Chapter Text
“I don’t understand…what does justice mean to you? I thought I knew what it meant, and it just seems like you and Grizzop have this completely different idea.”
Hamid doesn’t look at Azu as he says this, head bowed and body slumped as they sit next to each other on the chaise lounge that is far too small for Azu. Her large arm is wrapped around his shoulders in a move that would be comforting if it weren’t for the twisting emotional turmoil inside of him. If it weren’t for the complex writhing mess in his stomach about Saleh that he’s not quite willing to sort through yet, overlayed by heavy guilt and sorrow about his own past. His own mistakes. In the eyes of Azu and Grizzop, two people Hamid respects and trusts more than almost anyone, he’s probably no better than his brother. Worse even because he never went to prison for the blood on his hands. Could he even tell them what he’s done? Hamid’s not sure. He can’t look at her, can’t let her know that he’s not talking about Saleh anymore.
Azu thinks for a moment, her thoughtful hum both a comfort and a twisting worry.
“Justice means that people get what they deserve.”
With those simple words, Hamid desperately tries not to think about the past, tries desperately not to think about that day. He tries not to think about the choking coughs and the slumping shadows. The bodies hitting the floor, still clawing their way towards the door. The sounds he’s never heard are now ringing in his ears, as both Gideon and Hamid had run off with conspiratorial giggles before the true damage of their actions had been revealed. He can feel the tears falling down his face as he pushes those memories back to where they can’t come spilling out. The guilt’s back, a twisting question about how Azu and Grizzop would react if they knew about his past. He’d probably be hearing the exact same things, that tirade of accusation and the miscarriage of justice. His family had helped him avoid the consequences of his actions, had helped him escape prison.
It was exactly like what Hamid had been hoping to do for Saleh.
Would Azu have said they same thing if she’d realised that he wasn’t talking about Saleh? Probably, being a Paladin and all that. She probably would feel the same way about him, although perhaps it would be even worse because Hamid hadn’t fought his family’s decision to help him avoid the consequences. Hamid hadn’t accepted his punishment. Instead, he’d drunk and gambled his way into exile until he’d found something that he thought could maybe undo some of the damage he’s done. Not that that had done anyone much good. Not that his actions hadn’t just made everything worse. Again.
Beside him, Hamid feels Azu quietly panicking. Her words begin to stutter, and her arms start moving in a fretting moment as she feel Hamid’s distress. Perhaps she even notices his tears. Who was he kidding? Only Bertie wouldn’t have noticed, and that was because he’s Bertie. Instead, Hamid guess that his reaction clearly wasn’t what she was expecting. That thought shocks him for a moment. She didn’t know? She didn’t realise that he wasn’t talking about his brother anymore.
“No, I didn’t, I didn’t mean that, you know, people—that he was going to deserve to be—but we thought he was a murderer, and so…” She tries to say, tries to find the words to explain.
Azu still thinks he’s talking about Saleh. Time to fix that. As much as Hamid wants to keep his shame a secret, he can’t. He can’t keep the emotions and guilt from spilling out and consuming all of them. She has to know that this isn’t about his brother anymore.
Hamid takes a shallow breath and tries not to think about the disappointment that will soon be on her face. Soon, they’ll all look at him the same way that they’ve been looking at Saleh.
Maybe that’s what Hamid deserves.
“But I haven’t gotten what I’ve deserved, Azu,” Hamid sobs, still staring at the floor. “If—if that’s what you think he deserves, then that’s what I deserve as well, and maybe you and Grizzop just need to arrest me, too.”
The words are spilling out, Hamid barely able to control them. He can stop himself saying what he’s done, but the rest of it is a blur, falling with the tears streaming down his face.
“No.”
Her response is barely louder than a breath, like she doesn’t believe what he’s saying. Maybe she doesn’t, maybe Hamid’s pushed his sins so far behind his family’s money that it’s completely hidden, even from the Cult of Aphrodite. He opens his mouth to speak again, to explain the blood on his hands. But the words choke in his throat like a poisonous fog, coming out as nothing more than sobs. He can’t do this now. Maybe in the morning, when he’s sorted through this tangled mess of emotions and Azu's words, he’ll explain. He’ll throw his fate in the hands of the party and have them haul him off to prison with his brother and father. That’s probably what he deserves.
“I’m going to bed,” Hamid says, standing and leaving the room before Azu can stop him.
He still hasn’t looked at her.
