved his wife dearly, so he continued, “but it could also be him. Do you want to… try to reach out?”
She looked stricken at the suggestion, and grabbed his hand. “Salim, habibi, I love you so much. I do not want to pursue something that would make you uncomfortable.”
Without even thinking, Salim said, “Leyla, he could be your soulmark. I would not get in the way of whatever he could be for you.”
“He might not be a romantic connection,” Leyla offered, but there was a question in her voice.
“He might not be a romantic connection,” Salim repeated, but his voice broke partway through the sentence.
“Salim-” Leyla started to say, but then they both heard the door open and the big clomping steps of Zain as he got home from school.
Salim clasped her hands in his own and said in a rush, “I will support whatever decision you choose to make, and I do not want you to feel like you must make a specific decision because of my feelings. We can revisit this conversation later, if you want.”
Leyla clasped his hands back and gave a shaky nod.
They did revisit the conversation, several days later, when Leyla tentatively asked him about it. Salim had reiterated his support of her, and they had splurged for an international call to the newspaper to inquire about the writer. It was to their luck that the writer still worked at the newspaper, and they were able to connect her to him, very briefly.
In this conversation, it was thoroughly and completely confirmed that they were each other’s soulmate; Hasan told her that his family had intentionally written his name in Arabic before having it penned on his birth certificate, so that his name would appear as such on his soulmate’s arm, but that he had nevertheless been born and raised in the UK. Much of his family were still in Iraq, though, and wasn’t that something?
Through the entire conversation, Leyla kept her gaze on Salim, who held her hand and nodded as she explained her situation, that she was happily married but that she couldn’t miss out on the chance to meet her soulmate. The conversation couldn’t go on for too long, due to the international nature of the call, but they traded contact information and promised to send letters.
[Jason]
Jason managed to find a course on Arabic in college. He showed up to two classes and promptly dropped it. It was too real, too close, and he was too fucked up to really know his soulmark. He was better off, really, not knowing. He retained nearly nothing from the first two classes aside from that the first letter in his mark was approximately an /s/.
He dropped out of college altogether only a semester later. He was never a smart guy, and he was better suited to a dead-end life than struggling through a class on some old English fart’s idea of good literature.
So he got a decent enough job to survive on and settled, for a bit.
[Salim]
Leyla had always wanted to be a writer, and Salim had done his best to support her dreams, but there was only so much money, and no easy feat to excel as a woman writer. But this Hasan—he could help her. Salim wasn’t an idiot, he knew this could be good for Leyla. And as much as she resisted the idea at first, it wasn’t long before Salim told her, begged her, to join Hasan in London.
Luckily, finding one’s soulmate was one of the few accepted reasons for divorce, so the process was fairly simple. They had discussed the idea of foregoing it and trying it out, but they ultimately knew where it was headed; Salim had heard their sporadic phone conversations and knew that while Leyla loved him, that didn’t mean he should try to keep her from someone who might truly get her. He nearly chased her out, in the end, self-sabotaging.
So no, he didn’t blame her when she left. But it did make him a little angry at the universe.
He couldn’t even blame him when he found that Zain had folded over one of their group photos so that she wasn’t in the picture. The poor kid was feeling abandoned, and Salim didn’t know where he’d gone wrong but he knew he’d picked the wrong decision at some point in the past, though exactly what part, he couldn’t say.
[Jason]
Jason wasn’t exactly thriving, but he was certainly surviving. Day to day, showing up to work, putting in just enough effort to be considered not worth reprimanding or praising, getting high off his ass, rinse, repeat. Sometimes he caught himself admiring a man when he lost track of himself, and he had to reign himself back in and repeat years of Sunday school lessons. Nothing good that way lies, he reminds himself.
He takes comfort in his mark, unknowable, unjudging—that person wasn’t real, as far as Jason was concerned, but the fact that Jason knew he had a soulmate he knew nothing about was incredibly reassuring at times. It was distant, in a way that didn’t make him feel tied down, but reminded him that there could theoretically be someone out there who cared about him for a reason other than blood. Made him think that maybe he wasn’t that fucked up. Even if the mark wasn’t in the right language, he didn’t really mind. In his mind, he assumed that his soulmate was one of the good ones.
That hope crumpled with the towers, and he sank into a week-long haze.
When he managed to claw his way back to a semblance of consciousness, he had lost his job and his last bit of hope. He took in the deluge of recruitment ads and figured that he wasn’t much better than a warm body to throw at the enemy. Perhaps it could even make up for the beautiful script he kept hidden under a leather bracelet.
So he went out and used some of his last bit of savings to get an aggressively on-the-nose tattoo. The process of waiting out the healing process was just long enough to get the pot out of his system.
And then he was off to serve his country.
[Salim]
Perhaps his life hadn’t been stellar lately, but he had Zain. He had Zain, and for Zain, he had to get out of this situation. Just so long as these demons didn’t get him first, and that was looking more and more likely the longer he spent down in these catacombs. It was amazing how the day had continued to get worse and worse, as if the universe was competing to top itself.
Perhaps the demons wouldn’t even be the thing that did him in. Maybe these damn Americans would do it for them.
Except that this one—Nick—he seemed willing to put aside their dumb war long enough to survive this situation. Which was nice, all things considered.
“So, you have any idea what these things are?” Nick asked him, still eying the corpse on the ground. It was terrifying, and Salim hoped he never got used to these horrible creatures.
“Vampires,” Salim said, eyes darting around the room, knowing that there were certainly more elsewhere in these caverns.
“Really?” Nick asked, seeming considerate. That was nice, at least.
“It seems to fit,” Salim said anyway, even though Nick hadn’t really disagreed with him.
“Can’t find an argument against that,” Nick told him, tentatively poking at the creature on the ground with the butt of his rifle.
While scanning the room for potential dangers he spotted a gun laying abandoned next to one of his former companions. He thanked the man in Arabic as he reached down and grabbed the gun.
As he turned to ask the American what he intended to do next he heard his radio crackle to life and a familiar voice—the American who had spared one of the shepherds topside—came over the radio. “This is Mailman Two One Actual to Mailman Three. How copy? Over.”
“I see your light, keep moving forward,” Nick responded. Salim immediately began retreating away from the light he saw growing closer.
Nick seemed to notice his dilemma and flashed his gaze between Salim and the approaching light. After a moment’s deliberation, Nick said, “You’ll be fine. They won’t do anything.”
Narrowing his eyebrows, Salim nonetheless stopped moving away. He was already outnumbered here, and if he could convince these Americans to work with him, the better. It seemed clear to him that they would be safer in numbers, if they could only manage to put aside their differences. Holding his hands up, he made an assenting gesture to Nick.
He kept the gun in hand, though.
The American from earlier rounded the corner, followed by another he hadn’t seen in more than passing. Immediately, both raised their weapons and pointed them directly at him.
Shit, Salim thought, as he immediately responded in kind.
“What the fuck is he doing here?” said the man from earlier, voice thick with an accent Salim wasn’t familiar with.
“He helped me kill one of those things,” Nick said, shifting slightly between him and the other two Americans. That was nice, at least, even if it didn’t seem to do anything. “He’s not hostile!” he added, almost as an afterthought.
“I mean you no harm,” Salim said, feeling ridiculous saying that while aiming the pistol at them.
“Your uniform is tellin’ me something different,” the American from earlier responded.
At this point, the other American shifted forward. “Enough,” he said forcefully, indicating to Salim that his initial theory might be incorrect and the loud one might not be the ranking officer here.
“You can’t be serious,” the other one responded, eyes flicking to the other man. Nick remained in his spot, slightly between Salim and the other Americans.
“We’re in enough trouble without shooting at each other,” the other man said, making eye contact with Salim. He was almost hopeful that the other man was going to let him come with them, but then he turned to Nick and said, “tie him up.”
“Sir?” Nick asked at the same time that the accented American said, “What?”
“You heard me,” the man repeated. He had already stopped looking at Salim and was approaching the monster.
“You weren’t kidding about these things, were you?” he continued, having moved to another train of thought. Salim watched the other man swallow whatever comment he had been about to make and saw him stand straight and at attention.
“No shit,” he said instead.
Then he noticed that Nick was approaching with rope.
“Really?” Salim asked, almost tired. This was just too stupid, that they were facing demons much stronger and faster and smarter than them and they were tying one of their hands behind their back.
“Sorry,” Nick said, sounding quite like he meant it. Salim sighed and allowed him to tie the rope around his wrists, careful of the cuff he wore over his soulmark.
“It is what it is,” Salim responded. He moved his attention back to the other two, who were prodding at the creature on the floor.
“I’m going to do a field autopsy on it,” the commanding officer was saying to the other one. Nick was gently moving him in the direction the other two had come. “Bring it back to our base, lieutenant.”
“Yessir,” the man responded, holstering his weapon and grabbing the legs of the creature with only the smallest bit of a grimace.
“You need some help with that, Jason?” Nick called back to the accented man. Salim tripped over a rock and nearly fell ungracefully on his face before Nick grabbed his arm and righted him.
