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For the first few weeks after he gets out of prison, Flambae stays at his sister’s place. Munira’s is a homey little two bedroom and not too far from his old apartment, which is a comfort. It's not a permanent arrangement, just a landing pad while he begins the process of rebuilding a life out of thin air.
He’s going to SDN trainings during the day, slowly but surely recalibrating to a (semi) civilian routine. He spends free evenings at the whim of his 6 year old niece—watching the latest kiddie superhero movie or oiling and brushing her hair (to help it grow as long and shiny as his, she insists). Sometimes even cooking dinner alongside his sister, rather than in turns.
One of the first things he does to pay her back for the kindness is cook up a near-banquet for dinner. The kitchen table, normally filled with sprawling coloring pages and a few bills, is refitted with a mouthwatering spread. There’s a bowl of roasted eggplant dip, another filled with chopped salad, and two floral plates are piled high with fresh naan and steaming pockets of fried dough. In the center, Munira’s largest pot is brimming with lamb and spinach stew.
It's entirely too much food for only two adults and a toddler—even given how much Flambae eats to maintain his physique—and becomes leftovers for the next week.
After they three of them stuff themselves silly, Noria is elated see her uncle return from the kitchen with a dish of cardamom pudding, larger her head.
The siblings fall into a quiet rhythm, something Flambae is surprised to appreciate after the years of routine that had been imposed on him.
Munira hires a babysitter one Thursday evening, and they go out to one of his favorite bars. It's some of the first time they’ve spent actually alone together since she picked him up. Scoring a booth near a window, they sit watching people through the frame, occasionally interrupted by the squealing cheer of their fellow patrons.
Their own table remains remarkably quiet. Munira watches him watch the world go by beyond the glass, with her own baited breath. They haven’t spoken in depth about prison yet, the topic is looming now.
Finally it spills over: I’m glad you’re back, Noorzad.” she murmurs over the bouncing tune of yet another pop diva. His shoulders drop from where he hadn’t realized they were tensed.
The rest of night moves like thick syrup, at the same pace he begins to open up about the time served. It was hard, of course, but there were some mercies. He could hold his own against any asshole that wanted to test it. The most surprising thing was how many kids were there with him. 20-somethings that should be in college, even freshly turned 18 year olds, filtered past him over the years. Mostly small offenses, he noted. They’d likely be doing better anywhere but where they were.
At the second or third drink, Munira has gone sappy and keeps reaching over the table to squeeze his hand. “I really missed you, Noorie”. Flambae (Noorzad) has to wipe his eyes.
The night devolves into lighter chatter; lows and highs of the work week. Among the highs: the middle schoolers that Munira teaches are earnestly engaging in their current unit, reading The Outsiders. At SDN, Noorzad is befriending a woman named Alice who will be on his future team, they’re going clubbing together on Saturday. As for the lows..a different team member of his keeps ruining their lunch breaks, a bat-hybrid guy who insists on eating some variation of rat each day. At Munira's suggestion, Flambae had brought a platter of their leftovers into work to share, but this bat hybrid guy had still microwaved a whole rat after licking the plate he got.
There are many more complaints to be had about both Munira and Noorzad’s coworkers, not the least of which are the revolving door speed at which staff seem to be hired and quit at both the middle school and SDN. Thankfully neither of them held shining expectations about the minutiae of careers in public education or corporate heroism. They both know their own reasons for being there: systems be damned, they’re going to do what good they can. In the meantime, their overly corny supervisors are a decent source of entertainment.
The pair stroll back to the apartment giggling over nonsense. It's later than they should be coming home on a week night, but they’re both enjoying the time too much to care.
Once home, Munira pays the sitter and they take extra care not to wake Noria, meaning they’re both quietly off to bed. Munira's couch pulls out to a queen mattress, but it’s too squeaky to unfold now, so Noorzad settles to rest his legs on an arm rest before curling lazily into the back wall of cushions. Noorzad falls into a sweet and mostly dreamless rest.
—--
Sleeping in prison had left him too tense most nights to dream, much less move from his bed, but he remembers one of the few times that he had.
He had awoken being pulled by the scruff of his shirt and his cellmate hissing low “What the fuck are you doing?” His first instinct was to whirl and grab the man right back, and heating his hands as they clamp onto his assailant’s wrists, intent to burn. But the heat doesn’t come. A warning beep from his inhibitor collar does. His cellmate releases the grip, and watches Noorzad’s face drop as he remembers where he is. Hemust have been sleepwalking. He hasn’t done that since he was a kid, certainly not since his family first moved to the cramped little apartment that he’d lived in through high school.
Tonight, he finds himself in a more polished landscape. The mall fire. It'd been a frequent terror in the past years, but surprisingly absent lately.