Somehow, Hamid makes it to his bedroom without completely losing it. A few servants would have seen him, but they’re professional enough to turn the other way, especially with all the drama currently surrounding his family. They’ve no reason to suspect that it’s anything other than that. But the minute the door swings shut behind him, Hamid collapses. He’s only vaguely aware that he’s even doing it, only that he’s sitting on the floor in a tight ball and leaning against the door. The sobs come heavier now, soaking into his clothes, each sob bringing back fresh memories and visions of the things he’s done, even if he wasn’t there to see them himself. Sob. A student claws at the floor. Sob. He’s hearing the cries of alarm go up across the University Campus. Sob. A body falls against a desk. Sob. Everyone is staring down at him. Sob.
But with each sob, Hamid hears those words. They rattle and yell through his mind, drowned out only by the sounds of people dying.
Justice is people get what they deserve.
There’s no denying it, Hamid hadn’t gotten what he deserved. Sure, he’d been expelled, but that was nothing considering that he had killed a teacher and some of the students. It should have been much worse than that, but his family had used their money and made the problem go away.
And Hamid, he’d gotten away with murder.
That phrase continues to bounce around in his head, getting louder and louder until it drowns out the memories. All that remains is a static mess of guilt and those simple little words. Justice is people get what they deserve. Despite everything, Hamid had never seen it that way. He couldn’t describe what he used to view as justice, although the phase ‘fuzzy ideal that makes himself feel slightly better’ would be the most accurate description. Yet, what Azu just said makes sense in a way that all his late-night memories hadn’t. It was like it was the answer that he’d been searching for this entire time. Like he’d been lying to himself all those months since the incident, which, knowing his own skills, he probably had. But after hearing that phrase, it all made sense now. And most importantly, Hamid definitely hadn’t gotten what he deserved.
But what did he deserve, what punishment besides prison should befall him? But if he was in prison, then he wouldn’t have the chance to maybe try and undo some of the damage he’s done. Not that that desire has been successful in the slightest, what with Hamid being personally responsible for crashing a large portion of inter-country communication and banking. Considering that, considering everything he’s done up until now has made everything worse for everyone, then maybe it would be for everyone’s best interest if Hamid was locked up and forgotten about.
Curling tighter into himself, Hamid finds himself, somehow, coming out of that tight knot of grief and guilt. It’s still there, still bubbling just beneath the surface, but there’s a fraction of calmness within it, enough to give Hamid the chance to think, enough to give Hamid the chance to weight his options and decide what to do next. He can’t continue, he can’t carry on like this, holding in the weight of his crimes and the punishment he’s avoided. The justice that was never carried out. Before him, several options stretch and weave, each leading down a road that Hamid can see no end to. He could tell the Paladins and have them look down upon him with a disappointment that he knows would break him. They’d hate him for what he’s done and for what he’s avoided. Could he do that to himself?
He deserves far worse.
It doesn’t help that the more Hamid hears these thoughts and that phrase, the more Azu’s words both make sense and feel incomplete. There’s a simple truth to the words, a solid fact that can’t be ignored. But if that’s what justice is, and Hamid trusts Azu’s judgement as a Paladin of Aphrodite, then what is the answer in times like this? How is justice dealt in times like this and is prison his only option? He wishes that there was a simple answer, one neat little phrase to tell him what he needs to do next. Hamid knows that the Paladins would know, as guidance was something that they were supposed to be good at. Maybe having them judge him and leave him would be the justice Hamid deserves. After all, given how they reacted to Saleh, there’s little doubt in Hamid’s mind that they would react the same, probably worse considering he considers them his friends.
The easiest thing would be to not tell them, to not let them know what he’s done. But he can’t shoulder that shame anymore, he can’t ignore the simple truth that there is still some punishment coming his way. But at the same time, can he muster up the courage to tell them so that he can see their judgement? Hamid doesn’t know.
A part of him wants to stand up, to head to his bed and sleep on everything. But his legs are too shaky and weak to move. Plus, there’s a strange comfort to the ground and the darkness that wraps around him like a cloak, a fragile bit of warmth in his guilt. So, Hamid sits in the dark under that thick cloak, listening to his breath go in and out, in and out. Each breath in brings a fresh wave of guilt and memories, and each breath out smothers the feeling with his megre possibilities. Sometimes it’s the faces of Azu and Grizzop, looking down at him with pure disappointment and telling him that they have to do this, that it’s justice. Other times he’s alone and behind bars, unable to cause any more damage, justice finally served. Then there’s the faces of those he’s killed, staring at him from the darkness with hate. But very occasionally, there’s nothing, a blank silence. Hamid likes those moments best.