“Nah, man, you already did the heavy lifting. I can do the rest,” the man—Jason—responded, hefting the demon behind them. The conversation was already moving on and Salim was still tripping over the fact his name was Jason. Why did his name have to be Jason?
“I had help, for what that’s worth,” Nick responded.
Jason snorted. “Yeah, well, we can only be so badass.”
It was a common name, Salim reminded himself. In America, it was a common name. He didn’t know Jason’s last name, and it almost certainly was not Kolchek. The universe could not be so unkind.
Then again, this day had so far not supported that assertion.
[Jason]
The Iraqi soldier was kinda attractive.
His brain was the least helpful part of his body, and it was determined to put him over the edge. It was one thing for him to passively acknowledge—in the deepest recesses of his brain—that Nick, his friend, was attractive (disgusting gross going to hell) but another thing entirely to notice the fact that a male enemy combatant was attractive. Even if it was in sort of a soft, older man sort of way—for fuck’s sake.
God, he was being hunted by demons and this was the material his gray matter was providing him. Time to distract himself with something else.
“So, you and the Queen Bitch,” he said to distract his racing brain. He could almost see Nick’s soul leave his body.
“Seriously, Jason?” Nick responded. The two slowly made their way down the corridor away from where the colonel was doing his field autopsy.
“Look, man, we might die any time. You’ve already picked my brain about our shared trauma, the least you could do is distract me with your drama,” Jason said, casually. Compartmentalize, move on. It’s what he did.
Nick grimaced like a man who wasn’t used to compartmentalizing every distressing thought.
“Fine, whatever,” Nick said, poking his head tentatively around the corner and motioning Jason forward after seeing nothing. They began to set up another camera as they talked. Jason waited.
“What about her?” Nick asked, after a stupid amount of time.
“Damn, Nick, you gotta make me drag it out of you? What the fuck is up with you two?” Jason asked as he situated the camera with a decent wide shot of the corridor.
“Okay, okay,” Nick conceded, “Look, I don’t know. I didn’t even realize she was married before the colonel got here. She-we-I-” Nick seemed uncertain how to proceed in his explanation.
“Basically, she’s got my name on her wrist, but not his. But I think she still loves him. Or something,” Nick told him, and Jason stopped short. He hadn’t realized that this was a soulmark thing, he just figured it was basic drama.
“Do you have hers?” Jason asked, pursuing the obvious train of logic.
“Well, uh. Probably. I was confused, at first, because it’s her maiden name. And, uh, other reasons,” Nick trailed off.
“Dude, you really are making this like pulling teeth,” Jason responded.
“I don’t…” Nick said, and then made eye contact with Jason. Jason was taken aback by the intensity of his gaze. “Look, Jason, can I trust you?”
“What the fuck, man, of course you can,” Jason responded, “where is this coming from?”
“I have more than one name,” Nick said by way of response, “and the other one is definitely ‘Eric King’.”
“What the fuck,” Jason said without a thought, and Nick immediately closed off.
“Soulmarks don’t have to be-” Nick started to say, and Jason cut them off.
“Stop, Nick,” Jason said. “Look, I don’t-I don’t know what to say to that. What do you think it means?”
“Clearly, they’re supposed to be in my life some way, but I can’t begin to fathom what this means,” Nick told him, looking somewhat relieved that Jason hadn’t responded with something harsher. Jason, to his credit, was containing his first response, as well as his second and possibly even his third. It’s not like having a man for a soulmate is an immediate one way trip to damnation; there had been plenty of platonic soulmates over time.
But what if it wasn’t platonic? his brain helpfully supplied. Would that be terrible?
Dammit, this was supposed to be distracting.
“What do you want it to mean?” Jason asked. He was treading in dangerous territory, and he knew it as soon as he asked. He was Nick’s superior, and asking that question definitely ran contrary to don’t ask, don’t tell; it was possible he would have to report whatever Nick told him.
“Uh, actually, don’t-don’t answer that,” Jason said, looking to the ground. There was a beat, and Nick put a hand on Jason’s shoulder.
“Jason?” Nick asked, and there were a million questions in his voice.
“We should report back, see what the colonel wants us to do now,” Jason said, putting a hand up to his radio to activate it.
“Yeah, okay,” Nick agreed.
[Salim]
Unsurprisingly, Salim realizes, the Americans mostly refer to each other by ranks or given names. It was not helping him determine Jason’s last name, and it wasn’t likely to happen any time soon unless he directly asked, and even then he doubts he’d be able to get much out of the jarhead. Despite showing some mercy topside, and not being actively aggressive against him so far, Jason has not demonstrated the most open-minded mentality.
He also had no desire to linger where he was not wanted. He slipped out the first moment he could, which turned out to be relatively easy, with all the commotion. It seemed unlikely at this point that they would be able to reach an accord.
[Jason]
Fucked, all of this was so fucked. He’d just gunned her down, just like that. Why couldn’t the colonel have figured out a cure? There had to be one, right?
Rachel was glaring at him with her blood covered face. He was certain she could see the rationale behind it, but that didn’t mean she had to be happy with it. Fine, that’s fine. It’s not like he was happy about it either. But they had to survive this somehow, and if he had to be the bad guy to get more of them out alive, he would.
Nick wasn’t looking at him. He was too busy looking at Rachel like she was a pinup poster. Geez, the man must have it bad to find the “blood-covered” look attractive.
Apparently, the colonel was at least moderately observant. “Okay, what the fuck is going on?” he asked, stepping between his wife and Nick. Jason raised an eyebrow and stepped back.
“Eric?” Rachel asked, moving between the colonel and Nick. The colonel paused, looking at first Rachel then Nick.
The colonel straightened up. “Sergeant Kay,” he started, “what name do you have on your wrist?”
“You’re not allowed to ask that,” Nick responded immediately, then followed up with a halfhearted, “sir.”
“No, I’m not,” he responded, continuing to look at Nick.
“Eric, you’re not-” Rachel started.
“Allowed to ask that?” he cut her off.
Jason felt horribly out of place in all of this, and turned his attention out to the rest of the room to keep watch while they dealt with their issues. They were sitting ducks in this spot, much like basically any other place in this hellhole. It was for the best if at least someone was on lookout.
“You’re really going to do this now?” Rachel asked, and before they could get much further on that thought, everything went to shit.
You know, as it would.
[Salim]
“This is not ideal,” Salim commented idly, as though commenting on the weather. Jason snorted.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Jason responded, then continued, “you try anything, you’re dead.”
“Always the threats with you Americans,” Salim said, “look, things will go much better for the both of us if we work together.”
Jason looked thoughtful for a moment, then let out a large exhale.
“Yeah, okay. Maybe I’m just relieved to see a human face,” he said, “we’ll be much better off if we help each other out. Let’s just see what’s down here, see if there’s a way out.”
“Now that sounds much better,” Salim noted, inclining his head toward the other man. Jason motioned for him to go ahead and Salim managed to refrain from an eye-roll.
After a few moments of silent exploration, Salim broke the silence and said, “so, what was all of that shouting before, with the others?”
Jason snorted again and flicked his eyes to where Salim was.
“They’ve found time to have romance drama, somehow,” Jason said, somewhat dismissively.
Salim debated following up, unsure whether Jason would even offer an answer, or even if he really wanted to know an answer.
Jason answered by elaborating anyway, “soulmate stuff, y’know?”
“Oh?” Salim asked, his voice breaking partway through the noise. Jason gave him a sideways glance.
“You people don’t have any weirdness about soulmates, do you?” Jason asked, absently pawing through some notes left from the archeologists. He hadn’t been very interested in any of the other stuff they’d found, and yet he continued to look through them as if he would become more interested this time.
“You people?” Salim responded immediately.
“You know what I mean,” Jason said, offhandedly, abrasively. And things had been going so well.
“I can’t say I know what would register as ‘weirdness’ to you,” Salim said.
“Is it-is it something people search for?” Jason asked, suddenly seeming somewhat genuine. Salim stopped in his tracks and looked at the other man. Jason had been plenty serious this entire time, when talking to his superior, but when talking with Salim he had mostly been prickly at best. This was a good development, probably.
“It depends on the person, and their resources. It can be difficult to find a soulmate,” Salim responded, “many try but fail.”
“So you give up?” Jason asked, again seeming genuine, if aggressively casual. Even though the question itself seemed needlessly judgmental, Jason seemed to be asking without pretense, so Salim felt no need to be offended.
“We cannot put our life on pause for a person who may or may not ever come into our life,” Salim said.
Jason was quiet for a beat and Salim couldn’t help looking over at Jason. He was staring at Salim with an intensity that was almost surprising, and for a moment Salim was worried he was going to ask a more directed question. But instead Jason continued the thought in a general way by asking, “is there a stigma to marrying someone who is not your soulmate?”
“No, not at all,” Salim responded, thinking back to his own wedding. Both families were properly happy with their joining, and while there were some comments about soulmarks, it was never a focus, never a detriment.
