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The door opens and Hytham looks up. A sense of relief sweeps over him. "You made it," he blurts, then covers his relief by adding with a wry smile, "Unharmed, I hope?"
"As well as anyone who does what we do." Basim smiles back, unlatching the clip of his damp cloak to place atop the coat rack to dry. "What of the contacts we were sworn to protect?"
The smile slips away as quickly as it appeared. Hytham feels equally weary and frustrated. "All accounted for, except for the scholar."
Basim barks out a sharp laugh. "Good."
Hytham crosses his arms, raises an eyebrow. "Good?"
Basim tucks a snicker under his breath and crosses the room to light the oil lamp atop his desk, bending low to watch it come to life. "I sent Emin to verify the loyalty of our assets. He was a loose end."
Hytham stares at him, speechless for a moment. He sent Emin? When did he-
"I see," he says, then pauses. "And you decided to tell me this only now." Basim looks up, lamplight flickering in his dark eyes. "Did you plan on telling me at all?"
Basim slowly straightens out and studies the man for a moment, taken by surprise. His response is measured. "Had I told you ahead of time, you would not have reported to me without prejudice. I needed to know how thorough he was."
"Prejudice," Hytham echoes, his hands clenched in the crooks of his arms. "I see."
Basim forces the joy threatening to bubble past his lips to settle and moves to stand beside the man, very, very, close. "Do I detect a note of jealousy, Hytham?" He whispers, voice brushing up against his ear.
For the love of-
Hytham twists past Basim with a roll of his eyes. "As much as you like to be flattered and as much as I like to indulge you, Mentor," he bites out, "I am not in fact jealous of how much time you spend around young, impressionable boys." He feels a vicious twist in his gut when the teasing sparkle in Basim's eyes vanishes, and he drops his defensive stance, hands hanging by his sides.
"If you do not trust my objectivity in the field," he says simply, "you should have told me."
Trust.
Basim looks to Hytham's feet and smiles a little ruefully. He should know better by now that Hytham is a very reasonable man. He should know better, and yet- "Forgive me." He says, watching Hytham's shoulders drop a little. "I am privileged to rely on you as my partner so often that I forget you are still my student." Basim takes another step forward, places a hand atop Hytham's shoulder hoping the sincerity of his words are felt.
"It was not a matter of distrust, my friend. You are only human."
It is wondrous, almost like magic, the way Basim makes him feel. With one word he can whip his senses to sharp attention, with a single gesture he can make him feel relaxed. Secure.
"I... understand," Hytham says quietly. Basim is still watching him, he knows, waiting for more. A better reaction, a more revealing expression.
"And I suppose Emin did need the practice," he adds, wry again, and it is yet another wondrous thing, the way he can feel Basim relax in turn, just from that hand on his shoulder. "I hope he did well?"
"Well," Basim slides his hand down from Hytham's shoulder, feeling the tension in the room ebb away. "You were not able to find our scholar, were you?" he says more than asks with another flash of a smile. "And you are thorough. I would not have trusted anyone else."
An involuntary grin quirks Hytham's lips. "Flattery," Hytham says in a measured tone. "You must have some, whether you receive it or offer it, hmm?"
Basim raises both eyebrows, feeling oddly emboldened for being called out. "Won't you indulge me?"
Hytham gives in with a soundless sigh and a smile, lets Basim's hand curve slowly around his waist, leans into his warmth.
"No," he says firmly and drags Basim down to meet his laugh.