Chapter Text
Chicken Manchurian: a Pakistani-Chinese dish of fried chicken in a red, ketchup-based sauce containing chilli, garlic, ginger and soy sauce.
-
In the restaurant, Kamran lets go of Kamala’s friend Kareem’s hand, sits down as the other boy does too.
He feels entirely lost.
His family…his family is gone.
His ammi is gone.
He supposes he still has friends? Maybe-friends?
(Kamala.)
(And Bruno.)
(And…and their friends.)
(They’d risked so much to help him…)
But does he still have his only friends?
(The only ones he’s ever really had?)
He still feels the horror of what he’d almost done.
(He’d nearly killed them.)
He has no idea if they have forgiven him, or if they ever will.
(Kamala saved him, but…she’s Kamala.)
(He’s pretty sure she could hate him for what he nearly did to her friends and her family and her home, but would save him anyway.)
(Besides, to save him she had to send him to the other side of the world, so…)
He is pulled out of his thoughts by Kareem pushing a dish towards him, of fragrant, bright-red chicken. The Red Dagger – still a shock and a half, to say the least – scoops some fried rice out of a large bowl into a smaller one and passes it to him. He quirks an eyebrow at Kamran.
‘I promise it has not been poisoned.’ His tone turns wryer, but also fonder. ‘If you don’t trust me, trust the fact that Kamala will annoy me into an early grave if I let you get poisoned.’
That, at least, gets a little smile out of Kamran – which may have been what Kareem was trying to do – and he raises the bowl in a cheers gesture.
‘Thanks, man.’
Kareem waves a hand as if to say don’t worry about it, then starts putting together his own bowl.
Kamran takes a large bite of the chicken, because he is starving.
And the chicken is amazing.
There’s a kick to it that feels comforting, like home.
He probably makes some kind of approving noise – he is starving and it is delicious, he can’t help it.
Kareem smiles at him in a way that is almost a smirk, but somehow doesn’t make him look obnoxious.
‘Good, you can eat spicy food, you can stay.’
He’s clearly teasing, which makes Kamran feel a little more at ease. He swallows his mouthful and replies.
‘American food is good, but it’s a bit…bland.’
Kareem makes a humming noise of agreement around his own rice, though based on the look on his face, he might not think that some American food even counts as food. He then makes a series of gestures to the man at the restaurant’s counter.
Ten minutes later, when most of the fried rice and chicken Manchurian is gone due to the appetites of teen boys, two bowls of steaming hot and sour soup are placed down on the counter. Kareem grabs them and brings them over to their table.
Kamran can smell the chilli already.
He’s just eaten a heap, but he’s definitely got room for this soup.
‘This is the stuff we do not give tourists.’
After a brief moment of consideration – which he disguises as chewing – Kamran smile-smirks back.
‘Like Kamala?’
Kareem shakes his head in a way that is extremely exasperated. Whether it is directed at Kamala or at himself is not clear.
‘Like Kamala.’
-
After their meal, Kareem leads him into the back of the restaurant, through the kitchen…and then through a secret entranceway into Red Dagger Headquarters.
Kamran walks through the corridors after the other teenager with more than a bit of wariness, sticking close to Kareem.
(This is the headquarters, the home, of the people who have hunted his family for decades.)
(This is the headquarters, the home, that his family attacked and breached.)
(If the roles were reversed, if it had been his family’s home…Kareem would not be breathing now.)
They reach an area that looks like sleeping or living quarters, and Kareem opens a door for him and gestures inside.
The room is compact but looks very comfortable and clean. There’s a tiny kitchenette in one corner, a loveseat and a coffee table in another. A desk is in the third corner along with a wardrobe, and there’s a screen around the fourth corner, presumably hiding the bed. There’s a door open, which leads into a small bathroom. The whole room has no windows or natural light – secret headquarters and all – but the furnishings are brightly coloured, giving it a homey sort of feel.
‘This one is yours.’ Kareem gestures to the door on the other side of the hallway. ‘I’m just across the hall.’ He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a smartphone with a smile. ‘I think you’ll like this.’
He smiles wryly in response as he takes it – like every teenager in the world would, Kamran really, really missed his phone.
He looks up at Kareem with his brows raised when he finds that the contacts list has already got several numbers in it.
Kareem’s. Kamala’s.
And Bruno’s and Nakia’s and Zoe’s and even Nakia’s boyfriend Miguel’s.
Kareem should not know their phone numbers.
The Red Dagger just smiles in a way that is almost a smirk, crossing his arms and making a little gesture with his head.
‘I have my ways.’ He pauses for a long moment, his expression turning serious. ‘I’m sorry about your family. Losing one’s family is…very painful.’
Kareem says it like he understands.
(From what little Kamran knows, he does.)
He also says it not as an apology, but as a condolence. He is sorry that Kamran has lost his family, but he’s not sorry for…
Kamran swallows.
‘Did…did you…’
Kareem understands what he is asking.
‘Aadam, yes.’
There’s a wave of anger, but Kamran quenches it.
Aadam died in battle. He’d have been fighting to kill Kareem, so Kareem fought to kill in return. That’s the way of things and the life of a warrior.
(Besides, Aadam was trying to kill Kamala, and Kareem fighting to protect her.)
He takes another deep breath, inclines his head to the Red Dagger.
‘I’m sorry about Waleed.’
He will not apologize for his mother killing who he suspects may have been Kareem’s father-figure, but he will offer his condolences, same as the other boy has.
Kareem inclines his head in response.
‘Thank you.’ He takes a step back towards his own quarters. ‘Sleep well. I promise you’re safe here.’
Kamran doesn’t feel it, all his muscles feel alert in the way they have been trained to be. He can sleep in this state, bear it for days on end – he’s trained for it – but he knows it will not be restful.
(This must be something else that Kareem understands.)
Still, he nods back, and holds a hand out to shake Kareem’s again. The other boy clasps it automatically as Kamran speaks.
‘Thank you.’
Kareem nods again, the look on his face entirely enigmatic. Then, he opens his own door, steps inside and closes it.
Kamran closes the door to what is now his apartment, it seems, and sighs.
He is safe here, he repeats to himself.
Maybe he’ll believe it if he repeats it to himself enough times.
Besides, he reminds himself, even if he isn’t safe here…he’s not safe anywhere else either.
He’s alone.
He allows himself to flop onto the bed, and wipes away the tears that pool in his eyes.
He is seventeen years old, practically a man grown.
His ammi left him all alone inside a prison – one he could not escape from alone.
(She abandoned him.)
And then she died.
But right now, all he really wants is his ammi.
Noor crystals begin to grow on the screen around the bed, and Kamran panics a little, tries to will them away.
They stop growing – mostly, there’s a little corner that seems determined to grow no matter what he thinks – but they do not disappear.
-
Kamran wakes up in the morning and cannot help but breathe a sigh of relief when he finds the Noor crystals gone.
-
Kareem meets him at his door, takes him to the refectory for breakfast, then on a tour of Red Dagger HQ.
After that, Kareem looks him up and down briefly, then gestures back towards the training and gym area.
‘I usually work out around this time…’
He trails off; it’s a clear invitation.
‘A workout sounds great.’
Nothing clears Kamran’s mind, lifts his mood, better.
(Well, except a long drive, and that’s not an option right now.)
-
Kamran adds another weight to each dumbbell, so naturally, Kareem does the same.
Kareem’s going for another set of sit-ups, so naturally, Kamran does the same.
Kareem does a backflip, just because he can, so Kamran does one too, so Kareem goes for the double backflip, which is a touch beyond Kamran.
Though, Kamran can bench a bit more than him, so it’s even.
-
Both of them feel far better than they have in days – for what feels like a long time - when they head for the showers.
-
Kamran’s phone buzzes in his pocket.
He pulls it out, sees another text in a surprisingly-long chain of texts.
(Kamala and Nakia had not quite believed that he was giving his baby to Bruno, so he’d had to send Bruno a few more messages to prove it.)
(He didn’t really get it – he owed Bruno far more than he could ever repay with a Porsche.)
(Money was money. But kindness and generosity, especially at that level…those were rare treasures.)
(At least, they were to him. He hadn’t exactly had a normal childhood; he’d never wanted for money, but…)
Kamran shakes his head, mentally shaking himself out of it, and reads the text.
Hey, Kamala and I have something important to talk to you about. When’s a good time for you?
Kamran swallows.
That’s…that’s faster than he thought.
(Kamala had seemed completely oblivious to Bruno’s feelings for her – something which he wouldn’t believe if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, because Bruno does not hide it well – and he reckons that Kamala was also oblivious to her own feelings.)