Jason hummed in response, as if he didn’t really know how to continue the conversation. Salim allowed the silence to settle more as they explored the archaeologists’ research, breaking the silence with the occasional quip or commentary. Jason was not exactly the most thoughtful of people, but he was surprisingly charming, when he managed to put aside his pigheadedness. The bravado was so intense that Salim could tell he was trying very, very hard to prove something, to someone, somewhere, but it was almost endearing when it wasn’t so abrasive.
Had it not been for, well, everything, Salim might have enjoyed his company. He was, in fact, enjoying his company much more than he had enjoyed being alone, but that wasn’t exactly a high bar to clear.
“Those chemical weapons are close, right?” Jason asked, breaking the silence again. Salim struggled to keep himself from sighing aloud.
“Every time you say something smart, you follow it with something dumb,” Salim said instead, and Jason almost seemed pleased with himself, like he enjoyed provoking Salim’s ire. It wasn’t entirely difficult, given who they were and the circumstances, but there was a line between overtly ignorant and playfully idiotic that Jason seemed to enjoy treading.
After meandering around the area some more, picking through the archeologists’ research, they came to a gate that led to a path that clearly descended further into the earth. Though certainly not the direction they needed to be heading, it was also the only direction away from the creatures currently on their tail, so there was little discussion about whether they should follow it. Once they had finished giving the area a final look, both moved toward it.
“Wait,” Jason said to him after he had popped open the rusty gate, holding out his arm to stop Salim from moving on without him. Salim watched as Jason crouched on the ground in front of the gate.
“What are you doing?” Salim asked, curious. Jason didn’t answer immediately, and Salim just watched as he drew an arrow in the dirt pointing in the direction of the gate. “You really think the others made it? That’s hopeful.”
“Hope is all we got right now,” Jason told him, as he moved his hand next to the arrow, tracing out the shape of a capital “J” then a capital “K.”
Salim swallowed thickly, blinking a couple times and waiting to see if the second letter resolved itself into another letter, if Jason had really just written “JK” in the dirt. “Your initials?” he asked, an ache in his chest as he tried not to think too hard about the initials of the name on his wrist. His question was dumb, unnecessary, but he needed this clarification. Perhaps the Americans had some sort of code that he was unaware of, then he would be getting worked up for nothing.
“Yeah,” Jason told him, like dumping a bucket of ice water over Salim, straightening up and brushing his hands together to clear some of the dirt off of them as if he had no idea what he was doing to Salim. It was possible he didn’t. “Want to make sure they know it was me and not something one of the archeologists left.”
“That sounds reasonable,” Salim croaked out, and Jason just gave him a sideways glance.
“You good, man? Do we need to rest a bit longer?” Jason asked him, turning a bit to inspect Salim’s face. Salim would have vastly preferred he not do that, but he had very little control over this man. He was simply treading water at the moment, and he was better off if Jason didn’t attempt to interrogate him too strongly, or worse, be charming and thoughtful.
“As well as I can be,” Salim said, doing his best to ignore the clenching in his chest or the way that Jason was looking at him. “It’s fine. We should keep moving.”
Jason gave up the questioning fairly quickly, saying “suit yourself” with a shrug. He motioned broadly to Salim in a “you first” sort of way, assuring Salim that while he may be thoughtful enough to suggest hanging back for a rest, that didn’t mean he felt the need to be the first one through every—or even any—door.
Salim set his shoulders and held out his lighter to cast a dull glow on the immediate blackness beyond the gate. He didn’t have the time to unpack this, he didn’t have the time to dwell on it. K was a common letter in English, so it made sense that it would be a common letter in English names. K didn’t have to stand for Kolchek. It didn’t.
As they descended further into the earth, Salim said a little prayer that their luck held; they’d only been attacked the one time since they’d been on their own, and while they’d managed themselves fairly well, he didn’t exactly want to test their teamwork too many times.
They approached the waterfall they’d been hearing for some time and Salim ducked in that direction for a moment to rest. He’d been awake for altogether too long, and while the adrenaline had so far carried him through it, if they weren’t attacked soon, he might find himself dozing off. Perhaps that was why Jason had been maintaining a steady stream of conversation since they had been wandering, perhaps he too was trying to keep himself focused. As Salim stood staring into the waterfall in front of him he wondered if he should have taken Jason up on his earlier offer of rest.
Shifting on his feet, he suddenly remembered the wallet in his pocket that he had picked up earlier. He pulled it out and inspected it, noting the lack of money or anything other than a single picture of Dar and a woman, looking happy.
“That your wife?” Jason asked from over his shoulder; he had been deep enough in his musing that he almost started at his nearness, the suddenness of the comment.
Flicking a quick look at Jason, he said, “Oh, I see. Now you want to talk.”
Jason at least looked a little chastised when he responded, “I was wrong to judge you. You’re alright.”
Salim was touched by Jason’s response, which prompted him to say, “Most people are good. You just have to realize that before they’re gone.” Taking one last look at the picture, he tossed the wallet into the spray of water. When he’d first found it, he’d picked it up with the thought that he might be able to return it to Dar, but that was clearly no longer an option. He turned back to look at Jason, who appeared to be inspecting him.
“We should keep moving,” Salim said, a bit flustered by the intensity of Jason’s gaze. The other man didn’t put up a fight to the statement, just started in the direction they had been heading.
[Jason]
The two came out of the caverns into a wide, completely alien terrain before him. In the distance Jason could see walls, structures, and even statues. It was like a bizarre, completely empty city, sprawling in front of him. Beside him, Jason could see Salim looking on in wonder.
Salim said something in Arabic, low and with wonder.
“Yeah, what you said,” Jason commented. Then, thinking that wasn’t quite enough to get across his bewilderment, he added, “What the fuck is this place?”
There was a long pause as they both stared at the expanse with a combination of horror and wonder.
Then, as if the earlier commentary wasn’t enough, Salim asked, “What is this hell? Is this even real?”
Jason didn’t really have much to enlighten him with, and before he knew it Salim was continuing to speak. “We are being judged. God is punishing us all for the mistakes we’ve ever made.”
Jason looked at Salim, looking older and worse for wear and so, so tired. Jason didn’t even know what this man looked like when he was happy; the best he’d gotten was the few times he’d managed to startle a laugh out of him. Jason couldn’t even judge the guy for being at the end of his rope. He couldn’t even disagree with the idea that this was some form of judgment. Nick had proposed the idea earlier, and Jason couldn’t stop thinking that this was what he got for the life he led, the decisions he’d made.
He didn’t speak immediately, so Salim continued his ramble, “Zain is all I have left in this world. After my wife left us, I gave him my word. I wanted him to have everything I didn’t.”
Jason wasn’t quite sure what to add to the conversation when Salim was clearly having a moment, so he just dumbly commented, “Single parent. Tough fucking gig.” Immediately he kicked himself for such an inane comment, but it was hard to know what to say in this situation. He felt like he’d gotten a good sense for Salim’s personality over the last few hours, even though he didn’t know much about his life, and he’d come to the realization that Salim really did deserve better than this. Jason, well, he probably did deserve it for any number of things in his life, but Salim deserved better. Better than being stuck in this hellhole with vampires and Jason. He deserved to make it back to his kid.
That was when he decided he was going to make sure Salim got back to his kid. Whatever he could do, he would make sure Salim made it out alive.
“It is, but, my boy has made me very proud,” Salim told him, completely oblivious to Jason’s realization. “He is going to London. To university.” With a shake of his head, Salim continued, “If only he would stop stealing.”
There was a beat, as if Salim was just thinking about his son. “I miss him so much.” Salim said, more to the ground in front of him than to Jason. Jason shifted awkwardly, fiddling with his hat, as he let Salim have his moment.
Looking away, he didn’t notice that Salim had come out of his crouch and was level with him again. “Is your conscience clear, Jason?”
Jason swallowed hard, pinned by Salim’s expression and the way he’d said ‘Jason.’
A part of him broke there, and he allowed himself to come clean like he hadn’t been able to with Nick.
“Green Zone. Checkpoint.” Jason said.
“What checkpoint?” Salim prompted.
Jason continued, barreling ahead with the story before he lost the ability to tell it, “Nick and I, we were caught in traffic. Checkpoint had been hit before by suicide bombers.” Looking away from Salim now, he said, “This woman, she was carrying a bag.”
Then he cut himself off and swore, strongly and with feeling, “Fuck.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Salim soften.
“Tell me,” Salim asked, kindly, much too kindly. It almost made Jason lose his nerve. He did his best to ignore how Salim was looking at him.
“I ordered-I ordered for her to stop, loud and clear, but she didn’t. She just kept on walking.” Voice cracking now, he said, “I had to make the call. Nick-he-shot her dead.”
“What was in the bag?” Salim asked, softly.
Jason allowed himself to answer this question. “Groceries.”
Salim shook his head and said, “I don’t understand, why didn’t she stop?”