There, he could smell smoke and feel the crackle of flames escape his palms–no longer locked away from him. For a moment it was exhilarating, his fire unleashed to its fullest capacity, blood rushing, and propelling him 20 feet off the ground with the barest hint of lightheadedness from the exertion.
And then the high broke, crashing him down to the ground with the force of a 200 pound fist on the arm of a 5 ton mech. His head was swimming, lungs burning – from smoke inhalation possibly, or just fear. He hadn’t heard the sirens before, enclosed in a self-made flaming hemisphere. Now they were blaring. Every step the mech took shook the ground, rattling his own limbs. But the battle was nowhere near done.
An alarm rings. Blares, actually. Noorzad is ripped from the dream, sitting up with a heaving chest, soaked in sweat and panting. All he can hear is the insistent mechanical yell coming from the apartment’s intercom. It sits across the room from his couch-bed, mocking him from beside the front door above a shoe rack. Its short loop sounds again:
“ATTENTION, ATTENTION: A FIRE EMERGENCY HAS BEEN REPORTED IN THE BUILDING, PLEASE EXIT IMMEDIATELY. DO NOT USE THE ELEVATORS."
The room is dark, no sun yet, but a steady flashing bleeds under the front door in time with the fire alarm. He scrambles to his feet and turns to the hall where Munira and Noria’s rooms are. In all likelihood Noria has already climbed into her mother’s bed by this point, except he doesn’t know what time it is.
He doesn’t smell smoke here, but maybe he’s just gone blind to it? the only thing he’s certain of is that he’s terrified.
Had he burned up in his sleep? Let a stray flame lick onto a curtain only to spread through the entire unit? The building?
Oh god. Where were Noria and Munira?
Had he hurt people? Hurt them? He doesn’t let the worst option speak itself aloud in his head, but he is painfully aware of it. And yet he’s frozen in place.
Not one month out of prison and he’s fucked up this life worse than ever. Munira never should have let him stay here, should never have contacted him at all.
Adrenaline kicks in as he begins to smack his hands down his body, hoping to pat himself out in case there are any remaining flames. All he feels is sweat. His pajamas are intact, so there’s that, but he’s still not convinced.
Flambae forces himself down the hall, heartbeat in his throat, and chokes out a call.
“Munira? Noria?”
If there's an answer, he can’t hear it above the alarm, and now approaching sirens. He still doesn’t feel anything but his own nervous heat. He forces himself further down the hall, the smack of his feet tell him that he must be running, but it feels for all the world like he’s crawling in tar.
Finally, he reaches the first bedroom door, it’s Noria’s. He calls again: “Noria? Janaana? Are you in here?” but gets no answer.
The room is illuminated by a blue-and orange nightlight in the shape of a doubled ‘M’. the light from which shows Noorzad that her bed is empty and unmade. Dread sets in.
He spins on a heel back to the hall, then rushes and all-but rips Munira's door open.
She meets him on the other side of it, but the room is still dark. The movement of the door seems to move a rush of air, and Noorzad’s heart is still pounding, Munira, however, is still half asleep, rubbing one eye as she looks up to his panicked expression.
Noorzad wraps her in a bear hug, relief tumbling out from worried lips. “You're okay, thank god! Where's Noria? We have to get out of here. Now.”
“Oh! Yes, yes I'm fine, Noria’s here with me. Sorry Noori, the alarm system has been on the fritz lately, lots of false alarms. I forgot to mention it. You can go back to bed.”
Followed by a shuffling
“Here, I’ve got some earplugs!”
There is no way in hell that Flambae is going back to bed, much less allow his niece to stay inside a potentially burning building
“Nope, not today, we’re leaving for this one.” he insists. crossing the threshold and scooping Noria from the bed in a swift movement. Astonishingly, she is still asleep. “Let’s go, or I can carry you both.”
“Seriously Noori, it's fine! I promise-”
“It is not fucking fine! The could be-” he cuts himself off, half startled by the desperation in his own voice. Munira must be able to see it too, because she doesn’t attempt to finish the sentence like usual. Just pauses for a moment, eyes locked into her brother’s, then nods.
“Okay, we’ll go.”
His heart still beats in his throat while she moves to grab her phone and a jacket. Flambae hurried to speed the process, quickly slipping on shoes at the front door, and grabbing a jacket and crocs for Noria too.
–
10 minutes later, standing in the courtyard as a building manager grogily exits his car to shut the alarm off, Noorzad is finally somewhat relaxed. Noria is still sleeping soundly, tucked up under his chin as Munira looks on fondly.
‘What?’
“Nothing,” she huffs, hiding a smile. She flashes a look down to her phone screen, where Flambae can see that it’s now a quarter past 6am. “C’mon, let’s get breakfast, that spot on the corner should be opening up.”
So they do. They watch the sun rise over shitty diner coffee, and Noorzad silently thanks everything above him. Everyone is okay.