The night wears on with Hamid getting very little sleep. There’s too much on his mind and his heart to offer him the peaceful oblivion of sleep. But, in the early hours of the morning, after hours of mental circles, Hamid finally settles on a course of action.
He knows what he has to do. He knows what justice in his case means.
The morning brings more sandstorms, trapping the party within the confines of the Al-Tahan mansion. Hamid’s still sitting with his knees to his chest and his back to his door. There’s an ache to his bones, a tiredness under his eyes, and a strange smothering peace in his stomach. It’s an odd sensation, but one he’s grateful for. Maybe it’s because for the first time in a long time, there’s a little bit of certainty about his path, the words of Aphrodite guiding him on.
Justice is people get what they deserve.
Eventually, Hamid makes his way quietly down the stairs. Despite everything, it’s a nice morning, the sandstorm having given way to a clear blue sky and a dry heat that’s far less oppressive than normal. Servants bustle around him, pointedly ignoring Hamid with little more than side glances. How much did they hear from last night? Without thinking, Hamid finds himself making his way slowly down to the breakfast hall, tension building him his stomach. He doesn’t want to face his friends, doesn’t want to keep seeing that disappointed look that they’re all giving him. Maybe that’s why Hamid stops moving, instead standing in the shadow of a sculpture his family didn’t need to buy, listening in to the sounds through the open door a few doors down.
There’s the sound of cutlery clinking against plates, the sound of servants moving plates and passing around drinks, the sound of Grizzop’s voice as he talks with Sasha and the servants. It seems so natural, so peaceful, like Hamid isn’t needed or wanted there. Listening to his nerves and rapidly beating heart, Hamid stands there, the sounds of everything going well flowing around him.
“Morning Grizzop,” Azu says suddenly.
Considering that Hamid hadn’t seen the orc in the corridor, she must have gone through a different entrance, especially since the guest wing was closer to the doors on the other side of the dining room. That was probably a good thing, as Hamid doesn’t exactly want to run into Azu while he’s just standing in there the hallway like a guilty presence, light spilling around him without touching him.
“Good morning,” Grizzop says, mouth sounding full of what is probably eggs and sausages.
“Morning Sasha.”
“Alright,” she responds, equally muffled by the sounds of breakfast.
There’s a flurry of noise as Azu sits down and grabs something to eat. There’s a clatter of a plate and the scraping of a chair, the sound amplified to Hamid’s ears and reminding him that he’s not in there with them yet.
“How are you feeling?”
Azu’s voice cuts through it all, and for the briefest moment Hamid thinks she’s talking to him. The guilt and anxiousness is still writhing in his stomach, anxiety burning with what he knows he needs to do next. He doesn’t want to do this, he doesn’t want to rip the band-aid off with the simple words he spent the morning stumbling over in his head. And that’s not even counting in the sleepless night he’d had, surrounded by the faces of the dead and living. They still stare down at him from the corners of his vision. In short, he feels terrible. Hamid stares at the floor in an attempt to avoid an answer, before realising that he’s still standing in the corridor and Azu’s words are most likely directed at Sasha. Directed at the person he should actually be worrying about.
“Oh,” Sasha begins. From what Hamid can hear, she seems happy enough, all the tension from the Barrett incident finally beginning to dissipate. “Well, the nice thing about here is they do the laundry really quick, so the fact that I keep soaking all of my clothes with blood isn’t even that much of a problem.”
Hamid can’t help himself, a small smile briefly flickering across his face. He’s going to miss them, going to miss her, even if they had very little in common to begin with.
“Mmmm,” Azu responds, unsure how to answer that.
“Yeah.”
There’s a brief moment of awkward silence.
“Well, hopefully soon we’ll be sorting that out,” Hamid hears Azu saying.
“Hooray,” Sasha responds almost sarcastically.
“Yes!”
The enthusiasm in Azu’s voice is not lost to Hamid. It’s so different from the quiet accusations of last night, the way she fumbled through her words and didn’t see the conversation shift from Saleh to Hamid. Maybe because she didn’t want to see, didn’t want to believe that Hamid is just like the rest of his family, using money and power to avoid justice.
That guilt wraps tightly around his chest once again, the knowledge of what he’s done burning in his mind. There is a lightness to it, a lightness that comes with the path he decided on last night. But it’s not gone completely, mingling instead with the words he knows he has to say. What’s going to happen next isn’t exactly justice, but it’s a start. It’s a chance for Hamid to begin to get what he deserves. He just wishes it wasn’t tying his legs to the floor and his heart to his stomach. He just wishes it didn’t cause his hands to tremble ever so slightly.