Biting his lip, Jason said, “she didn’t hear me, she-” a beat, continue, “-had fucking headphones on.”
Jason clenched his fists and said, “This? This bullshit? I’m not here to honor the dead. Truth is, my life was going nowhere fast. I jumped at the chance to sign up.”
“We all have our reasons, they don’t have to be profound,” Salim told him, still being too gentle with him. Salim was too good to say that he was a piece of shit. What did Salim have to regret? That he wouldn’t be there for his son? No one would miss Jason, not really, and he couldn’t even blame them for that.
“Profound, huh?” his voice was breaking again, but he continued, “I spent my life thinking that maybe the news was wrong, that maybe the news was wrong about y’all. But then those towers,” helpfully, he stabbed at the towers on his hat, as if Salim had somehow forgotten about them, “when those towers were hit, I was stoned out of my fuckin’ skull. I didn’t really care, it was just the optics. How’s that for profound? I don’t even know what I’m doing here.”
“You’re serving your country,” Salim said.
“That woman had a family, friends, she had her whole life in front of her. We snuffed it out with a single bullet, I mean. What the fuck?” Jason said, looking back at Salim. Salim was looking at him with sympathy, which was much more than he deserved. An innocent woman was dead because of him and Salim was still treating him with kindness.
“Why,” Salim started, then stopped, like he was trying to formulate the question. “Why did you want the news to be wrong?”
He had said that, hadn’t he? He’d already bared his soul to Salim, he should be able to tell him simply that his soulmark was in Arabic. Something stopped him, however. It was the same impulse that had stopped him from taking those Arabic classes. Don’t want to know who the name was, didn’t want to saddle anyone with him.
“No reason,” Jason said transparently, but then caught himself scratching at the leather band over his soulmark. He pulled his hand away, quickly, hoping Salim hadn’t noticed.
“Do you have anyone back home?” Salim asked, a bit of a non-sequitur considering the previous conversation.
Jason snorted and said, “I got family, but I think they wouldn’t mind if I didn’t come back. Haven’t talked to most of them in a long time.”
“Fallen out?” Salim prompted.
“More like I was never really on good terms with them to begin with,” Jason said, daring a look over at Salim. The gentle look hadn’t left yet, and it did stupid things to Jason’s chest. “Too much of a fuck-up, didn’t really conform with what they wanted in a son.”
“That’s a shame,” Salim said, “Have you ever wondered if you weren’t the problem?”
Jason couldn’t help but laugh at that. Salim seemed startled by this response. “Look, it was definitely me. I was a problem child before I even had an idea of who I was.”
“And who are you, Jason?” Salim asked, putting an emphasis on his name again.
“If I knew that, I probably wouldn’t be here,” Jason told him.
“They say that we should see ourselves as our soulmate would see us,” Salim mused, “how do you think your soulmate would see you?”’
“Preferably, they won’t,” Jason said grimly, “They’re better off that way.”
“That ruins the point,” Salim said, sticking his elbow into Jason’s ribs.
“Well, how do you think your soulmate would see you, if it’s so easy?” Jason asked, flustered and frustrated.
Salim raised his eyebrow and said, “I would hope he would see someone who tries, who does his best to provide for his family.” He held Jason’s gaze as if daring him to say something.
Jason couldn’t help it. “He?”
“It happens,” Salim told him, not backing down. “I figure, if we’re sharing things before we die, then someone at least should know.”
“And your wife?” Jason asked, trying to restrain himself from spiraling. But what if it wasn’t platonic? Would that be terrible? His brain asked him again.
“I love her deeply, as she loved me,” Salim told him, “but she found her soulmate, and I knew he would be able to provide her opportunities that I could not.”
He was able to ask the question he couldn’t ask Nick, earlier. “And your soulmate? What do you hope from him?”
“I suppose that depends on him, huh? Though I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to find him now,” Salim mused, a touch of sadness in his voice. And oh, that hurt, and Jason didn’t want to investigate that either.
“You will,” Jason said without thinking, but realized as he said it how much he meant it, “you will get out of here and reunite with your son and find your soulmate. I swear it.”
Salim seemed taken aback by the intensity of his words, but did not seem bothered by them. “And I will do the same for you, Jason. Even if it is only so you can have one more beer.”
Jason laughed, and let the silence grow between them. They’d dallied here too long, and neither of them had any idea what to do with themselves. It was like they were waiting for more of those creatures to find them. Looking over at Salim, he said, “I can hear you thinking.”
“We’re waiting for something to happen,” Salim said, echoing his thoughts. “We need to take the fight to them.”
“Get them where they hurt,” Jason said, agreeing.
“Exactly. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Are you thinking cocoons?” Jason asked.
Salim smiled. “I am.”
[Salim]
“So, who’s going to do it?” Salim asked the crowd. And it was a crowd, himself and the four Americans. He was feeling notably out of place now that the other three had rejoined them, and it seemed that only Jason was truly at ease with him being there.
There was a beat before Nick volunteered.
Jason immediately volunteered to go with him.
“No, the more of us there are down there the more likely we’ll be spotted,” Nick told them, “you should stay here for back-up. And look-out.”
“Are you sure?” Rachel asked from behind them.
“Absolutely,” Nick said, picking up the detonator and handing it to Salim. Jason immediately took it from his hands. “If I don’t make it back up-”
“Don’t you say it, sergeant,” Jason said tensely.
Nick gave him a steady look. “Be realistic, Jason. I’ll do what I can.”
Nick stood up, and Rachel and Eric immediately stood as well. Salim began to get up as well, but Jason reached out and grabbed his arm. Giving Jason a sidelong look, he stayed where he was.
“So,” Nick said, awkwardly, seemingly aware of the audience. Almost as if on cue, Rachel took a step forward and yanked him into a hug, pulling Eric along behind her. Salim blinked once, twice, as he tried to figure out what was happening.
“Come home safe,” Rachel said, so quietly Salim almost couldn’t hear it.
Eric moved to put his arms around both of them and cleared his throat, somehow more awkward than Nick had been. “What she said.”
After a careful few moments, the three separated and Nick stepped away. Making eye contact with Jason and nodding, then back to Rachel and Eric, he began to move decisively.
“Wait,” Eric said, moving and grabbing Nick’s wrist. Nick stopped and stood extremely still, looking at Eric. “Do be careful. I would...like to get to know you.”
Gruffly, Nick said, “I would like that as well.”
The moments immediately after were momentarily still, before Rachel turned, looked at Jason, and sternly said, “no.”
“What, I didn’t say anything!” Jason said.
“You were thinking, and you’re not very imaginative,” Rachel said, settling back on her heels.
“I was only thinkin’ that I was happy for y’all, that’s all,” Jason said, thickly. Rachel stopped, then properly looked at him.
“Thank you,” she commented, looking back at Eric, who had remained graciously quiet through it all. She then turned to Salim.
“You should keep watch for Nick. We’ll watch our backs,” Rachel told him, indicating the binoculars in his hands.
“Understood,” Salim said, uncertain of how to address her. She seemed satisfied and moved off to keep watch in the area, Eric following behind.
Jason stayed with him to keep in radio contact with Nick. Salim was grateful for the company, for however long that was something he could appreciate.
[Jason]
Oh, this place truly was hell.
“Those charges were a godsend. Feels like this whole damn place is coming down,” Jason said, finally feeling pleased with a development today. That was darkened significantly by the fact that they had gotten separated from Salim during the escape from the explosion and the, well. All the vampires.
Surveying the damage, he couldn’t stop the outburst when he saw Salim. Stabbing his radio call button, he asked, “Salim! Come in, man. Are you there?”
The answer was muted, like he was whispering. “I’m surrounded! I’m in real trouble here,” Salim said as Jason’s bubble burst. Just when something was going right, this happened. Salim continued, quieter now, “vampires. So many vampires…”
Jason stood still, motionless, as he tried to think it through.
“Jason, really?” Nick asked.
“We go down there, we die with him,” Eric said, coldly, rationally. “He’s a dead man. We need to go.” He began moving back towards the elevator before he had even finished saying this. Rachel and Nick began following after, though Nick spared a backwards glance to where Salim was.
Jason, however, was rooted to the spot, watching the place in the distance where Salim was fighting for his life. Noting his hesitation, Eric turned around and whispered insistently to him, “that man is not one of us!”
That was exactly the wrong thing to say to him, and exactly what he needed to spur him into action. “You’re wrong!” he hissed back at Eric, “Salim is one of us now. Marines don’t leave their own behind. You hearin’ me, Salim?”
“If I don’t make it out, tell my son I did everything I could,” Salim responded, and it broke Jason’s heart a little. He’d promised Salim he would see his son again, and he damn well would.
“Tell him yourself,” Jason told him forcefully, “I’m coming to get you.”
[Salim]
He was going to die down here, violently, horrifically. He would never see his son again. He was a dead man walking.
He was—surprisingly still alive?