(It’s the only logical explanation as to why they are – were – still just best friends.)
(Surely Bruno’s feelings aren’t unreciprocated; he was there when they were reunited…but it was like he wasn’t.)
He sighs, reminds himself that Bruno is a great guy, and more importantly, it’s Kamala’s choice and always has been.
He tells himself that again when it doesn’t seem to stick the first time. Then a third time just to be sure.
It’s just…
It really, really hurts.
It’s just another heartbreak in a fortnight full of them, but it still really, really hurts. In some ways, maybe even more than the other ones, because it’s different.
(Kamala’s the first person who seemed to like him as just Kamran – not a Clandestine, not the cool handsome rich boy with a Porsche - just Kamran.)
(So yeah, it really, really hurts.)
Noor crystals start creeping up the leg of his desk.
No, no that was not what he wanted to happen…
He takes several deep breaths, falling into a familiar cadence.
The crystals stop growing.
But they do not disappear.
-
Kamran stares at the computer screen as Kamala and Bruno sign off, in complete shock.
Kareem, who is sitting next to him, seems less shocked, but Kamran’s relatively sure he just hides it better.
Kamala and Bruno haven’t gotten together, it turns out.
(Well, probably.)
(Neither he nor Kareem had missed her putting a hand over his, in comfort or support, seeking and receiving, when he’d talked about the mutation he’d found…and then not letting go for most of the rest of the call.)
His powers aren’t due to his human-djinn mixed heritage, but a mutation.
(Bruno had said that was just a hypothesis – a very likely hypothesis, but one nonetheless; he needs to look at Kamran’s DNA to be completely certain, but it’s Bruno, Kamran really doesn’t think he’s going to be wrong about something like this.)
Kareem breaks the silence.
‘If you want to send Bruno a DNA sample, I have a friend who can courier it.’
Kamran nods decisively, without hesitation, picking up the real question that Kareem is asking.
‘Bruno’s a good guy…perhaps the best.’ He pauses. ‘I trust him.’
You can too, he doesn’t say, but of course, Kareem hears it.
The Red Dagger nods.
‘I’ll call in that favour, then.’
-
Kamran stares a little in surprise when he opens his door to find Kareem wearing a T-shirt and jeans.
(As far as he’s aware, the other boy only wears dark shalwar with the customary colourful kameez and sadri of the Red Daggers along with the signature bright red scarf.)
(Though, Kareem does seem to be on the slightly less colourful side of the Red Daggers, favouring slightly-muted shades of blue and green.)
Kamran is more surprised when Kareem invites him to a beach bonfire night with his friends.
He is even more surprised when he finds himself saying yes before he can even think about it.
-
‘…my friends are nice, I promise.’
Kareem leads him across the sand, towards a cluster of teens sitting on logs around a fire.
Kamran smiles back at the other boy, a little amazed that he can pick up on the odd nerves he’s feeling.
(He thought he was hiding it rather well.)
(He’s pretty good with people, he reckons. Certainly he’s never had trouble getting himself into a group or getting invites to parties or being asked out on dates…but that’s as the cool, handsome rich boy, not as Kamran.)
(And Kamran’s all he’s got left now.)
(It’s…it’s not easy.)
‘Kareem! We thought you had died!’
The curly-haired girl is clearly joking and does not know just how possible that is.
Kamran and Kareem exchange the briefest of dark-humoured glances, before Kareem laughs and shakes his head.
‘No, no, you cannot get rid of me that easily!’ He gestures at Kamran. ‘Everyone, this is Kamran.’
‘Is this another American, Kimo? Why are you collecting them?’
Kamran looks disbelievingly at Kareem.
(Minced meat. His nickname is minced meat?)
‘Your nickname is-‘
‘Do not say it.’ Kareem’s voice is as dry as the desert as he sits down and grabs two bags of biryani, tossing one to Kamran. ‘It’s a long story.’
The boy with the guitar in a case next to him snorts and grins mischievously, pointing at Kamran with a pair of spoons, before passing one to him and tossing the other to Kareem, who catches it easily with one hand, without even looking.
‘No it’s not-‘
‘Faizaan!’
Kareem actually sounds like a teenager. Kamran almost does a double-take.
‘-he has excellent knife skills, so…’
Faizaan grins as he spreads his hands wide. It’s an easy, genuine expression that somehow manages to make Kamran’s shoulders relax.
He smirks as he opens his bag of biryani.
‘Kimo is very fitting.’
Kareem rolls his eyes and flicks a cardamon pod at Faizaan, hitting him perfectly in the centre of his forehead. Faizaan protests as everyone else laughs.
‘How do you keep doing that? It’s not fair!’
-
‘…there was a bit of a debate amongst the Council…’ Kamran doesn’t know the inner workings of the Order of Red Daggers’ leadership, but he’s pretty sure that Kareem was Waleed’s heir-apparent, and that whatever that means, Kareem is, at minimum, very senior on this Council, if not its Head. ‘…but it’s been decided; it’s all yours now, by rights.’ He pauses. ‘What do you want to do with it?’
Kamran has been thinking about this, ever since the Red Daggers started tracking down the Clandestines’ assets.
‘How much info do you need to find someone’s bank details?’
(Money is money. Kindness and generosity are rare treasures.)
(But he’s learned that when you don’t have much of it, money can do you so much good.)
Kareem gives that smile-smirk of his.
‘A lot less info than you want to think.’
Kamran resolves that he’s not going to think about exactly how little Kareem needs, and continues.
‘You – the Red Daggers – should keep the rest.’
As debts repaid. As restitution. Because they – unlike his family, he’s learned – will do something good with it.
‘Thank you.’ Kareem inclines his head in acceptance, but then looks Kamran in the eye, voice surprisingly gentle when he speaks. ‘But you should keep some of it for yourself.’
-
(Kamran does, but not as much as Kareem thinks he should.)
(He has debts to repay.)
-
Kamran gets out of the shower after a long training session with Kareem, trying to learn how to control his powers, following the program Waleed had used with Kamala.
Progress has been…slow, to say the least. Maybe non-existent if he is painfully honest.
(It’s frustrating, and he’ll never admit it, but it stings his pride and ego too.)
(It’s just like when he failed his driving test the first time. He’s a car guy, and he failed his driving test?)
(Kamran has been training to be a warrior since he was a small child. He’s a warrior, and he can’t even control his own body?)
He takes several deep breaths, before more unwanted crystals appear.
He has to maintain control.
He is the master of his body, he is the master of his powers, he is the master of his own emotions.
Deep breath in. Deep breath out.
No crystals begin to coat his bathroom.
He dresses quickly, spreads out as much as he can on his loveseat and grabs his laptop.
Kamran smiles as he begins to stream the latest episode of the Great British Bake-Off.
(It’s a guilty pleasure.)
(One that he’s been indulging in more lately.)
(It’s comforting. Simple. Happy. Soothing.)
(The world inside the Bake-Off Tent is a happier, lighter, kinder world.)
(And the baked goods look delicious.)
(He’s a teenage boy, who trains hard every day. Kamran has a very large appetite.)
(And…he doesn’t have a disapproving Ammi to conceal his Bake-Off habit from anymore.)
-
It happens slowly, but it happens.
Over the months, he relaxes not only in his apartment, but in the hallways, in the refectory, in the training halls and the gyms.
He realizes, over many a video chat and meals ‘shared’, that not only has Kamala forgiven him, not only has Bruno forgiven him, but so have Nakia and Zoe and Miguel, and that somehow, they would still like to be his friends.
He and Kareem bond, over the training Kareem is doing with him, over their shared workouts and shared meals. Somehow, he has another friend who likes Kamran.
(Faizaan and the others seem to like just Kamran too.)
It surprises him, but he’s seizing it with both hands, this place in the sun, this light.
(He’s tired of living in the shadows and on the run.)
(He had probably tired of it but not realized a long time ago.)
(Kamala shone, with something bright and warm and kind and good. Maybe that was why he’d been drawn to her, wanted to be close to her, wanted her.)
(Or perhaps it’d just been something magical, something special, that defies description.)
(He’d just known, after all.)
(‘You with me?’)
(‘Always was.’)
And somehow, all the Red Daggers are civil to him.
(There’s tension, sure, a couple of macho moments with a couple of younger male Daggers, but still, everyone is civil and that’s more than he ever thought he’d get.)
(Some of the older Daggers seem to avoid him, or look a little sad or angry when they see him.)
(He can’t hold that against them; the Red Daggers and the Clandestines spent decades at war.)
