Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It's not anything. It doesn't matter, doesn't even make the top ten while they're in that cavernous hell. He's too busy running his ass off, shooting vampires and hauling the rest of his team out of whatever evil bullshit they happen to stumble into when he's not looking. Anything else doesn't bear thinking about it so he doesn't think about it, not really. It just comes up sometimes, in the brief, quiet moment in between running for his life.  

It's just there's something about Salim, the slant of his shoulders maybe, or the way he fucking giggles when he’s relieved, or the way he looks over at Jason with those eyes of his, big and brown like a cow’s, like he trusts him. 

It gets to Jason, cuz he's starting to like Salim, despite his uniform. And it’s starting to fuck with his head. 

Salim saves his life. He puts up with Jason spitting every kind of poison he can think of his way. He listens to Jason, when he talks about the green zone and the girl at the check point, and when it's all out there for Salim to condemn he offers Jason a bit of comfort instead. 

When he’d ambushed Jason in that stone hallway, he’d pressed up close, knuckles brushing his neck and shoulders, face right there, mouth thin and focused. Mighta been that he glanced at Jason’s mouth a couple too many times too.

It sets off a little alarm bell in Jason's head, but there's bigger fish for Jason to fry. It doesn't matter to him if Salim’s a bit fruity, not when it's down to just the five of them against who knows how many vampires. After this they're likely to never see each other again anyway, and they're even more likely to die down here before they see the light of day. So it doesn't matter. So Jason ignores it. He doesn't think about it when his brain tries to drum it up to distract him from thinking about how fucked he is. He pushes forward, through ruins and caves and the ancient remains of an alien space ship, and he doesn't let himself think about it. He doesn't think about it at all. 

And then he does think about it again, because he's pretty sure he and Salim are going to die down here. 

Going back for Salim hadn't really been a choice. Maybe if things hadn't happened the way they did down here; if they hadn't worked together, hadn't become friends; maybe if the check point never happened; maybe if Salim hadn't spared him up top when he'd had the opportunity to take a shot and didn't, then maybe Jason could have turned his back. But all of that had happened, and it means Jason can't live with even one more regret, not if it costs him Salim.

So he runs back down into that vampire infested hell because Salim is down there babbling this and that about his son who he never shuts up about, and Jason is either going to save his life or die trying. 

He doesn't die, neither does Salim, but it's a near thing. It's Salim actually, who saves him. It's probably the coolest thing anyone has ever done in front of Jason, javelin tossing his metal rod through the alien and then running up to finish it off, and afterwards he just looks at Jason and fucking giggles about it. 

And well the thing is, thinking about Salim, saving Salim, it's got him thinking about the fruitcake thing, even though that should be the furthest thing from his mind given the current circumstance. But nearly dying has a way of getting the adrenalin pumping, a way of making you really really want to start living and fast. And thinking about the fruit thing has got him thinking about how the last time he touched anybody it was a barracks bunny over a year ago. It had been bad, if he's being honest. He'd met her at a bar just off base while he was nursing a club soda for the better part of an hour, that sick, prickly feeling running up and down the back of his neck and warning him that if he didn't find something else to do, he was liable to do something stupid like order a beer. So he'd let her walk him to a motel down the street and they’d had mediocre sex, the way you do when you're fucking because you're desperate not to be doing something else.

Given how things are going with these vampires, that might be the last time he kisses anybody in his life, a lopsided press of his mouth to the corner of hers because he didn't wanna be impolite or nothing but he also hated the smell of whatever lipstick she’d been wearing.

And Salim's right here, still smiling, and Jason's pretty damn sure he doesn't have any lipstick on. If he does, it probably smells okay.

He’s got this tiny little gap between his two front teeth, like a bunny. If he’d been a chick it’d be kinda cute.

And they're either gonna die or part ways and never see each other again, and Salim's a bit fruity anyway. It's honestly a pretty logical decision given half of Jason's brain is still trying to kick itself out of fight or flight.

So he stomps up to the man, grabs him by his collar, hauls him forward and crushes their mouths together. It's not a great kiss. Their teeth and noses knock and Salim's lips taste like dust. He smells kinda bad, like sweat and blood and beneath that some kinda spicy something or other. And ain't that just the queerest thing to do, putting cologne on in the middle of a war, while in uniform?

But then Salim's mouth is softening just a bit and one of his hands comes up to wrap around the back of Jason's neck and that's pretty nice because his hands are warm and he's real careful, gentle even, the way he does it. 

And then something shrieks not too far away and they tug apart to glance around warily. 

“We should go,” Salim says, softly, picking up his stake. 