The sound of bullets brought him out of his fugue, and he quickly noted that he was no longer alone. Taking the chance Jason’s spray of bullets had granted him, he smacked the vampire away from him and hammered the stake solidly through the middle of the creature’s chest.
Looking up, he made eye contact with Jason and smiled wide, like he couldn’t remember doing in some time. Jason had actually come.
“You’ve come to join the fun?” Salim asked, breathless from the fight and his relief at seeing another human face. Without waiting for an answer, he began running towards the other man, knowing that Jason was covering his back.
But that meant he wasn’t watching his own back, was he? One of the creatures appeared out of the ether directly behind Jason, in the middle of reloading his gun and completely unaware of the certain death approaching. He didn’t have much time to think it through, so he simply yelled a warning and threw his stake right at the vampire, trusting Jason to move out of the way. Which he did, thankfully.
That didn’t stop Jason from giving him grief for it, however.
“Did you really throw that thing at me?” Jason yelled, incredulously.
Salim was overcome with fondness and smiled wide as he said, “I did.” Which then devolved in laughter as he looked at Jason, safe and there.
“Let’s get out of here,” Jason said, through his own smile.
[Jason]
Back in the relative safety of the elevator, Jason heaved a sigh of relief.
“Takes more than a few bats to kill you,” Nick said, clapping him on the back. Leaning into the comfort, he smirked wide.
“Oh man, that was un-fucking-believable!” Jason said, unable to contain it. “Those things were all over us, but me and Salim busted through them like it was the last down of the goddamn Super Bowl!”
He tossed his own arm over Salim’s shoulder, smiling in relief, and looked over to see the same expression mirrored on Salim’s face, though there seemed to be some amount of disbelief there as well. Keeping his hand on Salim’s shoulder, he spoke to others, “Listen up. We’re not out of the woods yet. But what I see in front of me, you’re the best.”
Looking over their faces, he said, “fuck that, the best of the best! And we will get home.”
There was a beat, and then they all let out a triumphant, “oorah!”
Remembering Salim, Jason looked his way. It was about time he joined in, despite his outsider status.
“Oorah?” Salim said, questioningly, like he wasn’t sure he was saying it right. Jason gave him a big grin, gripping his shoulder a bit tighter. Salim burst into laughter, nearly manic, before repeating, more confidently, “oorah!”
Jason clapped his hand on his shoulder again and briefly pulled him close, out of camaraderie.
Just… camaraderie.
[Salim]
He’s slinking out before the Americans change their minds and decide to detain him. It doesn’t feel great, slinking away while they remain together, but he was never one of their number, so there was only so much for him to do. Gripping hold of the stake—a souvenir—he limped out of the hut, hoping he’d be fine to make it home, despite how beat up and ragged he was.
“Salim, wait,” he heard Jason say. Well, he couldn’t very well leave now.
Jason emerged from the house and immediately offered his hand. “Good luck,” Jason told him, taking his hand firmly. “You tell Zain a happy birthday for me.”
“Thank you, Jason,” Salim said, like a prayer. He gripped the hand tighter than perhaps he should. “Goodbye, my friend.”
Jason gave him a look that he couldn’t for the life of him decipher, and Salim’s soulmark burnt like a brand. He’d never asked for Jason’s last name, that K-shaped mystery. He could just do it now. It wouldn’t be odd, not after the bond they’d forged. But what if it was him? What if it wasn’t? They had become friends down below, but up here the war still existed. Their countries still fought. And he didn’t know what possible future they could even have.
Did he want one with this American? He’d been charming in his own way, and a raging idiot, but he was ultimately a good man when he allowed himself to be one. Salim would perhaps like the chance to know him, the real him.
“Salim?” Jason asked him, indecipherable look still in place.
Swallowing, Salim simply repeated, “goodbye, my friend. I hope our paths cross again in a better place.”
A coward, after all that?
He swallowed again and nodded stiffly at Jason. He needed to get home to his son. That was all that mattered.
Salim only looked back once, and Jason was there, watching as he walked away.
[Jason]
“Rachel. Rachel. Rachel.”
“For fuck’s sake, Jason, it’s 3 AM,” Rachel murmured, rolling over in bed.
“Please,” Jason said, plaintively.
Rachel groaned.
“Please, deal with him,” Jason heard Eric grumble into a pillow.
“Seconded,” Jason heard more distantly, in what was distinctly Nick’s voice. In the dark Jason could now make out three shapes in the bed. Huh, alright.
“Fine,” Rachel grumbled, rolling out of bed and leaving the other two to re-situate. He could compartmentalize this later, he supposed. He had more pressing issues.
Rachel was, thankfully, wearing a tank top and athletic shorts, and was able to simply step out of the bedroom with him. A bedroom that was quite large, considering that this was a military base. He supposed being the ranking officer had its perks, though those perks almost certainly did not include space for Nick. He must have been sneaking in, which would explain why he hadn’t been in his bunk.
“You better have a damn good reason for waking me up in the middle of the night,” Rachel told him, arms crossed.
“It is,” Jason said, “I swear.”
“So?” Rachel said, expectant.
“Okay, so. Um,” Jason was suddenly fumbling with how to ask her, and her raised eyebrow told him he only had so much time to sort it out.
“Uh. So, I was wondering if you could translate some Arabic for me,” Jason asked. Smooth, great, she’ll definitely be pleased with that.
She was. “And you couldn’t ask me to translate some Arabic during the afternoon, why?”
Jason placed his face in his hands. “I need someone I trust, who won’t rat me out, and someone who knows Arabic. You are literally the only person on that list right now, and I would rather not ask you during the middle of the day for this because it’s...sensitive.”
“Sensitive,” Rachel repeated.
“Look, it’s my soulmark, okay,” Jason spat out, continuing not to look her in the eye. “I’ve been avoiding it all my life but now I can’t stand it, I need to know the name, and I do not know Arabic.”
Jason gave her a moment to process all of that, and then removed his face from his hands to look at her.
“And… why do you need to do it so secretly,” Rachel asked, “other than because it’s in Arabic?”
“Wouldn’t that be enough?” Jason asked, but Rachel didn’t seem to buy it. “It’s, well. I don’t know what it says but I have a good suspicion the name won’t be a woman’s name, and technically you’re CIA, not military, so you might not need to report me.”
“That’s not how it works,” Rachel responded, seemingly without thinking, “but it’s fine. I’m capable of bending a rule or two.”
Jason’s eyes flickered back to the door behind her.
“Yeah, there’s also that,” Rachel said. “Mutually assured destruction.”
“So?” Jason asked.
“So what?” Rachel countered.
“Will you tell me what it says?” Jason asked, impatiently. This was stressful in so many ways, and the only reason he was putting himself through it was because he needed to know.
The name had started with an S.
“Of course I will, dumbass,” Rachel said, almost fond.
She held out her hand for his wrist. He removed his bracelet and gave her his hand, the band underneath the bracelet remarkably pale due to the lack of sun. Turning his hand over so that she could see the writing on his wrist, stark against his pale skin. Squinting slightly, still dealing with the tiredness of being pulled out of bed in the middle of the night, she looked at the name.
“Oh,” Rachel said, “huh.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean,” Jason asked.
“Well, I suppose a lot of things make more sense now,” Rachel said, moving so she can point at the letters on his wrist.
“This letter right here, the first one-it starts on the right, here-this one is an /s/ sound,” she told him, “the next letter makes an /a/ sound, the next is an /l/ sound, and the last one in the first name is an /m/.”
“Salm?” Jason asked, perplexed. Rachel laughed.
“It can be transliterated a number of ways, but it would be pronounced ‘Salim,’” Rachel explained to him, voice gentle.
“But you didn’t say an /i/,” Jason said, his brain trying to catch up to the fact that Rachel had just told him that his soulmark said Salim.
“Do you really want me to explain to you the ins and outs of Arabic diacritics?” Rachel asked him, and he immediately grimaced.
“I’ll pass,” Jason told her. “What’s the last name?”
“Well, it would be pronounced Othman, though I can’t say how he’d spell it when transliterated,” Rachel said.
“That name...” Jason said, then trailed off.
Rachel took pity on him. “Did you ever ask for his last name?”
“No,” Jason said, suddenly overcome with regret. It’s not like it was on the forefront of his mind, but that doesn’t stop him from kicking himself. “If it was him, wouldn’t he have said something? He knows English!”
“Did you ever tell him your last name?” Rachel prodded, leaning against the wall outside her room.
“No…” Jason said.
“And do you remember it ever being mentioned around him?” Rachel asked.
“Not that I remember,” Jason conceded.
After a moment’s consideration, he added, “but he definitely saw me write my initials when I drew out the arrow showing y’all where I was. I know he did, because he asked me if they were my initials.”
“He asked you if they were your initials?” Rachel asked, one eyebrow raised. Jason’s brain reconsidered the situation and realized that yeah, that question did seem a little obvious, but not anything that would register as odd. They barely knew each other then, Salim had no reason to know he was writing his initials and not some code.
