Chapter Text
The journey back from Derra was quiet. Very quiet and slow. When they had reached the camp, Ali had wasted no time climbing from his camel and picking Lawrence up.
He was a mess, hastily bandaged and limp. Ali had run in and barked instructions for water, bandages, as well as what little medical supplies they had. Snow fell in great lumps on occasion, and the cold air was not merciful on the lashes. They hurried some of the army out, and Ali demanded that he tend to Lawrence’s wounds and debrief their findings- in private.
But first, a pale of boiling water was bought. It formed a damp fog in the tent, and as Ali placed it on the ground, he turned to speak.
“It is hot, as according to your preferences and needs.”
Lawrence sat, curled into the corner. He was humiliated and still in a state of terror. He did not know that he could trust Ali yet. However, he responded.
“Oh… Thank you.”
Ali sighed and placed a rag in the water and a towel in front of Lawrence. He beckoned for him to come closer, and hesitantly, Lawrence peeled off his dirtied clothes. Turning painfully for Ali to undo the makeshift bandages. He heard the man gasp again. In the light of day, the damage was starkly apparent. He carefully dabbed a bit of water, and Lawrence flinched away, doubling forwards and stifling a cry of his own.
“Can we- start elsewhere?” Lawrence murmured into his hands, “Just not there, Ali”
Ali placed the cloth back into the water and brought it around to face Lawrence. He placed one hand under his chin:
“Look at me. Come closer”
Lawrence felt Ali’s hand cupping his face and bringing him up into the light. A shiver shook through his body as the fever tightened its grip. Lawrence felt his eyeballs burning into his skull, a hot, sickly weakness. Despite the humiliation, pain, and execution that wracked his body, Lawrence opened his eyes and found himself trapped in the gaze of Ali. Two brown irises looking back into his murky blue ones. Ali glanced away quickly and wrung the cloth out. He carefully brought the streaming rag to his forehead and started to dab at a cut that cut across Lawrence's forehead. All the while keeping his face tucked into Ali’s rough palm.
Ali worked downward, as he wet the cloth and wrung it and cleaned. He spoke gently;
“We should not have gone to Derra. Look at you, wounded and ill. I understand you must proceed onward and lead your men, but this has done nothing for you. And look at this, hmm?”
Ali pulled the cloth away to reveal a dark brown-red stain soaking across the fabric.
“You- Aurens.. Please be careful. You could have been killed! Like any other man”
He Paused
“Your mouth, does that hurt?”
Lawrence hesitated; he hadn’t thought about the cuts and bruises on his face until Ali had pointed them out. He nodded slowly in response. Ali moved there, a cut had split his skin and lower lip, it had cracked and hardened in the winter air, blighted like a crop in a morning frost. Ali pressed the scalding rag to it, and Lawrence hissed behind his teeth and flinched out of Ali’s hand, but the man simply raised it again and steadied Lawrence by his cheek and carefully worked the dirt out.
His brown eyes glistening in the early morning light, a perfect stillness. The sounds of the camp were drowned out by the sound of Lawrence’s heavy breath. He leaned back, two arms shaking slightly with fever. Ali leaned in, against Lawrence’s chest, now fully exposed. They pressed up against Ali’s forearms and heaved with each rattle and gasp. Warm water slinked down Ali’s arms and down Lawrence’s body.
“There is dirt in there.”
“Pardon?” Lawrence choked out.
“Dirt, in the cut. I will have to get it out; I will need to be careful. Do not move.” Ali leaned in closer. Lawrence stopped breathing.
Ali then used the corner of the flannel to pick out tiny shards and pebbles. The laceration started to bleed again, flushing the rest out. Ali muttered something and pressed the cloth firmly against the side of Lawrence's mouth to ease it.
He met Lawrence's eyes again and held the gaze.
Lawrence had to get out of there. His pride was wounded, his identity exposed, and he had been violated and tortured. Was there any hope of returning to live as a normal man? Or an imitation of one? Was there ever a chance, perhaps, that he should commit to the act of ending his life, something he had considered many times before.
But at that moment, in Ali’s grip and gaze, he felt he had no other place to face but the man in front of him.
Ali was faintly aware of the partially naked man who was between his arm and shoulder at that moment. Lawrence was sitting with his torso open and his legs folded underneath. Ali fought to keep his gaze from wandering down to his chest; however, he found he couldn’t help stealing glances as he went for more water. Instead, as he tried to stop the bleeding, he locked eyes with him instead. Lawewnce breathed heavily and shook. If Ali could guess, from the fever.
“Come now,” He spoke, lifting the cloth, “may I continue?”
Lawrence nodded slowly, “Must I remove all the clothing?”
“If I am to clean you properly, then yes.” The words sounded too harsh coming from his mouth, but Ali stood and walked over to a sloped area of the shelter and soaked the cloth again. He turned to give Lawrence what little privacy there was and waited. He then took the cloth, and in great swoops he worked down until all the water was gone, and Lawrence was clean. By now the fever had worsened, and even after trying himself off, Lawrence was hot to the touch. This concerned him; he picked up Lawrence’s dirty clothes and went to leave.
“Where are you going!” Lawrence stammered,
“I am off to get you clean robes. These are damp and unfit.” Ali hesitated at the exit.
Lawrence lowered himself into the bed and covered himself with the blanket, neglecting the towel. He then curled into a ball and continued to shiver.
Ali was quick; he asked after any warmer clothing, but nothing would be of use for Lawrence. He got the robes washed and returned. Lawrence was pale, shivering, and clammy.
Lawrence searched inside of him for any way to ask that didn't sound so utterly pathetic. But in the end, all he could muster was “Ali, don’t go-”
Ali removed his outer cloak and his shoes. He carried some thin blankets and placed them on top of Lawrence.
“Are you cold?” Ali stood by the bed.
“Y-yes.”
“When you are better, I will light a fire. Not here.”
He bent down and pulled the blankets up further. Ali sat down next to Lawrence and started in the tangles of his hair. The warmth of that was enough for Lawrence to fall into a fitful sleep.
Ali couldn’t stop thinking about Lawrence, about his sex. It was a shock, a betrayal of sorts. But then again, Lawrence was different. Everybody knew that. Even so, he was beautiful, handsome. A perfect balance of soft and hard. Tanned skin fading to light pink, harsh lines from the sun becoming lines and curves. Bloodied knuckles and wounds across his back juxtaposed the perfection of Lawrence's hips and torso. Ali looked now at the figure sleeping near and found himself aroused most strangely.