Chapter Text
He always comes to you when he’s injured.
Alhaitham never explains why, and you know better than to ask. He simply shows up at your door, methodically reciting his list of potential injuries, as you guide him to the couch and press gauze and disinfectant on his wounds.
There could be any number of reasons that he’s been hurt, though you had joked that you didn’t think being the Akademiya’s Scribe was such a dangerous job when you first met him. Now, you think that it’s less of his job that’s the cause of all his little altercations, and more of a symptom of his personality.
“You might need stitches,” you say. “I recommend going to a doctor.”
You perch on the arm of your couch, right above where Alhaitham’s head reclines on a pillow. He’s stretched across the length of it, his legs dangling over the other end. You’ve wrapped the wound around his torso as best as you can, tending to the little cuts and scrapes littering his body. Despite Alhaitham’s claims of fragility, you know that he’s not bad in a fight. Who on earth had gotten the better of him?
“A doctor would ask too many questions.”
“You could die,” you say evenly.
“You wouldn’t let me. It would leave too much of a mess on your couch.” Amazing how even a lethal injury couldn’t cure him of his arrogance.
You brush a hand over his bangs, lightly skimming his forehead with your palm. He’s warm, but not feverish. Infection doesn’t seem to be too much of a risk, at least for now.
As many times as you’ve cursed his name, he’s right. You won’t let him die, not like this.
“Who was it?”
“That’s not important for you to know.”
“If you do die, don’t you want me to avenge you?” you ask.
“Vengeance would be a foolish risk with no clear reward,” he responds evenly.
You reach over and ghost your fingers down his cheek until you cup it one hand. He gazes back at you, unflinching. Alhaitham neither leans into your touch nor pulls away, but you know he wouldn’t have let you touch him if he didn’t want it.
“Why come to me?” you ask. You know the answer already, have heard it a dozen times already, but Alhaitham humors your little game.
“Why wouldn’t it be you?”
“You could go home and ask Kaveh to patch your wounds, too.”
“You know why I don’t.”
You do. Kaveh, as fond of him as you were, wouldn’t have handled the situation in a way that Alhaitham wanted. Kaveh would call the doctor, would demand names, would force Alhaitham to rest until he was healed.
On the other hand, you’re not nearly as kind as that. Maybe that's why Alhaitham always showed up at your door instead.
The first time an injured Alhaitham came to you was several years ago, when your partnership had just started, and you barely knew who he was. During your first meeting, he sought you out one day, as one of your shared confidants had given him your name.
“Someone is smuggling knowledge capsules out of Sumeru. You know who.” That was the first thing Alhaitham said to you, and it had been a statement, not a question.
You smiled curtly at his brashness, a stranger who cornered you in an alley without any fanfare. “Why should I tell you anything, stranger?”
“Make a deal with me. Knowledge for knowledge.”
“And what can you offer me?”
His eyes had bored into you, unwavering. “I can offer you the Akademiya.”
Well. The wayward scholars who stumbled into your grasp weren’t nearly as enticing as the Akademiya’s Scribe. This was a once in a lifetime deal, and who were you to refuse? Knowledge was precious, your only form of currency and power, and someone had just offered you the key to the nation’s treasury. As it was, the two of you dealt in knowledge, but very different kinds. So you would give him information about the backdoor deals crawling around Sumeru, the whispers in the marketplace, the late night rumors. In return, he would give you access to the Akademiya’s wealth of papers, to academic history, to information most could only dream of.
So you told him the location of the smuggling, wished him luck, and returned home during the evening to find Alhaitham bleeding against your doorway.
“Don’t get blood on my carpet,” you had said, unlocking the door so he could stumble in. It didn’t surprise you that someone as smart as Alhaitham could guess the location of your hideout; what did surprise you, however, was the reason why he decided to go to you.
“My roommate is nosy. He would ask too many questions. And going to the doctor means risking rumors spreading about my condition,” he had explained, not even out of breath as you wrapped gauze around the gash on his arm.
“And what makes you think I wouldn’t use this against you? Alert your enemies where you’re hiding?” you replied.
“An information dealer who backstabs their customers wouldn’t make it through the night.” And there it was again, his eyes on yours, eyes like cold steel before it bit into your throat.
You didn’t look away. “There might be a day I can’t save you, you know. But feel free to keep coming until then.”
And he did. And he had. And here Alhaitham is again, at the mercy of your rudimentary medical skills.
Alhaitham’s voice snaps you out of your musings. “You should watch your back. One of your clients is a rat.”
“Let me guess. They’re the one who gave you that little stab wound as a present?”
“Most likely. And the mercenaries they hired to attack me wanted to know your location.”
“What?” You rise from the couch. “They attacked you because they were after me?”
“They were after both of us. They just got to me first.”
You sink back down with a sigh. “Damn. I’ll move to a different place. This location could already be compromised.”
Alhaitham calls your name. “You could stay with me.”
You don’t look at him this time; instead, you card your fingers through his hair. Staying with Alhaitham wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. You like Kaveh, and Alhaitham is still a member of the Akademiya; he would be under their protection, and so would you, by extension. It would be risky to move in, but it would also be risky to stay on your own.
But. But the knowledge that the only reason he’s injured is because he was protecting you makes something bitter choke your throat. The two of you are good business partners. You don’t want to lose the connections he affords you.
No, that isn’t true. You just don’t want to lose him.
“If someone is after both of us, then it’s too dangerous for us to be together. As soon as you’re feeling better, we need to leave.”
You’ll need to prepare for departure, then. Burn anything incriminating, remove any trace you lived here. You stand, checking Alhaitham’s wounds once again. Everything still looks fine.
“No goodbye kiss for your patient?” he says.
“Goodbye kiss? What, are you feeling sentimental now?”
“I’m just suggesting it because it looks like you’re the one who wants to kiss me.”
You roll your eyes. “Next time you stop by, I’m not opening my door.”
But you lean down and press your lips against his. He places one hand against the back of your head to pull you closer, and you nip at his lip in annoyance. As you pull away, you rest your forehead against his for a brief moment. He’s still warm, but not dangerously so.
The two of you are strictly business partners. Sure, you don’t kiss any of your other clients like this, but Alhaitham has always been an exception to your rules. For starters, the two of you meet frequently, even if you don’t have any information to trade. You pester him to meet at restaurants so you could order a nice meal and push the bill towards him. He’s always one of the first to know where your newest hideout is, even if you don’t tell him. And, normally you only deal with information; whatever your clients end up doing with it is none of your business. But you always follow up with Alhaitham… or maybe it’s more like he never leaves you alone, sticking by your side like a pesky burr.
It had started small, whatever “it” was. A hand on your back. Resting your chin against his shoulder. And then it escalated, so naturally you couldn’t stop it even if you wanted to. His hand on yours. Your lips against his. A night where he didn’t go home, and stayed by your side until the morning. And then more nights like that, to the point you might start fearing an empty bed.
Alhaitham is dangerous, in more ways than one.
With another quick kiss against his lips, you rise. “All right, Scribe, get some rest. You’ll need it.”
He doesn’t say goodbye, but you don’t expect one. There are never any farewells between the two of you, only the unspoken promise to survive, and see each other again.