The elderly lady, Hazeema, who serves as Chief Archivist always smiles kindly at him, always checks that he and Kareem have eaten enough (or more than enough, they are growing boys and they train so hard, after all).
(Kamran has never had a nani, but he reckons it must be a little bit like that.)
And he came with nothing but the clothes on his back, a note with an address, and a second-hand plea for refuge, but now he has a studio apartment of his own, a phone, a laptop and a wardrobe of clothes.
(He now has T-shirts and jeans, but also shalwar and Red Dagger kameez and sadri that must have been made for him, because they fit perfectly, and they’re in dark charcoal and deep maroon and muted dark blue, the patterns subtle, the colours dark and dull.)
He even has a set of knives.
(Knives aren’t his preferred weapon, but he’d felt utterly naked without weapons at all, something that Kareem clearly understood, because he’d gotten him armed as soon as he could.)
So, one day, when they’re sitting in Kamran’s apartment after a hang-out with Kamala, Bruno, Nakia, Zoe and Miguel, Kamran catches Kareem’s eye, speaks seriously.
‘Thank you, for taking me in. I mean, I know you did it for Kamala, but-‘
Kareem just arches a brow at him.
‘Do you really think I got the entire Order of the Red Daggers to take you in merely because I am… fond of an American girl?’ Kareem shakes his head. ‘I’m charming, but I am not that charming.’ His tone and expression turn serious. ‘We took you in because you were a child, led astray by the only family you’ve ever known.’ He pauses. ‘And yet, you chose to do the right thing at great cost to yourself.’
It takes a moment for Kamran to process that. He blames (thanks?) his newfound friendship for what comes out of his mouth next.
‘I…I don’t know if I’d have done it if not for Kamala.’ It feels like a confession. Of his sins? Of who he is? Of who he was born to be? ‘She…she made me want to do better.’
Kareem looks at him, like he can hear all the things Kamran doesn’t say.
‘She does have that effect on people.’ He shrugs. ‘Apparently, her great-grandfather did too.’ He pauses, looks right at Kamran. ‘But inspiration aside…you were the one who made the choice. Not her.’
Kamran swallows, wanting his reply to come out a little flippant, like this isn’t bothering him, but he fails miserably.
‘I don’t think it was some selfless, noble thing…’
(He’s a Clandestine, born and raised.)
(He’s not sure if he can be selfless and noble, even if he’d like to learn.)
Kareem waves a hand, dismissing the thought.
‘No one is completely selfless and pure of intention.’
‘Some people are more so than others.’
They’re now long-distance friends with several of those people.
Kareem nods as if it say, fair point, but presses on.
‘Yes, but those people are rare…’ They do seem to find each other, though. Birds of a feather. ‘…and cannot save the world without us.’ Kareem picks up the last of his lassi from the coffee table and chugs it down before he continues. ‘Someone needs to step into the shadows. Someone needs to do what has to be done.’
Sometimes you need to actually try and cause hurt, sometimes you need to kill, because some people will not stop for pleas or consequences or imprisonment, and those people can’t do it, he doesn’t say, but Kamran hears it, clear as day.
(He and Kareem aren’t even legal adults yet – though they will be very soon.)
(But even if Kamala hadn’t saved those Damage Control agents, they wouldn’t have been the first people he’d killed.)
(And he would bet anything that Aadam wasn’t the first kill Kareem had had to make either.)
Kareem knows the shadows the way their friends in Jersey City don’t.
But he still walks in the light most days, and is still a good man, someone who does good.
Kamran doesn’t think he’ll ever be pure, free from the shadows.
(The shadows are probably his birth right. In his blood, in his bones, in his genes.)
But he will learn to do what Kareem – and the other Red Daggers – do.
Do good.
(Live in the light, slip into the shadows to do what must be done to protect the innocent.)
-
They are putting their freshly-cleaned lassi glasses and the bowl that’d held channa chaat away when Kamran realizes something.
‘What do you mean the only family I’ve ever known?’ The way Kareem said it, it hadn’t quite been like a figure of speech. There was something more to it. ‘The Clandestines were my only family…right?’
Kareem puts the bowl away, closes the cupboard door, then turns around to face Kamran.
‘Do you know anything about your father?’
Kamran shakes his head.
‘I don’t have one.’
Kareem arches a brow, voice extremely dry.
‘Do I need to explain how reproduction works to you?’
‘No, no, I know that…’ Kamran shakes his head and sighs. ‘I just.... I never asked. Never thought about it.’ He shrugs, looking up at Kareem and feeling rather stupid. Foolish. He had been very foolish for years, never questioning his ammi, and it seemed like he still was. ‘The Clandestines were my family.’ That had just been a fact. ‘I had an ammi. No abbu.’ He shrugs. ‘I guess I must have assumed Ammi went to a sperm bank or something?’
(Now that he says it out loud, he feels very, very stupid and foolish.)
(His grades don’t show it, and Kamran really doesn’t think he’s dumb…but he might be a fool.)
(He’d thought Bruno’s name was Brian, because he’d listened to Josh – who bullied Bruno relentlessly.)
(He trusted his ammi, trusted she loved him, trusted she’d never hurt him, trusted she’d never abandon him, and wasn’t he a fool?)
(He knew she’d loved him, and he still loved her, because, despite everything, she was his Ammi, who’d taught him to fight and bought his favourite foods and given him the car he’d dreamed of for his sixteenth birthday and showed him all of SRK’s best works and had a weird crush on Kingo Senior…)
(But it was messy. Complicated. Painful.)
But Kareem doesn’t call him a fool, or smirk teasingly and shake his head to say it in gentler, kinder tones.
Instead, he just looks very, very sad.
‘I wish she had.’ He steps towards the door. ‘Come with me.’
-
Kareem leads him to the Archives, into a small, private room off the side.
He goes to the computer, types in a password, and a photo of a man in his late twenties appears. He has the Red Dagger scarf tied around his face. Kareem taps a key, and the photo changes, the man no longer wearing the scarf.
Kamran’s eyes go very, very wide.
The face is very familiar.
It is extremely reminiscent of the one he sees in the mirror.
Kareem walks over, clasps his shoulder.
‘Your father was a Red Dagger.’ Grief crosses his face. ‘One of our best, Waleed said. His best friend, too.’ Kareem squeezes his shoulder again, then continues. ‘He was captured by the Clandestines, and…’ Kareem, Kamran knows, has seen many horrors, but even he looks a little disturbed as he continues. ‘…he did not have a say in your, uh, birth.’
Kamran feels rather ill.
It takes all his willpower to not throw up into the trash can by the door, actually.
Kareem eyes him like a hawk for a moment, like he’s ready to catch him if he faints. Kamran motions for the other boy to go on, because he knows there’s at least a little more to say, and he can take it.
‘Waleed was able to recover his body…’ That grief flashes across Kareem’s face again. ‘And he was buried with all our honours.’ He pauses. ‘Would you like to visit his grave?’
Kamran nods.
‘Please.’
Kareem squeezes his shoulder again.
‘We’ll go tomorrow.’
-
Eventually, Kamran feels steady enough to leave the room, and the two of them head out to the main area of the Archive.
Hazeema, the Chief Archivist, takes one look at the two of them, and ushers them into her office.
In short order, Kamran and Kareem find themselves herded onto a comfy couch by the elderly lady, who then bustles about brewing all three of them cups of chai, refusing all offers of assistance.
‘…you should have told me earlier you were telling him today, beta! This is not a story you can tell without prior warning…’ Hazeema shakes her head as she presses a cup of chai into Kamran’s hands. He ducks his head in thanks, and she pats the top of his head affectionately, before continuing to scold Kareem, pushing a mug of chai on him all the while. ‘Your young legs may be able to walk quickly, but that does not mean you need to do everything in haste!’
Kareem looks chastised. It’s an odd look on him. He, too, bows his head to the Archivist.
‘I should have deferred to your wisdom, Nani.’
It is not dry or witty or sarcastic, though he does smile in a way that makes Hazeema huff and shake her head.
(It’s an affectionate gesture nonetheless. This, Kamran thinks, is what it is like to have a nani.)
‘And you will forget that next time anyway, because you think you know best…’ She mutters something about the folly of youth, and goes back to her desk, rummaging in a drawer and pulling out a Tupperware container. She walks back over and sits down in the armchair opposite the couch, putting the container on the coffee table and taking a long sip of her own chai. She gestures at the box, then at Kamran. ‘You look like you need something to eat, open it.’
Kamran does as he is told, and sets down his mug of chai to open the box.