“It didn’t seem odd in the moment,” Jason said, defensively. Rachel huffed out a little laugh. “But that means he definitely knew my last name starts with a K.”
“It’s possible he didn’t know for sure that you were his Jason, only that you could be,” Rachel posited, “after all, K is a fairly common letter to start American surnames. Between the four of us who made it out, we all have K-names.” Jason’s brain fuzzed a bit at her referring to him as “his Jason,” but he did his best to push on and process the rest of what she said.
“Still, wouldn’t he have asked me?” Jason asked, his brain spinning through all of their interactions, “I can’t imagine he’s met many Jasons in his life, and even fewer with a K-last-name, to just ignore one smacking him in the head with a rifle.” It might have been weird to ask him for his last name, out of context, though he probably could have done it in a way that seemed natural. Salim had seemed weird when they were leaving, but then again, so had Jason.
Because Jason hadn’t wanted him to leave. But why was Salim…?
“Would he?” Rachel asked, “I mean, I know you two really got close, but you’re still a closeted American jackass with a chip on his shoulder and he wouldn’t have known how you’d react.”
“He told me his soulmate was a man,” Jason said, remembering suddenly.
“I mean, it does seem possible,” Rachel said, a small grin on her face, “are you sure he didn’t ask and you didn’t miss it?”
“I want to say no, but we both know I’m dumb as a brick,” Jason responded, inspecting the name on his wrist again. “Now I just have to… find him again,” Jason said.
“And I have to sleep,” Rachel said, turning back to her door but pausing before she made it all the way there. Her shoulders slouched a bit. “You know you can ask us for help if you need it.”
“Thank you,” Jason said, quietly. She opened the door to return to bed, and Jason carefully replaced the bracelet on his wrist.
Salim had never told Jason where he lived.
[Salim]
Salim was alone now, with Zain at school. He missed him. He was so proud of his son, but he missed him fiercely.
And he regretted not asking for Jason’s last name. It could have been him. It might have been him. He had wanted it to be him.
He was a coward in the end, and he’ll pay for it for the rest of his life.
[Jason]
When Jason finally found him, it wasn’t Salim he tracked down, but Zain. A Zain Othman at a London university was a small lead, but one Jason pursued vigorously. There could only be so many Zain Othmans in London, after all. He had never put that much effort into a project for school, and didn’t have the necessary skills, but he did have Rachel and Eric, who assisted as best they could. Nick provided moral support.
Which was how Jason ended up on the awkwardest call of his life.
“Hello?” said the voice on the other end of the line, with the same soft accent as Salim, “who is this?”
“Jason,” he said, and then backtracked. “Wait, I’m sorry, okay. This is gonna be a really weird call and I apologize for that ahead of time but my name is Jason Kolchek and are you Zain Othman?”
“Why are you asking?” Zain, presumably, asked him.
“I believe I met you father some time ago, and I’ve been trying to track him down, but I have very little information to go on,” Jason told him.
“I’m hanging up,” Zain said.
“Wait, wait, no-this isn’t-that’s not what this is! I think your father is my soulmate,” Jason yelled into the phone.
He didn’t hear the click of the end of the call.
“You think my father is your soulmate,” Zain repeated, cautiously, like he’d misheard him.
“Yes, I-when we met, I didn’t know what my mark said because it was in Arabic and I had refused to look up what it meant before but now I have and it says ‘Salim Othman,’” Jason rambled. This was the worst, he was fucking this up so bad.
There was silence on the other end of the line before Zain asked, “and who are you, Jason Kolchek?”
And this was the bad part of tracking Salim down through his son. He had to prove himself, again, and he wasn’t sure he’d managed it the first time, even.
“I’m a first lieutenant in the marine force recon, though not for much longer. I’m being discharged soon due to my resignation. I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing after that. After meeting Salim and everything we went through I just couldn’t-I couldn’t keep doing it,” Jason rambled, “is there something in particular you need to know? I would just like a way to talk to your father.”
“What is your intent?” Zain asked.
“That depends on Salim,” Jason answered truthfully. He had come to the realization that he would simply like to have Salim in his life however he would have him, if he would have him. “I simply want him in my life. To what degree depends on him.”
“That sounds reasonable,” Zain said, thoughtfully. “One more question.”
“Anything,” Jason croaked.
“Do you like mythology?”
[Salim]
It wasn’t often that Salim got phone calls. Sometimes his family would call him, more often now that Zain was out of the house and he was left alone. Sometimes Zain would call him, telling him about school and how he can’t wait for Salim to visit him in London. Rarely, he’d get a call from Leyla, trying to keep him in her life the best she could. Getting a call from a blocked number was another thing entirely.
He answered it anyway, because he was lonely and curious. “Hello?” he answered in Arabic.
“Salim?” he heard the familiar voice, lost since that time months ago, the time he had tried to bury but could never forget.
“...Jason?” Salim asked, halfway wondering if he was still dreaming.
“Salim!” came the voice again, much louder and exuberant this time. It definitely sounded like Jason.
“How did you get my number?” Salim asked, incredulous.
“A lot of work, a fair bit of research, and letting your kid talk my ear off about the Loch Ness Monster,” Jason answered casually.
“What?” Salim asked, not quite sure he was properly following this conversation.
“I managed to track down Zain and get your number from him,” Jason simplified.
“How did you find Zain?” Salim asked, even more confused now, “you only knew a first name.”
“Wrong,” Jason said, breezily, “I knew a first name, a general location, and I suspected a last name. And it’s easier for me to get information about the UK than about Iraq.”
“You suspected a last name?” Salim asked, distantly. His wrist burned again as he thought about it, the question he hadn’t asked.
“Othman, right?” Jason said, absolutely butchering his name.
Salim let out an incredulous laugh. “Yes, but how?”
There was a beat, and then Jason asked, “do you know my last name?”
“No,” Salim answered, immediately. But I think I might.
“Are you sure?” Jason asked, weirdly coy. Salim suddenly wondered how he was making this call, from where, and if it was being monitored. Salim let out a deep breath.
“No, I’m not. I know it starts with a K but… I think I might know the rest,” Salim said, honestly.
“How does Kolchek sound?” Jason asked him, cutting to the chase, and Salim just blinked. The name on his wrist, he’d never heard it pronounced, he’d never told anyone what it was. Which meant—
“That was what I had hoped,” Salim tried to answer as calmly as possible.
“That’s good to hear,” Jason said, “Now, when are you visiting Zain? ‘Cause I’ve never seen London and I think I’d like to coordinate.”
Salim swallowed heavily, the implications of this conversation sitting heavy on him. In a good way.
“I would like that as well,” Salim said, and he could almost hear the smile over the phone.
[Jason]
Jason would have preferred to greet Salim when he flew in, but Nick had convinced him it would be better to wait for something more private, which was why he was now standing in front of Zain’s flat in London. He shared it with several other kids, but they were all off on holiday at the moment, so thankfully the place would just be the three of them. That knowledge didn’t make him any less nervous as he knocked on the front door.
He didn’t have to wait long before he heard what sounded like an earthquake inside and the door was being yanked open. The person on the other side of the threshold was not Salim, which meant it was almost certainly Zain. Zain, who didn’t actually resemble his father as much as Jason had expected, except for maybe in the nose.
“Jason?” the kid asked, appearing to be inspecting him the same as he had just been doing.
“Yeah,” Jason said, “and I take it you’re Zain.”
“In the flesh,” he quipped, stepping back enough to allow Jason into the doorway. The front area of the flat was cramped, both from a lack of space and due to the clutter. He got the sense that the rest of the flat wouldn’t be much different.
“And your dad?” Jason asked, worried he’d gotten there before Salim. He’d tried to time it so that they’d have time together before he invaded their space, but maybe he was still suffering from jetlag and had messed up the times.
“Fretting in the kitchen,” Zain answered casually, “I told him I had to meet you first, without him here.”
“Oh?” Jason said, strangely intimidated by the nineteen year old in front of him. He was definitely not in his element right now.
“I need to size you up,” Zain said, as if that wasn’t somehow the most stressful thing someone had ever said to Jason.
“Okay…”Jason said, standing across from the kid and trying not to think too hard. “How’s that going?”
“Hmm,” Zain hummed in response, looking thoughtful. “You’re clearly very nervous, which is good. Dad’s also a mess, so I’m glad that’s mutual. I wasn’t sure what to make of an American soldier being my dad’s soulmate, but he seems fond of you, so I guess I’ll just have to let it play out.”
“Thank...you?” Jason said, and Zain laughed.
“Come on, I’ll put the two of you out of your misery. He’s through that doorway right there and to the left. I’ll be in my room in case you decide you need a chaperone,” Zain told him, pointing at the doorway when he mentioned it. Jason nodded tightly.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jason said gruffly, then followed his instructions into what appeared to be a kitchen. It was possibly the messiest kitchen he had ever seen, but what did he expect from a bunch of college students.
Salim was facing away from the door, staring at a tea kettle as if his gaze might be enough to boil the water. Jason leaned against the door frame.