Taking a breath, Hamid moves out of the shade he was standing in. Despite how much the thought of what’s coming next scares him, despite how much the small corners of his mind scream at him to not do what he’s about to do, it’s time. He takes a few steps towards the open door, silence pounding in his ears and the emptiness of the corridor stretching into oblivion. He hears his own footsteps, steady and beating. Or is that his heart? Hamid ties it all down and heads into the dining room.
Three faces turn from their breakfast to look at him. They all look far better rested than he probably does, although Sasha still has that unnatural paleness to her skin that has been a lot more noticeable recently. Hopefully that will go away after today though if all goes well with Apophis. There’s disappointment behind the bright red of Grizzop’s eyes, a question in the warm brown of Azu’s, and Sasha just looks happy to see him like all this hasn’t affected their friendship at all. The six pair of eyes bore into him, tearing into that mess of emotion in his chest and leaving him rooted to the floor once again. Did Azu tell them what he'd said last night, did she tell them that he's made worse mistakes than his brother. From the expression in Grizzop's eyes, Hamid guesses that she has. Although, he's having trouble getting a clear read on him. With enormous strength of will, Hamid takes a step forward into the room, trying to keep his breathing steady.
“Good-good morning,” he says with a shake that betrays how he’s feeling, his natural ability to put on a false face evaporating in the presence of his friends.
Azu raises an eyebrow, perhaps noticing something. Maybe she sees everything, or perhaps it’s just she sees his unease. Does she see the truth that her words have brought?
“Morning Hamid,” she says in a tone almost too quiet to catch.
Does she know what he's about to do? Does she know the path her words have finally put him on?
“Morning,” Grizzop adds. There’s still that heavy undertone of disappointment and accusation carried over from last night. Hamid doesn’t blame him.
Briefly he wonders what justice means to the Cult of Artemis before dismissing that thought. It would probably be something much more practical and less like a guided ideal. It would be nothing like the Aphrodite’s vision of justice, which, despite being a blade to the heart, makes sense to Hamid in a way that justice never did before. However, something about what Azu told him last night is slightly incomplete, like there is something about it that all those who deserve the wrath of justice need to discover for themselves.
With heavy feet and a heavier head, Hamid sits. A servant puts a plate down in front of him, but he ignores it. He’s not hungry. Instead, Hamid stares at the plate like it’s the most interesting thing in the world, despite having seen it more times than any reasonable person would care to count. The other three sit in silence, the gaze of the Paladin’s boring into the top of Hamid’s head. He can feel it, that stare, like it looks into his soul and sees the terrible things he’s done. That mass writhes in his stomach, rising to catch in his throat. Not that he was going to say anything.
No, that’s not right. Hamid had something to tell them, something that he’d thought about all night. It wasn't his own mistakes, he wasn't going to tell them about that, but rather what he's going to do next. When he’d decided on it, he’d felt lighter, like he was making the right choice. He’d felt like he was doing right by justice. But now, in the moment, the words catch and die, leaving them all in an uncomfortable and awkward silence. It’s so awkward that even Sasha notices it weaving between the four of them.
“So, how was your discussion last night, guys?” She asks, not really breaking the tension in the air.
“I don’t know. How was it, Hamid?” Grizzop says. His gaze intensifies to the point where Hamid has to look up at them all.
They all stare back, accusations and disappointment in the Paladin’s eyes. Sasha just looks at him with more curiosity than anything else, an outsider observing Hamid messing up again.
Hamid opens his mouth, and the words claw their way back down his throat. He can’t say it. He can’t. Everything he thought about, everything he considered, everything he knows he deserves becomes locked in that swirling mess in his chest that he’s too nervous to speak about. The first step is always the hardest, and this is no exception.
Sasha leans back, her own involvement and perceptions of Hamid’s mistake putting her on the edge of the conflict. Her expression is almost comforting, in a confused way that only someone who knows her would be able to tell.
“Maybe the thing is,” she says almost out of nowhere, although Hamid gets the feeling that she’s trying to help, trying to break the heavy air of the room in the only way she knows how. “I can’t really understand, because… I don’t really have anyone that, like — I mean aside from you guys — that I would—oh and Gragg, and I suppose a few of my cousins.”
“And Bi Ming,” Hamid adds quietly, words finally making its past his lips.
He knows most of her past, the way she knows very little of his. And despite everything, even he could see how much she cared for that small gnome that Bertie swung around the room like a gyrocopter.