Inside, there are a dozen chocolate-chip cookies that are so perfectly-imperfect that they look like they’re straight from a Hollywood movie set, where they were ‘made’ by someone’s loving, doting mother or grandmother.
However, they also smell like cloves and cardamon and cinnamon.
Kamran takes one, and bites into it.
It is incredible.
This may be the most delicious, comforting thing he’s ever eaten in his life.
It’s like…it’s like someone managed to put a hug from Nani into a cookie.
(Well, what he thinks a hug from Nani would be like, anyway.)
Kamran swallows his mouthful, and gestures with his head at the rest of the cookie.
‘These are amazing.’ He looks at Hazeema. ‘Did you bake them? You really need to enter these into a bake-off!’
Kareem looks at him funny as he chews on his own cookie. Hazeema chuckles and shakes her head.
‘No, no, my granddaughter made them.’ She addresses Kareem for a moment. ‘The one I told you about, who has moved to Karachi for university?’ The old woman looks very proud at that. ‘She lives with my sister, but she’ll be here for training, especially during her university breaks.’ Hazeema’s expression turns wry. ‘It’ll be good to have a young person to zip around the shelves; I am getting far too old for this…’
Kareem shakes his head, his voice teasing.
‘And here I thought you would simply live forever to run the Archive forever, Nani.’ There is another huff at his impudence, just as fond as the last. ‘I look forward to a knife-throwing contest; if she’s half as good as I hear you were in your prime, she will give me a run for my money!’
Hazeema shakes her head again, nudging the box of cookies closer to the two teenagers.
‘You are too charming for your own good, Kareem. I would tell you to save your flattery for young ladies, but then perhaps you will find yourself married before you are ready, no?’ Kamran can’t help but give a little snort into his chai at that. Kareem looks very called out. It’s hilarious. He wishes he had gotten a photo. Hazeema then turns her attention to Kamran. ‘I will pass your compliments to my granddaughter, of course. And your suggestion she enter…a bake-off?’
-
‘A bake-off?’
Kareem arches a brow at Kamran as they walk back to their apartments.
Kamran spreads his hands earnestly.
‘Yes, a bake-off. You know, a baking contest, like the Great British Bake-Off?’
Kareem’s eyebrows rise further.
‘No, I do not know.’
‘You’ve never heard of the Great British Bake-Off?’
Kamran is utterly incredulous; surely everyone has heard of the Great British Bake-Off, it’s the Great British Bake-Off!
‘No.’
Kareem’s answer conveys an awful lot in a look and a single word: this is Pakistan, and I am very busy, and you are familiar with a baking show?
Kamran crosses his arms. Apparently, it is his turn to feel called out.
‘Hey, the Great British Bake-Off is iconic, and it’s for everyone.’
-
Kamran is focused on the bag in front of him, punching it with his wrapped hands, making sure he’s staying light on his feet. He’s in the zone, when suddenly…
There is a green glow, and the bag goes flying across the room.
Kareem, who’d leapt nimbly over the Noor crystals, eyes the punching bag in the corner, then glances at Kamran.
‘Perhaps it is time for a break?’
-
‘…I should be able to do it, why can’t I do it?’
Kamran almost punches the floor in frustration. The training room is full of jagged Noor crystals, which was absolutely not his intention. He takes several deep breaths, willing the crystals to go away.
His powers are part of him. He should be able to control them the way he controls his arms or legs, or a weapon in his hands.
Kareem extricates himself from the Noor, bending and ducking easily in ways that would make most people ache just watching it. He places a consoling hand on Kamran’s shoulder.
‘You trained your whole life to get the control over your body that you have.’ He pauses. ‘You cannot expect to get the same control of your powers in just a few months…’
Kamran shakes his head, still trying to release that frustration.
‘Thanks, man, but we both know I am so far from having control at all-‘
Noor crystals start spreading out from where he is kneeling on the floor.
Kamran takes several more slow, deep breaths. The crystals stop spreading. He looks up at Kareem as if to say, see?
Kareem sighs. Kamran knows that the fact that the Red Daggers’ training program – which worked so well for Kamala – is not working for him does frustrate the other boy. He pulls a knife from his thigh holster and uses it to shatter the crystals encasing his feet, then reaches out a hand to help pull Kamran to his feet and claps him on the back.
‘It’s not easy.’
‘It was for Kamala.’
Kamran’s response comes out bitter, his pride and ego hurting. It was definitely nowhere near this hard for Kamala, had not taken months upon months of daily intensive training.
And Kamala is incredible and magical, but she is also a girl who had never fought or trained a day in her life before she’d gotten her powers.
Perhaps that’s it.
She is incredible and magical and shines and is so good, and he is everything but.
(He’s trying to learn, but…the shadows are a part of him.)
Kareem eyes him like a hawk, like he can read everything that he doesn’t say on his face, and claps Kamran on the back again.
‘This is not some moral failing, Kamran.’ He shrugs, something wry crossing his face. ‘Perhaps Kamala is just several kinds of special.’
He’s not wrong there.
Kamran takes a deep breath.
‘Maybe…’ He takes another one. ‘Alright, let me try again…’
-
One morning, Kareem comes to Kamran’s door with a grin on his face, a little reminiscent of a cat who’d gotten the cream.
‘I’ve got a present for you.’
Kamran crosses his arms, leans against the doorframe.
‘Am I going to like it? Or are you going to?’
Kareem doesn’t seem to play pranks; he’s just a smartass who would probably be incredibly annoying if he wasn’t so charismatic.
(It’s kinda unfair.)
(If he wasn’t such a great guy – and the best friend Kamran has ever had – he’d be jealous.)
(Sometimes he might be, just a little.)
Still, Kamran would completely believe that Kareem has been playing a very, very long game with some very elaborate prank.
Kareem’s grin widens.
‘Why not both?’ He reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a whip-sword. One that looks an awful lot like Kamran’s, the one that’d been confiscated by Damage Control. He passes it to Kamran, who takes it, feeling the weight and the balance in his hands. It feels very familiar, shockingly so, which makes him look enquiringly at Kareem. The Red Dagger shrugs in a way that seems a touch too casual; Kamran thinks he’s getting better at reading him. ‘Know your enemy.’ He smiles, a softer, gentler expression than usual. ‘And know your friend.’
Kamran hugs him.
Kareem seems a little surprised, but hugs him back with equal enthusiasm.
-
Kamran deflects one of Kareem’s knives with a flick of his whip-sword, then leaps to the side to evade a second one, before going on the offence. Kareem, however, does some ridiculous backflip manoeuvre, before using the wall to leap over Kamran – and out of range of his sword.
-
It ends in a stalemate.
Both exhausted, the two teenagers flop onto the floor, side by side.
‘That is the most fun I’ve had in ages.’
Kamran turns his head to look at Kareem, expression earnest.
‘You need to get out more, man.’ Kareem gives him a look. ‘But yeah, that was awesome.’
-
‘…so this is just a show about baking. Nothing really happens. And the biggest possible crime is a…soggy bottom?’
Kareem is entirely unimpressed.
Kamram blinks, gaping a little, not quite believing it.
‘…well, yes, you’re not wrong, but…’ He gestures nebulously. ‘It’s the Great British Bake-Off, man!’
-
In the middle of the night, Kamran is woken by terrible pain.
The sensation is familiar, as much as he wishes it wasn’t.
It’s like being torn apart from the inside.
He forces his eyes open, to find that his room is practically filled with a forest of twisted, jagged, glowing Noor crystals.
He forces himself to his feet, doubled over in pain.
Another, stronger wave passes through him, and he cannot contain it any longer.
Kamran screams.
The Noor crystals explode.
-
Kareem is woken in the middle of the night by a tremor. A small earthquake…or a medium-sized blast at close proximity.
He jumps out of bed, knife from under his pillow already in hand, grabbing his thigh holster with his other and strapping it on in an instant, before running out of his door.
There are Noor crystals growing out of the gap under Kamran’s door.
Nothing else seems off, barring other Red Daggers emerging from their rooms, just as alert and armed as he.
(They have reinforced walls and ceilings, of course.)
Without hesitation, Kareem flings open Kamran’s door.
-
Kamran is on his knees in the middle of his apartment, which has mostly been taken over by Noor crystals, jagged and threatening.
He looks up at Kareem. His eyes are glowing green. His face is contorted in pain, but Kareem can see shades of that frustrated-yet-determined, struggling-yet-resolute expression Kamran wears at their daily training sessions.
(‘…let me try again.’)