Jason clears his throat, nods, and starts jogging towards the exit with Salim in toe. 

And then, in less than an hour they're out. The sun is shining and this time there's no comically shitty act of God coming to block it out again. It's bright and unrelenting and it lights up the whole hut even with half the windows still boarded up. Jason is exhausted. He hurts in places he wasn't aware he had. All around them, vampire bodies send up foul smelling black smoke. 

Nick and Eric both haul themselves to their feet and stumble towards Rachel. Jason watches from the corner of one eye because, despite how much he doesn't want to move, he's pretty sure he's gonna have to get involved; either to stop Nick from killing the Colonel or to do the inverse depending which way Rachel decides to go. But then when both of them get close enough Rachel just looks between them, then smiles and grabs at both their arms and hauls them in at the same time. They bump shoulders and look at one another, then at Rachel, both of them confused. So Rachel lets go of their arms to grab at their heads as if she's a school teacher trying to get them to focus and pulls the in and and well-

Huh, that’s something new. 

Jason watches long enough to make sure Nick doesn't need any help getting out of it and does actually want to be a part of it...whatever it is. When it's clear his buddy is good he turns to face the other way.

And there's Salim, looking at them over his shoulder with his eyes wide and his mouth shaped in a perfect “O” of surprise. 

“You Americans are godless people,” he tells Jason. It should sound like a dig but it doesn't, not when he starts smiling so soon after he's said it, giggling again.

Jason feels his mouth pulling into a grin, “Here I thought we'd managed to get you converted”

And Salim smiles at that too. Its a teeny little smile, and he looks kinda shy about it, like he doesn't want anybody but Jason to see him grinning. There's sunlight on his face turning him a little gold at the edges. “No, not entirely…but I suppose in a few ways…” 

And he's a lot closer now than he was before. His hands on Jason’s face and they're warm, just like in the caverns and he's real gentle-like the way he was in the caverns too. 

Jason opens his mouth to ask Salim what he's doing which turns out to be a mistake because Salim hauls off and kisses him. He's a lot better at it than Jason; gets his tongue in real quick and Jason lets him, confused as all hell about what's going on. 

They're out already, and at least for the foreseeable future they're not gonna die so he's not sure why Salim’s doing this, but Salim does this thing where he runs his tongue along Jason’s back teeth and any more thinking becomes pretty fucking hard to do. 

Somebody coughs behind them. It's a dry, polite kinda sound. Jason pulls back, watching a little shiny strand of saliva stretch between his mouth and Salim's before it snaps. It makes him feel some kinda way in the pit of his stomach. He needs to get laid, he thinks to himself, wiping at his bottom lip. 

“Search and rescue will be coming soon,” Eric says. There's a red smear on one side of his face. It matches the one on the other side of Nick’s. “Salim, unless you want to be taken into custody, you should go.”

That gets Salim moving. Jason watches him gather up his stake and go around the room, shaking hands and nodding at everyone. He pauses when he gets to Jason, hands wrapping around that metal stick like he's nervous. 

It strikes Jason then, that this is probably gonna be the last time he sees Salim, if not forever then at least for a long time. It's over now that they're up on the surface. Their uniforms mean something up here. It's a shitty prospect to consider after all they've been through but it's the only one that makes any sense. If the other option is Salim becoming a POW, then it's not an option at all. Still, it makes him feel numb all over, frozen in place and mouth glued shut because he’s pretty sure anything he does right now will be stupid or inappropriate.

Salim is looking at his face. His mouth is working at the corners like he wants to say something and his eyes-

They're shiny, a lil wet looking, not like he's crying but like he's getting close to it. Jason feels his stomach drop through the floor. 

“Goodbye, Jason,” Salim murmurs before he turns and walks out the door. 

Jason's making himself busy staring at the space where he used to be when someone shoves him.

“What the fuck man,” Nick says, sounding mad. It's the craziest fucking thing. Half his face is covered whatever red hell is all over Rachel and he's just swapped spit with both halves of a married couple at the same time and he's got the audacity to sound offended by Jason. 

“You're gonna leave it like that? Really?”

“I don't know what the fuck you're talking about Nick,” Jason says, and when Nick makes a face at him he repeats, “I don't.”

“There's that tell man.” Nick says, and Jason's sure he's gonna need some dental work done when he's back stateside with how hard he's grinding his teeth. 

“Fuck,” he says, then he stomps out the door. 

“Good luck marine,” Nick calls. 

Salim hasn't walked far. He turns when he hears Jason coming, blinking at him. 

Jason opens his mouth, closes it, gnaws his bottom lip like a nervous fucking teen, and opens his mouth again. 