“Oh yeah, and Bi Ming. But like, I mean the thing is, if any of them did stuff that needed to get ‘em in prison, like… I mean… Gragg didn’t start out as a bouncer for nothing, you know, like, that’d be quite hard to cover up what he’s… well, you know, what he’s done. Maybe it’s something about families, it’s a bit of a mystery, I guess…”
Her words trail off into silence as the Paladin’s still look at Hamid with unchanging eyes. They never went to Other London, those names that mean everything to Sasha mean nothing to them. But Hamid understands, and that’s enough. Whether it was Sasha’s words breaking some of the tension, or the fact that he’s already spoken once, Hamid feels that lock on his voice vanish. He’s still terrified, still so nervous that he feels sick, but it’s enough to get him started.
Hamid takes a deep breath in and a deep breath out, readying himself for this conversation. It’s what he deserves after all.
“I… I…” Hamid begins, stumbling over the words. This was so much harder than the speeches practiced in the dark. “I think I should sit the next mission out.”
That sentence tumbles out of him, spilling onto the table. Jaws drop open a fraction and the room goes deadly silent, all eyes fixed on Hamid in shock. Was this not what they were expecting? Did they think that Hamid deserves worse? He knows he does.
He also knows that they don’t deserve his lies, but it’s the only way that justice can be done.
“I know what I did was wrong. I know that…” he continues, stumbling once again. He needs to get this out, needs to explain before he loses his grip on the words. “And I accept that I did the wrong thing, it’s just… just… My family needs me and with everything going on, I need to stay here with them for now. It won’t be forever, just one mission, and only after we’ve cured Sasha. I wouldn’t leave until you’re not undead anymore. It’s just that…”
“You’re running away,” Grizzop interrupts, staring at him with an intensity that Hamid didn’t think possible.
It’s clear he’s disappointed, very disappointed in Hamid’s decision.
“I’m not,” Hamid responds.
He thought Grizzop would understand, being a Paladin and all that, especially if Azu had told him that Hamid deserved it. This isn’t about running; this is about justice. This is about what he deserves. But then again, this is about Aphrodite’s version of justice, all soft lines and emotions. Not like what Hamid imagines Grizzop’s version of justice is.
“Are you coming with us?” Grizzop asks.
“No.”
“Then you’re running.”
“I just need time to think,” Hamid pleads back.
He needs time, needs to be away from the accusing stares of his friends, needs to be away from the oppressive influence of his family. As much as he wants to go with his friends, to be with them and help save the world, that’s not what he deserves. He deserves a small cell in a forgotten corner of England. He’s not running, not from this. He just needs a few moments alone to figure it the last pieces of it out. And to make sure that justice is served for the blood on his hands.
“Surely we could help with…” Azu begins to pipe up. She’s far more compassionate than Grizzop is.
“Azu,” Hamid interrupts softly. “I need to do this on my own. I’m sorry.”
She opens her mouth to respond, before closing it again. Are the words dying in her throat like Hamid’s were or is it just that she has nothing to say? Does she know or has she just realised that Hamid isn’t going to change his mind? Does she think this is what he deserves, even though she doesn’t know his crimes? Although, a small part of him wants her to keep arguing, to persuade him to still go with them. That wasn’t something Grizzop could do, only Azu, with her love and her blessings. But she doesn’t, she just looks at him with sadness and Hamid’s heart breaks further.
Still, justice is people get what they deserve.
The silence returns, an eddying lull that weaves around all of them. Tearing his gaze away from her, Hamid instead looks to Sasha. She’s studying him, trying to read him. In that moment, Hamid’s struck by the distance between them, even though he would call her a close friend, a true friend. It’s just that she’d always had much more in common with Zolf and Grizzop, their own two lives before this adventure worlds apart. He’s still staying until she’s cured, he couldn’t leave without making sure that she was alright. But maybe, in that moment, Sasha understands why he needs to leave. She doesn’t know the whole story and maybe she just sees the tension and the Paladins. But she’s run before, and she understands that sometimes people need to leave. Not that Hamid’s running. Running would mean staying with his family or with his friends. Running would mean avoiding the justice he deserves.
“You sure ‘bout all this?” Sasha asks after a moment.
No. That roiling sensation is worse now, a mess in his stomach. He’s not sure about anything, not sure about what he deserves or how he’s going to get it. He’s not even certain that Azu’s small phrase is enough to completely explain justice. There’s something about it that’s missing, something that Hamid knows in his heart that he needs to figure out himself. But that’s something that he doesn’t think he can figure out with L.O.L.O.M.G. Something he can’t figure out without stepping away from them all for a little bit. And to Hamid, that was enough, even if the sorrow at what is necessary breaks him.
“Yes.”
“Alright.”
Justice is people get what they deserve. Hamid would make sure of that.