Despite Kamran’s struggle to bring his powers under control, he cries out in pain again, face contorting further, clutching at his abdomen.
Kareem dodges a crystal tendril that grows threateningly close to him on its way out the door, feels a wind of sorts as what can only be called a crystal storm begins to spread and strengthen.
Kareem has trained from when he was a very small boy to be a Red Dagger.
He knows how to make the right decision – the necessary decision – in only an instant. He knows what needs to be done.
Kamran is not going to get control of this crystal storm.
Not before it causes huge destruction and damage – to both property and people – first.
If he can ever get control at all.
Kareem pulls a dart from his holster and throws.
He does not miss.
-
Seconds after Kamran is struck by the dart, his eyes roll back into his head and he flops to the ground like a sack of potatoes.
The crystal storm stops blowing. The crystal tendrils stop growing. Slowly, they begin to subside, to disappear.
As soon as the crystals allow him, Kareem runs into the room to crouch by his friend’s side, murmuring a prayer-plea for forgiveness.
He rolls Kamran into the recovery position.
(Alhamdulillah the sedation dart worked.)
He checks his pulse and his breathing.
Both are strong and steady.
Kareem picks up the other boy, putting him over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry, and makes for the infirmary as fast as he can.
-
Kamran wakes up in the infirmary, that terrible pain greatly lessened.
Kareem is sitting by his right, leaning back comfortably in his chair, one ankle resting on his other knee, foot jiggling. The other boy is holding his phone like he was reading something on it and seems unconcerned, but Kamran does not buy it.
In contrast, Hazeema, who is sitting on his other side and is leaning over him, makes no attempt to hide her worry and subsequent relief.
Kareem smiles, putting his phone away.
‘Oh, good, you’re awake. You were worrying Nani Hazeema.’
(Yup. Definitely not buying it.)
Hazeema snorts.
‘Yes, beta, you have been sitting here for the last six hours because you have been so worried about my poor old heart.’
Kareem grabs a glass of water from the nightstand next to him, helps Kamran sit up and drink as he replies.
‘Good Archivists are not easy to find and worth their weight in gold, Nani.’ He pulls out a protein bar from one of his many hidden pockets and hands it to Kamran. ‘And you are worth your weight in vibranium.’
Hazeema shakes her head in that so very exasperated, but so very fond way.
‘And your tongue is made of silver.’ She makes a disapproving noise as Kamran opens the protein bar. ‘I will go get you some proper food, you certainly won’t feel any better eating that…’
Hazeema shuffles off, and Kamran puts down the protein bar – because as handy as protein bars are, real food is superior – and reaches out to clasp Kareem’s forearm.
‘Thanks, man.’
Kareem clasps his forearm in return, and they lock eyes for a beat, a silent conversation passing between them. Kareem nods, then Kamran, before Kareem speaks.
‘Don’t worry about it, brother.’
-
After the Incident, Kamran spends several days being fussed over by Hazeema and Kareem.
(He refuses to tell Kamala about the Incident, so there’s no long-distance fussing and worry from her, but Hazeema and Kareem seem determined to make up for it.)
(Hazeema will probably at least admit to the fussing.)
(Kareem will not, even under torture.)
Hazeema’s granddaughter – whom he has still never met – even fusses by proxy?
(Kamran’s not used to being fussed over. Let alone by proxy.)
He receives a note via Hazeema written on actual fancy paper printed with jasmine flowers and vines; I hope you enjoy, get well soon! is written in flowing cursive.
This is accompanied by a box containing a dozen sweet bread rolls, studded with chopped cashews, almonds and pistachios, as well as plump raisins. The bread dough itself is flavoured with cardamon and rosewater.
The bread is delicious, and while he’s certainly far from being an expert, they do somehow taste like fussing.
(He makes sure to pass his thanks and his compliments on the rolls back to Hazeema’s granddaughter via the Archivist.)
(Throwing away the note seems wrong, so he tucks it away in a drawer as a keepsake.)
And somehow, even if there’s a bit of wariness from the other Red Daggers, they’re all still civil to him, and he can tell that most are making an effort to not let their wariness affect their actions.
They’re good people, brave people.
-
‘…why can’t I- no, no, no!’
Kamran curses in Urdu as Noor crystals grow up the walls and across the ceiling. Then, he forces himself to calm, to take deep breaths.
Being frustrated, being angry, just makes it worse.
(But it’s so, so hard not to be.)
(It’s been closer to a year than months now, and he is no closer to getting control of his powers.)
Kareem ducks nimbly around the Noor – which is stubbornly refusing to recede – and holds out a hand to help him to his feet. Kamran takes it with a nod of thanks, getting to his feet and running a hand over his hair.
Kareem holds on for a beat longer than necessary, then looks Kamran straight in the eye, voice serious.
‘I think we need help.’ He gestures at the Noor crystals, which still have not vanished. ‘This is not working.’
Kamran makes a noise that is mostly frustration, but tinged with anger. He then makes an apologetic gesture to Kareem, ducking his head.
His friend does not deserve his anger, not at all.
‘And who would know what will work?’
‘They might not know what will work, but Kamala may have ideas, and Bruno.’
Kamala is the only other person in the world with powers that resemble Kamran’s. And she has total control, can use her powers to do all sorts of amazing things, has managed to come up with more innovative uses in the near-year since she became Ms Marvel.
And Bruno knows her powers better than anyone except Kamala herself, and understands the underlying biochemistry or genetics or whatever it is better than anyone, full stop. He had also devised her initial training program, which had honestly been pretty successful.
(Especially now that they know gaining control of one’s Noor is definitely, certainly not easy.)
Kamran is already shaking his head as Kareem finishes his sentence.
(He suspects that’s why the Red Dagger hasn’t suggested this before, has just come up with more ideas himself – Kareem already knew what his answer would be.)
‘I…I can’t ask that of them.’ He swallows. ‘I won’t.’
He turns and walks out of the training room.
-
Some of it is pride.
But the rest…
They’ve helped him so much, sacrificed so much for him already…
He refuses to take any more of their time and energy, especially now, since they’ve both finally figured things out.
(That still makes his heart ache.)
(But the ache has lessened, truly.)
(They say time heals all wounds.)
-
‘…it’s a good surprise, I promise!’
Kareem, a smile-smirk on his face, leads Kamran through Red Dagger HQ.
Kamran puts his hands up.
‘Hey, I never suggested it wasn’t, man…’
Kareem looks at him. Kamran sighs and nods as if saying, fair point.
(Kareem had been gone for a couple of days on a mission. He had returned and almost-immediately found Kamran because he had a surprise for him, that smile-smirk affixed to his face.)
(Kamran reckons he can’t be blamed for being a little…sceptical.)
Kareem leads him into HQ’s garage, opening a single-vehicle bay.
The door slides up to reveal a 2022 Aston Martin DBS Superleggera.
Kamran is both extremely excited and in awe – this is an incredible car – and also horrified, because the poor lady looks like she’s been through a car chase with James Bond at the wheel. Maybe two.
‘What happened to her?’
Kareem, to his credit, looks a little sheepish.
‘I may or may not have needed a getaway car.’ It is Kamran’s turn to give him a look. ‘There was a madman trying to open a portal to the Noor dimension to bind a djinn to him to grant him wishes…’ Another look. ‘Yes, I know, he was an idiot. Unfortunately, he had some rather overzealous bodyguards…’ That explains the two bullet holes in the bumper. ‘…but he did have good taste in cars.’ Kareem gestures to the car. ‘As I have now confiscated this very nice car, and since the previous owner will certainly have no need of it any longer…’ He had been sent to simply steal the artefact the madman had been trying to use to access the Noor dimension and destroy whatever records the man had been using to reconstruct the ritual to rip a hole in the Veil. He had, however, stumbled upon the man trying to sacrifice his entire staff of servants – except his overzealous bodyguards – to enact the ritual. Kareem had killed him to save the servants, then used the ensuring chaos to steal the artefact back and destroy the records of the ritual. Unfortunately for him, and the Aston Martin, the chaos had subsided by the time he was done with that, hence the need for a getaway car. His expression softens. ‘…I thought you would be an appropriate new owner.’
Kamran blinks, completely astounded.
‘Are…are you sure?’
Kareem nods, gesturing to another bay where he and a couple other Daggers keep their motorbikes.
‘I’m rather attached to my current ride, and its superior manoeuvrability.’ His expression softens again. ‘I know you miss your Porsche…’ His tone turns teasing, but no less affectionate. ‘…and nothing can ever replace her in your heart…’ Kareem puts a hand over his own heart. Kamran can’t help but smile. ‘…but I hope this will help.’
