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One of his confidants in the guard had knocked on his door that evening, eyes shifting side to side in the hallway before ducking in quickly.
They put him back in his rooms, he had whispered. You had better go… the sultana was very angry with his lack of cooperation today. He was still breathing when they dragged him in there, but-
And that was all he heard before Amir pushed past him, heart in his stomach, sprinting as fast as he could towards Erik’s quarters.
He could hardly remember how he got there. The door was ajar, and a rusty smudge on the floor led the way inside. He entered immediately, groping in the darkness for a lantern, anything that could help him find Erik. His foot hit something warm just as he found a light, and he knelt on the floor swiftly, lamp shaking in his hand.
Erik laid just as the guards had dropped him, limp arms bent above his head, his mask nowhere to be found. Amir felt bile rise in his throat. If Erik’s face was normally hard to look at, this was far worse. Every inch had been beaten and was only just beginning to swell. Blood trickled from the cavity of the nose and the corner of the mouth. The cleft of Erik’s lip revealed a broken tooth.
Amir lifted the back of his hand to Erik’s mouth and waited, praying. It was incredibly faint, but tiny, warm puffs of breath just barely stirred from Erik’s torn and bloody lips. He allowed himself a sigh of relief and reached for the collar of Erik’s shirt so he could inspect the damage to the rest of his body.
As soon as he touched him, a hand as tight as a vise grabbed his throat. Erik’s amber eyes could barely even open, but his furious animal glare flickered in the lantern light. A flare of recognition, and the hand slipped from around his neck and thudded onto the floor. Amir was shocked Erik was even conscious.
“I need to take off your shirt, Erik,” he rasped. Erik may have been weakened, but his deadly grip certainly hadn’t been. He reached again but his hands were batted away.
“Leave,” Erik wheezed. “Don’t look at me.”
“I can’t do that, Erik. I think you have broken ribs. I need to check to make sure they won’t puncture a lung or anything worse.”
Erik made a motion that was probably him trying to shake his head.
“Just go,” he spat.
“That’s not going to happen. Lie still.” He started undoing Erik’s shirt and was met with very little resistance this time. With each button, more bruises and oozing gashes were revealed. He pressed gingerly at each prominent rib, Erik hissing and wincing at even the slightest brush of his fingers. Luckily, only a few were actually broken and were in no danger of lacerating any organs. He sat back and sighed.
“Alright. Erik, I’m going to need your help to move you. Did they do anything to your legs?”
Erik coughed weakly. “I don’t remember.”
“We’ll take it slow.”
He slid an arm under Erik’s back, then realized if Erik bent to stand it would only hurt his ribs more. He slid his other arm under Erik’s legs.
“What are you doing?”
“Carrying you.”
He stood up and found that Erik was much lighter than he had expected. He walked as smoothly as he could towards the bed and deposited him gently, wincing in sympathy as Erik gritted his teeth and cried out. He stood up and his shirtsleeves were sticky and red. They must have given him the lash, and not spared him a single time.
Amir nearly wanted to cry. Instead, he went to the bathroom, fetching a basin of warm water and some rags. He came back and Erik was lying with his face turned away. He set the water and cloths down. He dipped the rags in the water, wringing them out until they were damp. He began to dab at Erik’s temples, at the blood that had crusted there.
“Why are you doing this for me?” Erik’s voice, angry, but lacking its usual venom. He still refused to look towards the daroga. “How can you even bear to touch me? Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
Amir did not pause in his work, stoically wiping clean the side of Erik’s head until the rag was filthy with blood.
“Let me clean your face, Erik.”
“No.”
“Please, Erik. Please let me do it.”
“Not until you tell me why.” Erik’s fingers curled like claws, grasping the sheets.
Amir sighed, his head dropping into his hands. Why was he here? Why did he continue to crave the company of this man feared by everyone in the court, even the sultana who used him for such deadly endeavors? Who, at every turn, either belittled him, pushed him away, or avoided him?
Erik shifted slightly on the bed. Amir looked up.
Amber eyes peered at him curiously, Erik’s rancor forgotten.
“Daroga, you weren’t the one who brought the lash to my back. Nor were you the one who kicked in my ribs, or beat me around the head. So if it is your guilt keeping you here, I release you of it. I don’t need anyone’s pity. You can go home.”
“I’m not here because of guilt, Erik.”
Erik cocked his head slightly.
“No?” he muttered. “Then why?”
Amir looked away. How could he answer that?
“I think,” he choked. “I think I’m beginning to care for you very much.”
Silence reigned for a while.
“You really mean it, don’t you,” said Erik, softly.
Amir could only nod.
“You great fucking booby,” Erik began. “All this time, I thought… I thought it was your dreadful sense of duty that kept you coming after me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, you idiot! I wish you had told me sooner.” he sighed. “This all feels like a dream. Maybe they hit my head a little too hard and I’m hallucinating. Or dead.”
“This isn’t a dream.”
“Hm, perhaps not,” Erik mused. “If it was a dream, my ribs wouldn’t hurt so damnably bad.” He lifted a hand and placed it on the daroga’s thigh where he sat on the edge of the bed. “If it’s not a dream, you’ll be here in the morning. Yes?”
“Yes,” Amir replied. “I’ll be here.”