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The ground had swallowed them whole.
How the fuck he was expected to be prepared for an earthquake, Salim didn’t know. Dar certainly hadn’t mentioned the possibility when he’d dragged him out of his house this morning, that much was for damn sure.
So, here he was, lying face down in the dirt in an uncharted pit in the middle of the fucking desert, and the best part?
He wasn’t alone.
There, less than five feet in front of him, was the American he’d almost shot on the surface. The smaller man was lying motionless on his back, and for split-second, Salim was convinced he’d been killed in the fall. He seemed young; late twenties or early thirties if he were to hazard a guess, his brunette hair thick with so much dust and grime that it almost seemed blond under the dim light of the cavern.
The illusion of peace was shattered a few moments later when the marine finally began to stir, movements sluggish and uncoordinated. Salim took the opportunity to climb cautiously to his feet, not wishing to startle the potential threat further.
“I don’t want any trouble” he whispered into the half-light on the chamber, almost expecting the American to go for his abandoned gun. Instead, he was greeted by a low groan as the man rolled over, raising a hand to his face as if he was trying to block out the light.
“What…what the fuck just happened…” the stranger slurred, sitting up awkwardly on one arm to face him. It was then that he noticed the blood staining his hair, culminating in a nasty looking gash on the back of his head. He was concussed, Salim realised, and quite badly given that he didn’t seem to be cognisant enough to realise they were on different sides.
Not that sides really mattered anymore.
“I believe you hit your head when we fell” he supplied, noting that the marine seemed to be looking to him for answers regarding their current predicament; not that he had any, of course.
“What is your name?” he questioned when the stranger didn’t respond, trying to gage whether he was more seriously hurt than he originally thought.
“What…?”
“Your name, what is it?” he repeated, frustration creeping into his voice. His patience had long since abandoned him; somewhere between the discovery of Zain’s hidden stash and Dar’s early morning wake up call, if he had to put it down to a specific time.
“…Y’re not one of us…”
The man was eying him suspiciously now, body tensing with his newfound revelation.
“Ah, finally noticed, have we?”
He saw the American’s eyes dart over to his rifle, which was still lying unassumingly on the floor next to them. In reflection, he probably should have moved the weapon far out of reach, but it was too late to do anything about it now. Fortunately, his new acquaintance seemed to think better of the idea, turning his attention back towards him with a huff.
“I…J’son…my name…my name is Jason…”
He offered Jason an uncertain smile, reaching into his pocket to find something he could use to stop the man from loosing any more blood.
“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it? You can call me Salim. I’m not sure if you are aware of this Jason, but your head is bleeding quite badly – will you let me help?”
He held out the bandage as if it were a peace offering. Jason practically growled at him, glaring back as if he’d just asked to amputate a limb.
So much for that approach then.
“Ok then, Jason, how many fingers am I holding up”
“I don’t fuckin' know?! Like…maybe six?” Jason mumbled, evidently unimpressed by his attempts to evaluate the severity of his injuries.
He was far too old for this shit.
“I’m not sure what people look like in America my friend, but over here most people only have five fingers on each hand…”
“M’not your friend…”
“Hm, so I gathered”
He almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. It was just his luck that he’d end up trapped with an enemy combatant in the middle of nowhere on his delinquent son’s 18th birthday. Just his fucking luck.
They sat in relative silence for a moment, Jason muttering curses under his breath whilst he studied him carefully with a healthy but warranted dose of exasperation.
“Don’t be a fool Jason, let me see your head” he finally demanded after watching the man sway for the third time in under a minute.
“Fine…” Jason relented, seeming slightly more subdued than before.
He moved slowly as if not to startle the younger man, raising both hands to Jason’s head to get a better look at the injury. His face was covered in dried blood and grime, but that didn’t stop Salim from noticing a few of the finer details.
The dusting of freckles against his nose.
The shadow of stubble framing his lips.
The light blush rising in his cheeks.
He tilted Jason’s face to the left. The wound was deep; hopefully not deep enough to cause long-term damage, but nasty enough that the marine would be feeling it for a few days.
“This is going to hurt” he stated, unravelling the gauze in preparation for what was to come.
“Yeah, no shit”
The second he touched the gash Jason tried to pull away, muttering something that he probably would have found offensive if the situation was any less dire.
“Ah, hold still! I am not certain you can afford to lose any more braincells if I do this wrong...”
Jason let out a short scoff of amusement, evidently acknowledging his weak attempt of humour. Just like that, the atmosphere seemed to shift into something more far more tolerable, and Salim sent a silent prayer to whoever was listening in thanks.
He continued to wrap the wound, as awkward a process as it was, apologizing every time his patient so much as winced. It was so subtle that he almost missed it, but at one point, the younger man almost seemed to lean into his touch as opposed to pulling away.
He’d just about finished the dressing when Jason spoke up again.
“…I’m gonna…. shit, I think m’ gonna pass out…”
That was all the warning he got before Jason collapsed bonelessly against him, eyes rolling so far back that Salim was almost convinced he’d been possessed. Thankfully he managed to stop the marine from hitting his head a second time, lowering his already damaged skull gently onto the ground. With more care than the situation probably warranted, he slipped the man’s scarf from his neck, turning it into a poor attempt of a makeshift pillow.
He might have been concerned by Jason’s lack of consciousness if being concerned could do anything for him, but given that they were trapped 100 feet underground, with no way of contacting the surface, he chose to remain pragmatic instead.
“Rest, Jason, I won’t leave you to face the darkness alone” he whispered softly.
Despite every fibre of his being telling him to walk away, in the end, he chose to stay, keeping silent vigil over a stranger that he couldn’t quite bring himself to call an enemy anymore.
It was a decision he would look back on fondly for the rest of his life.