Kareem reaches out, and Kamran clasps his hand, before Kareem pulls him into a hug.
‘Thanks, man.’
Kareem nods in acknowledgement, as if to say, no worries, of course, then smirks teasingly.
‘I’ll leave you two alone to get acquainted!’
He closes the garage door behind him, and Kamran pats the hood of his new car, still not quite believing it.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll get you all fixed up…’ Kamran knows a lot about cars, though admittedly, his experience in repairing them hands-on is minimal. Still, that’s what YouTube is for, and perhaps one of the Red Dagger mechanics might be willing to help out, if only for a chance to work on such a beautiful car. ‘Kimo really doesn’t know how to treat a lady like you, does he?’
-
‘…oh, it was hilarious; the four of them spent a fortnight doing extra cleaning duties in the refectory, but claimed it was worth it.’ Hazeema’s eyes sparkle with mirth and she leans over to stage-whisper to Kamran. ‘It really was!’ She gestures at him with the walking stick she carries everywhere but he is not convinced she actually needs. ‘Eat, beta, eat, don’t just listen to an old woman’s ramblings!’
They’re not the ramblings of an old woman; they’re stories about his father, and his father’s dearest friends – Kareem’s parents: his mother, his father and Waleed.
(Kamran has spent most of his downtime the last couple of days with Hazeema in her office; Kareem is away on a mission again, and he’s not really comfortable enough with the other Red Daggers to socialize with them, though he’s starting to get along pretty well with a couple of the mechanics, he thinks.)
But still, he does as bade, eats another spoonful of the sticky toffee pudding Hazeema’s granddaughter had made yesterday.
(Unlike traditional sticky toffee pudding, she’s added chopped almonds, cashews and pistachios, as well as some raisins to the batter, and there is cardamon-and-saffron-infused evaporated milk to pour over the top instead of ice-cream and caramel sauce.)
(As always, it is delicious.)
-
‘…come on, Kimo, just one song?’
Faizaan holds out his guitar to Kareem, who looks around the circle, then takes it with a sigh and a shake of his head, fondly exasperated.
‘I’m a little out of practice…’
That gets a couple of eye-rolls, also fondly exasperated, as he starts to play, a beautiful melody, complex and bright and just a tiny bit melancholy.
Kamran, surprised, glances around the circle, catches Faizaan’s eye. The other boy grins in that easy way of his.
‘Our Kimo has hidden depths!’
Kareem rolls his eyes in response to that, though he does not stumble the slightest as he plays.
He’s very, very good.
And though he hands the guitar back to Faizaan after that one song, he seems lighter, younger, happier having played.
-
‘I didn’t know you played.’
Kamran says that as the two of them head back home. Kareem shrugs in response.
‘I don’t get to much anymore.’
He’s very busy.
(The Clandestines are gone, but so is Waleed, and there are always other-dimensional threats,and he is a Red Dagger and must stand between the world and them.)
(And Kamran needs his help, and he is more than willing to give all he has to help him.)
(Kamran is his best friend – with apologies to Faizaan, but there is a part of him and his life that the easy-going boy will never know or understand.)
‘You should!’ Kamran’s expression is very earnest. Sometimes, Kareem really wonders how a boy raised by Najma has this earnestness in him. ‘You’re really good, and clearly it’s your thing, you should make time.’ Kareem does miss playing guitar, does wish his wasn’t gathering dust in a corner of his wardrobe anymore. But he doesn’t think he has the time. Kamran stops walking, puts a hand on his shoulder, clearly refusing to let this one go. ‘Come on, man, who’s the one who’s always telling me we’re done with training for the day, go spend some time with your lady?’
(He does not quite understand Kamran’s love for his car.)
(He’s admittedly very fond of his own trusty motorbike, but he does not refer to it as a her or his baby or his lady.)
(It is a motorbike. Not a girlfriend.)
(But what he does know is that his friend is always calmer, happier, lighter in a way that makes him seem younger, after spending a good afternoon working on restoring his beloved Aston Martin to all her glory.)
-
Kamran is right.
(It had been Waleed who had encouraged him to keep up his friendships outside the Daggers, keep making time to sit by a fire on the beach and eat biryani and play the guitar with them.)
(It was Waleed who had all but forced him to in those hard days when he was fourteen and his mother had just been killed.)
(‘If you cannot live, you cannot save lives, Kareem. You will forget what makes the fight worthwhile and righteous.’)
(Without his mentor to remind him, the lesson had faded, until Kamran had reminded him.)
The next morning, Kareem pulls out his guitar, dusts it off.
Eagle-eyed Hazeema asks for a song a few days later, and he obliges.
The next time he and Kamran go to see his friends, he brings his guitar, plays a couple duets with Faizaan.
He does not miss the extra pieces of milk barfi that are slipped to Kamran by his friends in thanks.
-
Kamran wakes up, being torn apart from the inside.
Kareem wakes up, woken by a blast.
-
Kamran can do nothing but kneel on the floor, doubled over in pain, rendered incapable of trying to get some control.
Kareem can do nothing but dodge through the crystals, throw the dart – he does not miss – and then carry his friend to the infirmary.
-
Kamran wakes up in the infirmary again, Kareem on his right, pretending to casually read something on his phone, and Hazeema on his left. The elderly woman is alternating between bickering with Kareem and clucking worriedly over Kamran.
After a couple of minutes of fussing, she gets up to fetch Kamran some food – saying she’ll get some for Kareem too, she supposes, fooling neither of them – and gives Kareem a very pointed look.
Of course Kareem has charmed Hazeema to his side, Kamran thinks resentfully. He takes a deep breath, then another, trying to release that anger.
(Kareem and Hazeema mean well, they really do.)
(But this is his story, his debts, his burden to bear.)
‘Kamran, you need-‘
‘No.’
They stare at each other in a stand-off for a long moment, before Kareem gives in.
‘I might have another idea we can try…’
-
‘…you make a compelling argument.’ Kareem’s smile turns into a teasing smirk. ‘Both of you.’
Kamran, at the wheel of his newly-fully-restored Aston Martin, grins proudly, and gives his baby an affectionate pat.
‘Maybe we can convert him, eh?’
(The Red Dagger is of the belief that motorcycles are superior.)
Kareem chuckles, shaking his head.
‘Oh, no, not that easily.’ The teasing smirk returns. ‘It’s not just about looks or speed or size, you know. Manoeuvrability and flexibility are far more valuable qualities.’
‘Nah, I think we can change your mind.’ He takes the keys out of the ignition, holds them out to Kareem. ‘As long as you’re more careful than last time…’
Kareem takes the keys, nods solemnly, even as a fondly exasperated look goes across his face.
‘I will treat her as if she were my own, I promise.’
-
Kamran wakes up, being torn apart from the inside.
Kareem wakes up, woken by a blast.
-
Kareem throws a dart.
He does not miss.
-
Kamran wakes up in the infirmary, a worried Kareem on his right, a worried Hazeema on his left.
Kareem asks again.
Kamran says no again.
-
Several hours later, they’re having dinner with their New Jersey friends (who are eating snacks, because it’s morning over there).
The American teens are all curled up on Zoe’s family’s astoundingly white leather couch, telling them a story about something funny that happened at school that week, involving a mascot suit, the janitor’s cupboard and several pints of milk?
(It’s kinda hard to make out the exact story because they keep detouring into other stories. Mostly, it’s Kamala’s fault.)
(Kareem looks at Kamran, eyebrows raised.)
(Kamran just shrugs. American high school is weird.)
‘Hey, Kamran, are you okay?’
Bruno interrupts the conversation, voice concerned.
(He’s been studying Kamran with concern on his face for about thirty seconds, like he’s debating whether he should say something.)
(A voice in Kamran’s head that sounds like his ammi whispers that it’s because he doesn’t want Kamala – his girlfriend – worrying over Kamran.)
(The voice in Kamran’s head that actually sounds like Kamran retorts that it’s because Bruno gets that a man has his pride, and is also a bit socially awkward so doesn’t quite know what he should say or how he should say it…and that it’s also a bit tricky to get a word in edgewise when Kamala is in the middle of a story.)
Kamala blinks, makes a face that says oops, then two more in quick succession: I should have noticed!! and I’m sorry. Then, she eyes Kamran with a look very reminiscent of any ammi or nani worth the title, before she turns her attention to Kareem.
(Kareem feels like he’s been poked from the other side of the world.)
‘You are feeding him properly, right? And not letting the other Red Daggers be mean to him? And-‘
Kareem puts his hands up, the look on his face half-fondly-exasperated, half-solemn.