“Hey,” Jason said, yet again demonstrating his combination of wit and charm.
Salim started so hard he nearly hit his head on the cabinets above the stove. Jason couldn’t help but double over in laughter. “Did I scare you, man?”
“I can’t imagine how, with you tromping around like an elephant,” Salim said, looking clearly flustered at being caught unaware.
“Hey, no combat boots today, I’m downright ninja-like,” Jason said, gesturing broadly to his feet and his large, blocky tennis shoes.
“Yes, because those enormous eyesores are downright silent,” Salim said, falling back into their banter immediately. Jason smiled, realizing that it was happening without even trying. Maybe there hadn’t been a reason to worry.
“So, what’s the protocol here?” Jason asked, joking tone masking his genuine question, “fist bump, handshake?”
Salim looked amused. “Are those your only options?”
“I didn’t wanna be presumptuous,” Jason said.
“Oh, presumptuous. Been reading the dictionary?” Salim countered.
“Don’t you worry, Salim, I’d never do something like that. It was just something I read in one of my comic books, dunno what it even means,” Jason said with a self satisfied smile. He waited to see if Salim caught his joke this time.
“Ha ha,” Salim said, sarcastically. Fondly. Jason’s chest constricted.
“So, what’ll it be,” Jason said, clearing his throat through his awkwardness.
“What will it be, Jason?” Salim asked, and again, the way Salim said his name made him want to die. Like, in a good way.
“Jesus, no need to be so fucking coy,” Jason responded, taking a step forward and yanking the other man into a hug. Salim made a soft noise of surprise at being pulled into Jason’s arms, and he almost worried that he had misjudged the mood, their relationship. He didn’t have to worry too long, though, as Salim returned the hug after only a beat, looping his arms over Jason’s shoulders and holding him tight. Jason felt like he was drowning.
“Miss me?” Jason said softly, nearly directly into Salim’s ear.
“Don’t ruin it by gloating,” Salim said, but Jason could tell he was joking.
Feeling bold and deciding to test something, Jason turned so that his face was directly in Salim’s neck. He was so close and Salim smelled nice, what the fuck was that. He breathed in deeply.
“Are you sniffing me?” Salim asked, sounding mildly mortified.
“Maybe my nose is just right next to you, no need to get a big head,” Jason responded.
Salim pulled away, and yet again Jason was worried he’d overstepped. But he didn’t pull away completely, keeping his arms around Jason’s neck. They were so close, and Salim was looking directly into his eyes, and he was going to actually die. This was it. Death by a handsome man holding him gently wasn’t the worst way to go, at least.
“What changed?” Salim asked, softly. Jason couldn’t quite follow the question.
“What do you mean?” Jason asked.
“Zain told me you didn’t know what your soulmark said when you met me, that you’d never looked up what it meant,” Salim said, gently, as if speaking to an animal that might spook, “what changed? Why did you decide then to look it up?”
Jason had a hard time looking into Salim’s eyes for this conversation, but with the way Salim had his arms around his shoulders, he had little choice. “I’d always been told terrible things about my soulmark, by those who knew what it was, and I just. I didn’t want to know who it was, didn’t want it to be real, because I didn’t want to saddle a real person with me as a soulmate, and so long as I didn’t look it wasn’t real.”
Jason took a deep breath and continued, “after that time down there I just kept thinking about you, and how your name was probably in Arabic. And well. I only knew one thing about my soulmark, from when I signed up for an Arabic class during my brief stint in college. I dropped the class after the second day so I learned basically nothing, but the professor did teach us how to spell our names in Arabic. Which meant I knew that the first letter of my soulmark was an /s/. So I knew that it was possible that it was, well… you.”
Salim had been quiet while Jason told him this, listening intently. It was weird, for Jason. The only times people had ever really listened to him was when he was their commanding officer, and look how well that had gone. But Salim—he really listened.
“Why didn’t you ask what my last name was?” Jason asked; it was the question he had wondered about for some time, worried over. He’d been terrified that the reason Salim hadn’t asked was because he hadn’t wanted Jason for a soulmate. “You knew my name, even knew the first initial of my last name. Why didn’t you ask before you left?”
“Because I was a coward,” Salim answered, immediately. Harshly. “I didn’t know how you would react, either way, and I just knew I needed to get home to Zain. And I didn’t know what we would have done, even if it was you.”
“Does that mean you don’t want to try?” Jason asked, continuing, “The US has a soulmate visa, I heard that it’s a bitch of a wait to get one but maybe Eric or Rachel could fast-track you somehow.”
“You want me to come to America?” Salim said, quietly. Jason nearly bit his tongue.
“I just… I want you around, and I don’t imagine it’s smart for me to go back to Iraq with you,” Jason said.
“Would you, though?” Salim asked, and Jason huffed out a laugh.
“If I didn’t think I would be lynched on the street, yeah, maybe,” Jason said, “it’s not like I have many connections in the US.”
“It’s not that bad,” Salim protested, “and you’re my soulmate, which would offer some protection.”
“Would you prefer that?” Jason asked. He wasn’t exactly excited at the idea of living in Iraq, but he also wasn’t exactly eager to part with Salim again.
“No,” Salim answered, immediately, “I just wanted to know if you would. I’m touched that you would even consider.”
Jason blinked, and then huffed out a laugh. “Salim, you’re fantastic. I want you around, if you’ll have me.”
“Oh?” Salim said, and the upward tilt of the words put Jason on alert. “And how do you want me around?”
And that was the question, wasn’t it? Jason had spent his entire life listening to the words of his family, his preacher, every hard-hearted person who thought he should die for daring to love differently. He wasn’t exactly comfortable with himself, not yet, but he was coming to terms with the fact that he was interested in men, and that didn’t mean he was necessarily doomed to eternal damnation. And even if it did, maybe it was worth it? After all, the real hell was being surrounded by people determined to make your life miserable for not being who they want you to be.
Jason swallowed and said, with feeling, “however you’ll have me.” He left it open for Salim to slide the pieces into place.
Salim was quiet, searching his face.
Seeming to make up his mind, he leaned forward, resting his forehead against Jason’s. “I quite like this,” Salim said, one of his thumbs beginning to rub back and forth on the back of Jason’s neck.
“I do too,” Jason said, though he figured that was a given based on how he was leaning into Salim’s touch. Also, they were pressed up against each other from knees to chest, so it didn’t take a genius.
Salim hummed, as if agreeing with Jason’s inner monologue. They both stood there, leaning into each other, as if waiting for something to happen.
After a few more beats, Jason asked, “why hasn’t that tea kettle boiled yet?”
Salim burst into laughter, genuine and loud. “The burner isn’t on. I turned it off when I heard you knocking.”
“Smart thinking,” Jason said.
“One of us has to do it,” Salim said.
“So,” Jason started, and Salim hummed, as if to tell Jason that he was listening, “how is Zain taking all of this? Is he...okay with it?”
“Well,” Salim said, readjusting his arms so that his hands were resting on Jason’s chest, fiddling with the hood of his sweatshirt. “He seems happy that I’ve found you. It seems that all this time I’ve been worried about him, he was worried about me.”
“Good kid,” Jason said. “Takes after his father.”
Salim rolled his eyes. “You also got him on your good side by letting him ramble to you about mythology and cryptids.”
“It’s cool,” Jason said with a shrug. Not really something he’d ever gotten into, but it was fun enough. “He’s a smart kid. I meant it when I said he takes after you.”
Salim breathed out heavily as if flustered by the praise.
They were quiet again, then, until Salim broke it. “Jason?”
“Yes?”
“Would you have… would you have wanted this if I hadn’t been your soulmate?” Salim asked, voice quiet. As if he were doubting it.
Jason was flabbergasted. “Salim, the only reason I figured out what my soulmark said in the first place was because I hoped it was you,” Jason told him, “if anything, I should be asking you that.”
“You grow on a person,” Salim told him, voice fond.
“Like mold,” Jason said, flustered and making light of it.
“I mean it, Jason. You’re a good man, and I am glad to know you. I would have wanted you regardless,” Salim told him.
“Oh,” Jason said, dumbly. Salim was so genuine, it was hard to get used to. Jason was so used to using humor and sarcasm to mask his meaning, but here Salim was, heart on his sleeve just because Jason asked.
“‘Oh,’ he says,” Salim said, mockingly, and Jason suddenly felt more at ease. Salim casually rubbed a thumb over Jason’s exposed collarbone, and he was suddenly very aware of how little experience he had in all of this. And how much he was enjoying this, the casual back and forth, the joking mixed with genuine affection.
“Sorry to interrupt but I’m dying for tea,” Zain announced, loudly, walking into the room and beelining for the kettle. Jason jumped away from Salim, who released him easily and took two steps back. Jason had been so quick to move away that he cracked his head against the cabinets behind him, and Salim covered his mouth to hide his smirk.
“Zain,” Salim said, but didn’t continue. Zain looked up from the burner he was lighting.