‘I promised, so yes, I am.’
‘Kamala, I can look after myself.’ Kamran pauses. ‘Don’t worry about me.’
Kamala has that stubborn, determined look on her face.
(None of Bruno, Nakia, Miguel or Zoe seem inclined to try and stop her. Kamran wonders if that’s because they agree with her, or because they simply know it is futile. Perhaps it’s both?)
(The voice in his head that sounds like Kamran says it’s both.)
She grabs several chocolate bars from the pile on the table, and turns to Bruno.
‘Can you build me a teleportation device? Please?’
Bruno gives a wry little grin as he shakes his head, the gesture very fond.
‘They’ll get to Pakistan way faster if you use FedEx.’
Kamala looks very disappointed, dropping the chocolate bars into her lap, and pokes Bruno, her voice very teasing and even more affectionate underneath.
‘Come on, what’s the point of having the universe’s smartest boyfriend if not for emergency teleportation devices?’
Bruno gives her a look, smiling all the while, then holds both of his hands up.
‘Hey, you’re asking me to break, bend or otherwise find a loophole in the laws of physics! Not easy, KK.’
‘But you’re Bruno!’
He blinks, looking very touched, takes Kamala’s hand to press a kiss to her knuckles. That makes her smile like the sunrise, do a happy little wiggle.
‘I’m a scientist, not a wizard.’
‘Could’ve fooled me!’ Her eyes go wide with realization. ‘Oh! Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic-‘
‘I am definitely not that good, KK…’
(Despite his protests, Bruno does look a little puffed up, proud.)
Kamala looks like she disagrees very much, and must say something to that effect, though Kamran and Kareem can’t make it out over the video call. She sticks her tongue out at him, then kisses his cheek.
Kamran is glad they’re happy together, he really is.
But…he’d rather not have to witness it quite so closely, nor quite so much.
(It still hurts. Far, far less than it used to, but…)
(A glance at Kareem shows that he feels quite the same.)
Nakia shakes her head and mouths young love at the camera, which seems a bit hypocritical of her.
(She and Miguel’s joined hands are resting between them. After she mouths those words, she steals a couple of pretzels from Miguel’s plate. In response, he pushes the rest of his pretzels closer to her.)
Miguel looks sympathetic.
Zoe gives the two boys in Pakistan a very significant look that can only be described as very empathetic, and speaks.
‘We watched Baazigar the other day, I got a few awesome reaction shots of me and Miguel, wanna see?’
-
Kamran, in the driver’s seat of his Aston Martin, looks out his window and gives Kareem a nod. Kareem, mounted on his motorbike, Red Dagger scarf over his face, nods back.
One of the mechanics who helped Kamran with his restoration sounds an air horn, and Kamran puts a foot on the gas.
(They’re settling this debate, once and for all.)
-
The storm is bigger this time. Wilder. More unpredictable.
Kamran is curled in the foetal position on his floor, screaming in pain.
Kareem dodges to the left, then to the right, letting one Noor crystal cut his forearm instead of risking another beheading him.
He throws the sedation dart.
He does not miss.
-
Kamran wakes up.
Kareem is sitting by his bedside, though unusually, Hazeema is not.
And even more unusually, Kareem has made no attempt to look casual. Instead, his hair is partially falling out of its usual bun, and he looks like he hasn’t slept a wink, clothes dishevelled. There is a bandage on his left forearm.
Kamran opens his mouth to apologize, because Kareem must have been injured getting through the crystal storm to sedate him and stop it, but Kareem beats him to the punch.
‘The doctors say I can’t keep sedating you all the time.’ His voice is a little rough, hoarse. ‘Kamran, we need to get you more help.’ He looks away for a beat, then meets Kamran’s eyes. ‘We need to ask Kamala and Bruno.’ He pauses. ‘If you still do not want to, I will tell them anyway.’
That makes Kamran’s temper flare, anger and betrayal coursing through him.
This is not Kareem’s story to tell.
(It’s not his body, not his powers, not his failure, not his shame, not his debts.)
(Not the burdens that he will have to bear the rest of his life.)
(They’re Kamran’s.)
Crystal crawls up from the foot of his bed. Kamran’s hands glow green.
But still, Kareem looks him right in the eye, undaunted. He will not back down.
There is a long, tense moment of silence, before Kareem breaks it.
‘I cannot let you keep hurting yourself, brother.’
It’s soft, gentle. The last word especially so.
He says brother like it is more than being part of the same brotherhood, more than their shared faith.
Somehow, Kamran’s anger melts away.
He lets out a breath, reaches out to clasp Kareem’s forearm in thanks, in apology. His brother-by-birth-right (in another, kinder universe, from Hazeema’s tales, they would have been raised brothers) and now brother-by-choice simply smiles as if to say there is no debt, clasps his forearm in return.
‘I’ll…I’ll tell Kamala. And Bruno. I promise. Just…I want to wait a few more days. Let them finish their Senior year, and graduate.’ There’s only a few days left, after all, and Kamran doesn’t want to spoil those last few days for them. Kareem studies his face for a beat. ‘You’re right. I…I should have asked for their help a long time ago.’
That seems to reassure the other boy, who relents with a nod. Then, he gives that smile-smirk of his, voice teasing.
‘Can I get that in writing?’
-
Kareem holds a stopwatch, as Kamran does push-ups with ease.
(They had multiplied the number suggested by Bruno’s training plan by five, or it would be laughably easy.)
(It’s still easy.)
-
Kareem holds onto Kamran’s hand and forearm as the other boy hangs off the roof, three stories off the ground.
Kamran looks up at him, unbothered by his seeming mortal peril.
(Kareem won’t drop him, and he knows they can both hold on like this for quite a while.)
‘What is this supposed to do?’
Kareem doesn’t actually shrug, but there’s a clear shrug in his voice when he replies.
‘No idea.’
‘Maybe you’re supposed to drop me? You know, maybe mortal peril will bring out my control?’
‘…let’s not do that.’
-
‘…is there a particular way I’m supposed to eat this?’
Kareem, who, like Kamran, is also holding a seekh kebab wrapped in naan, shrugs.
Neither of them are familiar with stress-eating.
‘I have no idea, but I am hungry, so…’
He takes a large bite.
Kamran shrugs, then takes a bite too.
-
Kamran screams.
Kareem throws.
He does not miss.
-
Kamran wakes up in the infirmary.
It’s not working.
-
‘…really, man?’
Kamran looks up at the electricity tower. Halfway up, there’s a large doll, wearing a sign that says HELP ME!!
Kareem shrugs, but he’s clearly enjoying this way too much.
‘It was on Kamala’s list of new suggestions.’ Though he has improvised a little – it would be unacceptably disrespectful to have Kamran rescue a doll from a minaret, after all. ‘Apparently, I am supposed to buy you ice-cream-pizza afterwards.’ The look on Kareem’s face makes it clear what he thinks of that. ‘Americans really have to ruin even the good foods they have.’
Kamran makes a matching disgusted face.
‘Let’s skip that bit. And I don’t think Americans claim ice-cream-pizza, brother.’
-
‘…in conclusion, you and Kamala have a very high level of sequence similarity across all the relevant genes, so I’m confident in concluding that your control issues do not stem from something in your DNA sequence.’
Kamran feels a bit like his brain has turned to sludge. Kareem doesn’t look much better.
Bruno had put a lot of effort into making this presentation understandable by people who are not science geniuses – there’s an excellent PowerPoint presentation, and he stopped various times to check in to make sure they were following, and honestly, he’s better at explaining this than any science teacher either of them have ever had – but it’s still a lot of information in a field they know very little about.
Then, the thought hits Kamran, a bit like a runaway train.
‘…that’s…that’s a lot of similarities.’ He pauses. ‘Err…Kamala and I aren’t, um, related are we?’
That would be…not good. Gross. Ugh. Not thinking about it.
Bruno looks at him as if to say, you should have asked this ages ago, man.
Kareem seems to agree.
(Kamran sighs internally. He really is a fool, isn’t he?)
After a beat, Bruno slips back into what Kamala regularly calls SCIENCE!!! mode, in a rather teasing but entirely besotted tone.
‘Okay, so we know only slightly more than nothing about djinn reproduction and genetics; everything we’ve got is extrapolated from a single maternal line plus you.’ He goes back to an early slide, to the pedigree of Aisha and Hasan’s descendants, which has Kamran, his ammi and his father off on the side. ‘Humans and djinn can interbreed to produce viable, fertile offspring, so we are the same species, but I have no idea how the different dimensions thing plays into that, since we have basically no understanding of how so-called djinn magic works…’ Bruno says magic with air-quotes. He seems to really not be happy with the fact that it is magic, and not science that is actually understood. ‘Also, Mr and Mrs K had great difficulty conceiving Kamala, but since Aisha passed away after only having one child with Hasan, and you’re…well…also an only child-‘ Bruno gestures nebulously and awkwardly and apologetically at Kamran. ‘-we really don’t know if there’s a fertility problem with human-djinn or human-partial djinn interbreeding, which further complicates things-‘
Kareem interrupts – possibly strategically, because otherwise Bruno may spend the next ten minutes explaining what he knows about djinn reproduction and genetics, which is everything that is currently known on the subject. The Red Dagger is also smirking, though, so it may also be for his own amusement.
(Or both.)
‘And I suppose neither of you are going to be generating more data on this anytime soon?’
Bruno turns the colour of a tomato and begins spluttering a stream of largely nonsense.
(It includes absolutely not; we’re too young to get married!; I respect KK!)
Kamran, meanwhile, nearly chokes on his chai.
He agrees very strongly with Bruno’s sentiment.
He also grabs a balled-up napkin from the table in front of him and throws it at Kareem.
Naturally, Kareem dodges it easily while laughing his head off.
-
It takes a little while for Bruno to return to his usual pasty colour, and for Kareem to stop laughing.
Once that happens, Bruno continues.
‘Look, I can’t say whether Aisha and Najma were related by djinn standards, and whether that means you are related by djinn standards. I don’t have nearly enough data.’ Bruno starts typing out a list of the data that he does need, like he’s got some kind of futile hope that Kamran might have the information in his head, or it is buried in the Red Dagger Archives. He needs more djinn DNA sequences, acceptable levels of consanguinity and inbreeding coefficients in djinns. What level of gene flow is needed into a djinn population to prevent inbreeding. Kamran doesn’t even know what these things are. Kareem dutifully writes them down, so they can ask Hazeema to run a search later. ‘However, what I can say is that by human standards, you aren’t related.’ He pauses, gestures to the pedigree again. ‘KK’s only 1/8 djinn anyway, so human standards probably apply.’ Kamran still feels like he may have almost, sorta, kinda done something wrong. Bruno smiles reassuringly at him and starts sounding more like a science teacher and less like a mad scientist again. ‘I was deliberately highlighting the similarities, Kamran.’ Bruno picks up a banana from his desk and holds it up. ‘This banana and I share more than 60% of our DNA.’ His tone turns very dry. ‘If I wanted to, I could probably give a misleading presentation that would make some people think we’re brothers.’ Bruno’s tone turns serious again. ‘Only 0.1% of human DNA varies across the entire population.’ He pauses, sounding even more serious when he continues. ‘Look, I think it’s not a training issue, or something you’re doing wrong…’
The last word is in air-quotes again.
(Kamran is convinced that his inability to control his powers may be simply because he’s a worse person than Kamala. There’s a darkness in him that she lacks, will never have, because that darkness is repelled by her light.)
(Everyone else thinks this is nonsense. They’ve all told him so. Repeatedly. He’s been trying to repeat it to himself in the hopes he’ll believe it if he repeats it enough. Bruno’s deep-dive into Kamran’s DNA had actually been an attempt by him to prove it scientifically.)
‘But what else could it be?’ Kamran looks up, frustrated and wishing that his ammi hadn’t burdened him with this at the moment of her death, scared but trying with all he has to not show it. Then, catching himself, he takes a deep breath. Kareem and Bruno have done nothing but do everything they can to help him. They do not deserve his ire; he should not make them targets of his rage just because they’re here and the real target isn’t. ‘You said it’s not in my DNA, so…’
Kareem stops his pacing and puts a hand on Kamran’s shoulder, a warm, comforting weight.
Bruno nods, but continues in SCIENCE!!! mode.
‘Well, no, it’s not in your DNA sequence. But that doesn’t mean it’s something under your control. It could be a gene expression issue, caused by epigenetics or an environmental factor, or stress, or something that happened to you in childhood or even in utero…’ Bruno gestures nebulously, like there’s more factors he hasn’t listed off yet. Then, he looks directly at Kamran, straight in the eyes. The resoluteness there reminds Kamran of go, I’ll keep them busy, of, look, man, I’m not leaving you to face Damage Control alone. ‘I’ll keep digging and find it, whatever it is, I promise.’ Bruno starts going into SCIENCE!!! mode again. ‘I’m gonna need more samples, I plan to try proteomic and metabolomic analyses next, I’ll send you instructions…’
Kamran swallows, just as moved as he was back in Jersey City, back in those moments.
(Kindness and generosity are rare treasures.)
(Ones that his life is now so rich with.)
‘Thank you, Bruno.’
Kareem bows his head to convey the same sentiment.
Bruno smiles, waves a hand.
‘Don’t worry about it, I kinda do this stuff for fun anyway, sometimes…’ He definitely does it for fun, frequently. ‘…and I was bored.’
(Kamala had texted them THANK YOU!!!! the other day for keeping Bruno not-bored while he was breezing through college.)
(She said it was Very Bad if Bruno got bored?)
(Apparently it was Rule 1 in the Guide to Care and Feeding of Mad Scientists?)
(Neither he nor Kareem had ever heard of this book, and it’s not in the Archive.)
(Kamala’s either joking, or she’s actually writing this book.)
They say their goodbyes, and end the call from their end as Bruno seems to realize he’s hungry, peels the banana and takes a bite.
That reminds Kamran that he is also hungry, and Kareem passes him a carrot cupcake – richly spiced, studded with mixed nuts and frosted with a yoghurt frosting, from Hazeema’s granddaughter via her grandmother.
Kamran takes the cupcake with a wan smile, and Kareem takes a cupcake of his own, taps his against Kamran’s like it’s a toast.
That makes Kamran’s smile widen a little as both of them demolish their cupcakes in two bites.
Kareem swallows, claps him on the shoulder.
‘We will find a way to help you, brother.’
Kamran doesn’t quite know what to say in response – or if there is anything one can say to such a resolute vow – so just hugs him.
Kareem seems to think that’s a good response, at least.
-
Kamran and Kareem are doing pull-ups, as they do every morning, when the door to the training/gym room they’re using opens.
A girl about their age, wearing glasses, a purple kameez, yellow shalwar and a matching yellow dupatta draped over her shoulders and head, is revealed. She blinks at the two of them, still doing pull-ups.
She is extremely pretty.
She is also extremely flustered.
She’s too dark-skinned for them to see her blush, but she definitely is, based on the adorable squeaking noise she makes.
‘Sorry, lost!’
There’s another half-squeak. She takes two steps back, surprisingly gracefully considering, and shuts the door.
Kamran and Kareem look at each other, both smirking as they hang there.
‘Huh.’
‘Oh, I see how it is.’
‘Another set?’
‘You’re on, brother.’
(They goad each other into another four and turn their arms into jelly.)
(Hazeema rolls her eyes at them and mutters something about the folly of young men when they meet her for lunch, barely able to hold their own trays.)
(She also properly introduces them to her granddaughter, Mahnoor.)
(At least she finds the jelly arms amusing?)
-
Kamran dodges a knife, lashing out with his whip-sword at the same time. Kareem dives under the sword, slides along the floor, and takes Kamran’s legs out from under him. There’s a moment of wrestling, before the Red Dagger is triumphant and Kamran taps out.
Kareem grins, more than a hint of a smirk in the expression, and hops up lightly, holding a hand out to Kamran to help him to his feet.
‘And we’re at 2-1. Need a hand, brother?’
Kamran takes his hand, but smirks back as he gets to his feet.
‘Oh, you’re going down next round.’ Kareem arches a brow at him in question at that. ‘Best of five?’
‘You’re on!’
-
Kamran scoops fried rice and chicken Manchurian into two bowls, while Kareem brings two bowls of spicy hot and sour soup over to their table.
Kareem sets down one bowl of soup in front of Kamran, keeping the other for himself.
Kamran passes one of the rice and chicken bowls over, and the two of them grin and pick up their chopsticks.
-
From the kitchen, unseen by either young man – she still has some tricks up her sleeve, thank you very much – Hazeema smiles, soft and fond and a little bit sad.
She remembers two other young men who used to sit at that table, used to share chicken Manchurian after a hard day of training, used to laugh and rib each other the same way.
Another pair of brothers.
She whispers to herself, to the heavens.
‘You would be so proud of them.’