“You would think that the two of you were teenagers caught snogging,” he commented idly.
“Zain!” Salim repeated, scandalized.
Jason, for his part, couldn’t resist smiling. “Can’t say it feels much different, really.”
“Yes, your soul-gazing was very embarrassing,” Zain said, tone light, “at least it wasn’t something worse, like a kiss on the cheek.”
Jason made eye contact with Salim, who seemed mortified. Jason definitely should have been mortified, but he was honestly just relieved by how casual Zain was being about all of it.
“He’s gotta point,” Jason said to Salim.
Salim just shook his head and muttered something under his breath in Arabic, something that made Zain crack a smile. Zain responded in kind, saying something that made Salim’s face color.
Making a decision of his own, he took the few steps necessary to place himself next to Salim and settled against his side. “So, you never finished telling me about mothman,” Jason said to Zain.
Zain’s eyes narrowed. “I know what you’re doing,” he said, pointing at Jason with his tea cup.
“What am I doing?” Jason asked with a feigned innocence, “I’m a college dropout, I don’t do a lotta research myself.” Out of the corner of his eye he could see Salim grinning ear to ear.
“Okay, but you better know what you’re getting into,” Zain responded, taking a seat at the hilariously cluttered table and gesturing at the seat across from him, a partially open backpack hanging haphazardly from the back. Jason raised an eyebrow at Salim and moved to sit across from Zain, dragging Salim along with him.
“I’ve got time,” Jason told him.
[Salim]
“So, I see you’re not wearing your bracelet anymore,” Salim heard Nick say to Jason, the two of them in the next room. Salim continued stirring the contents of the pot and wondered if he intended for this conversation to be heard by him. Not that it mattered much, as Jason and him had already had several conversations about this.
“Nah, it’s not necessary,” Jason responded, casually, “I kinda want everyone to know, anyway.”
“Not that anyone knows what it says,” Nick countered.
“Well, no, but that’s not the point,” Jason told him, “I mean, people could probably guess when they see the writing on my wrist and then see me with Salim.”
“Yeah, they’ll see that you’re a sap,” Nick teased. Salim heard a ‘thwack’ noise from the next room and found his mouth curling into a smile out of fondness.
“You’re one to talk, Mr. ‘Have I Told You How Much I Love My Soulmates,’” Jason said, a statement that was followed by a shuffling noise and what sounded like the table getting hit.
Salim interceded at that point, calling into the next room, “Are you two setting the table or destroying it?”
“We’re just catchin’ up, darlin’!” Jason said, sweetly. Salim rolled his eyes to himself.
“Are they causing trouble?” Rachel asked, stepping into the kitchen carrying several grocery bags. Behind her, Eric carried several more.
“When aren’t they?” Salim said fondly, eyes flicking towards the entry to the next room. Looking then to the bags they were carrying, he said, “You know, this is a relatively small gathering. It looks like you’re prepared to feed an army.”
“We like to eat,” Eric said, simply, placing his bags on the counter.
“More importantly, we like leftovers,” Rachel clarified, sliding her bags on the counter next to Eric’s. Salim heard noise behind him and turned to see that Nick and Jason had joined them.
“I just got a text from Zain,” Jason commented, coming up behind Salim and placing his chin on Salim’s shoulder. “He says he’ll be running late. Apparently he lost track of time working on his dissertation and only just left the campus library.”
“When does he keep track of time?” Salim asked.
“Usually, when there’s food in it for him,” Jason said.
“So,” Jason said, eyes turning to the trio in the kitchen, “how’s life been for the three of you?”
They all looked at each other, as if trying to figure out what exactly to say. While they deliberated, Salim felt Jason’s arms snake around his waist and his mouth brush across the back of his neck in the hint of kiss. Salim got goosebumps at the sensation, but allowed himself to simply enjoy the fact that Jason felt comfortable doing this when they had company. There had been a time when Jason would have only allowed himself to do something so overtly romantic when they were alone, with no prying eyes to judge. Of course, it helped that they could both be assured that the three in the kitchen with them would certainly not judge them.
“It’s been...good,” Nick said, “a bit of a mixed bag, but better, y’know?”
“Yeah, I get that, definitely,” Jason responded, his breath ghosting against Salim’s ear. He smiled to himself.
“Construction work treating you well?” Eric ventured; it was clear to Salim that the relationship between Eric and Jason was held together largely due to Jason’s friendships with Nick and Rachel, but it was nice to see him trying anyway.
“Yeah, same old, same old,” Jason said, shrugging, “the real interesting thing is this guy going to university to get a degree in history. A real smarty-pants, this one.”
“You make it seem like a big deal,” Salim said, softly.
“It is a big deal!” Jason said, enthusiastically, “just because college isn’t for me doesn’t mean that it ain’t impressive.
“It is good that you’re getting the chance to go to university now,” Rachel said, leaning up against the counter. Behind her, Eric and Nick were unpacking the food the three had brought. “We’ll have to talk, sometime.”
“Ah, yes,” Salim said, “I would like that.” And he would. Jason had told him that Rachel was the one he had gone to to translate his mark, and for that he appreciates her immensely, both for the fact that she was willing to, and for the fact that she was willing to keep it to herself so that Jason wouldn’t get in trouble.
“Have y’all gotten any guff for your marks?” Jason asked.
“We keep it on a need to know basis,” Nick said, “and most people don’t need to know.”
“I still haven’t disclosed it, officially,” Eric commented, “but I’m not required to, and they aren’t allowed to ask, so I imagine it won’t go anywhere.”
“Salim,” Rachel said, distracting him from the conversation that Jason was having with Nick and Eric. “What’s that you’re making?”
Salim laughed. “Shepherd’s pie,” he said, “Zain has gotten a taste for it, so I had to learn how to make a halal version, just for him. Don’t worry, I’ve also made biryani.”
“Shepherd’s pie and biryani?” Rachel asked, amused.
“I know, it’s silly, but I didn’t want to make just one or the other, so I made both,” Salim said.
“Why biryani specifically?” Rachel asked.
“It’s Jason’s favorite,” Salim said.
“He likes biryani?” Rachel asked, clearly not believing him.
“Jason is a multifaceted human being who happens to like spicy meat,” Salim said, holding back a grin and staring at the pot in front of him.
“I like many meats,” Jason said, helpfully, in his ear. Salim raised his gaze to the ceiling, and it was only the many years of familiarity that prevented him from getting flustered from Jason’s comment.
Rachel appeared to have heard the comment as well, and was currently trying not to laugh like a child.
“Don’t,” Salim told her, “he doesn’t need the encouragement.”
Then the buzzer went off, and Jason groaned. “I don’t wanna get the door,” he complained.
“So you’ll make our guests welcome my son-” Salim swallowed heavily, at the unbidden thought of ‘our son’ that arose as he spoke, “into our home.”
“Hmm, fair. I am, if nothing else, a gracious host,” Jason said, giving him one last squeeze and a kiss on the jaw before heading off to let Zain in.
“He’s very fond of you,” Eric commented, acknowledging the obvious.
Salim chuckled. “I thank my luck every day that that is true.”
“He’s a menace, is what he is,” Rachel remarked.
“That is also true,” Salim admitted, “and I love him all the more for it.”
“Baba, is that shepherd’s pie I smell?” he heard Zain yell from the entryway of the apartment.
“I told you I was making it,” Salim responded with only a slightly raised voice. The apartment wasn’t large enough for it to be necessary to yell; it was a tight fit, but it was what they could afford in London’s crowded housing market.
“I know,” Zain said, entering the kitchen with Jason trailing behind, “but I knew that Jason wanted biryani, so I wasn’t sure if you really would.”
“He’s making both,” Rachel provided, helpfully.
“Quite the combination,” Zain remarked, “it’s a good thing I like both. Win-win!”
“Did you bring any food to this shindig, Zain?” Jason asked, stilled leaning against the door frame to the kitchen. With all of them in the room it was probably for the best—they were already crowding the room much more than usual.
“Of course,” Zain said, “A friend of mine has been showing me some baking recipes and I wanted to try one out on y’all.”
“So we’re your guinea pigs?” Jason asked at the same time Salim heard Nick whisper to Eric “did he just say y’all?”
“My favorite guinea pigs,” Zain said with a grin.
“I’ve been called worse,” Jason said with a shrug, though the smile on his face indicated he meant it in jest.
“Oh, I know,” Zain remarked, “I’ve heard how you and baba talk to each other.”
Rachel choked on the sip of water she had been taking and Salim could only let out a sigh. This was the life he’d chosen, and he couldn’t say he was displeased with these developments.
"So, when's food ready?" Zain asked.
"Any time, now that you're here," Salim answered, putting the spoon he had been using down, "though I'll need help arranging everything."
"Of course," Eric said, already moving. Nick and Rachel followed closely behind. Jason moved slower, but also approached the oven. The number of people currently attempting to arrange the food in the kitchen was likely more of a hindrance than a help, but it was just enjoyable to have everyone together for such a casual affair.