“Jason,” Salim murmurs, stepping a little closer. 

Jason doesn't look at his face or his stupid mouth. There's no real reason to do it another time. Salim is maybe a bit of a  fruit but Jason isn't and Salim's got a life to live now that's probably going to involve a lot better things than whatever Jason could offer, not that he is offering. He shouldn't have let Nick goad him into coming out here.

He should probably just shake his hand and walk back and let Salim get going before the helicopters get visibility, but he doesn't. 

He sticks his hand beneath the collar of his vest and shirt. He finds the chain for his tags and yanks it hard enough the clasp comes loose. 

“Take these.”

He pushes ‘em forward. He's not looking at Salim but he can hear him breathing, feel him tug gently at the chain. 

“Your dog tags?” 

“I don't exactly have a phone number right now, probably won't until all this bullshit blows over. So this is what I've got.” Jason says “And wish Zain a happy birthday for me, sorry I couldn't get him a real present.”

Salim's quiet. 

He's about to turn and go when Salim speaks again. 

“Ramadan,” Salim says out of nowhere. 

“Uh,” Jason swallows. “I don't know what that is.’

There's a hand on the side of his face. It ain't pushing hard. Salim, Jason's starting to realize, is usually a real gentle guy unless he's gotta be otherwise. Still, he might as well be wrenching his head around at full strength for how easy Jason lets himself be pushed. Salim moves his chin up so they're looking at each other. 

“Your ignorance knows no bounds,” Salim says, and his lip quirks a little like he's thinking about smiling. This is exactly the fucking reason Jason was trying not to look at his face, his mouth. 

“My son will be in London, and I will be there with him for Ramadan.”

“Oh,” Jason says, feeling dumb, not really sure what this has to do with him, not willing to consider Salim might be telling him cuz he wants him to-

Salim moves forward and Jason’s too busy being confused to step away. It's a fine kiss. If Salim had been a girl it woulda been pretty nice, their mouths pressed together just right, his hand petting at the side of Jason's face like he's some big dog. He doesn't try sticking his tongue down his throat this time. It's all real gentlemanly, real romantic. At the end, he pulls back for just a second then presses one last one onto Jason's bottom lip, just for good measure. Then it's over and Salim is stepping away, smiling. 

“Until we meet again,”  he says, warm, happy. Then he turns around and he's walking away. 

Jason stares at his back for a long time, watching it get smaller until eventually it disappears over the horizon. 

When he gets back to the hut Rachel is sitting half on top of Eric, her legs swung over Nick's lap. They all look annoyingly pleased with themselves. Nick grins at him, doing some stupid shit with his eyebrows.

Jason turns right back around and steps back outside.

Chapter Text

Two years after Jason fell into a hell beneath the earth in Iraq, he's freezing his ass off in London. 

“It's not even that cold man,” Nick tells him as he helps Eric load bags into the back of their car, “and Rachel told you to buy a good coat.”

“This is my good coat.”

“Good for West Texas, not for the UK soldier,” Rachel says from her seat inside of the car. 

“We could stop somewhere and get him something warmer. I'll spend the money if it means he's not complaining the whole time,” Eric says, and the worst part is Jason knows he really thinks he's making a helpful, polite suggestion. 

“Rich boys,” Nick and Rachel mutter at the same time.

”I never shoulda agreed to come with all of you,” Jason snipes. It's not even officially winter here, but it's cold and dark and wet everywhere and Jason doesn't wanna take his hands out of his pocket but he refuses to let Nick and Eric handle his duffel for him. “Somehow you all make each other worse.”

“Ah,” Rachel says, “love you too. Now get in the car. You're making me miserable just looking at you.”

Jason grumbles but does as he's told. He looks out the window and he tries to ignore the sound of Eric and Nick bickering about who has to share the bitch seat with him.

“He's your friend, and I need the leg room.”

“Why do you need more leg room if you only have one?”

“You're sure he's here,” Jason asks Rachel, squinting as he watches a car pass them from the wrong side of the road. “And you’re sure he wants to see us?”

“Former lieutenant Kolchek I'm going to give you one chance to course correct before I kick your ass,” Rachel says, turning to face him. “I am a CIA agent. You think I brought us all here on bad Intel?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time a King made a shit call.” 

“Well fuck you too,” Eric says, looking disappointed as he loads himself into the seat beside Jason. 

“Hey man just cuz you're nervous about seeing your boyfriend again doesn't mean you can be taking shots at Eric,” Nick says smugly from the front. 

“He ain't my boyfriend,” Jason grumbles. 

“I confirmed with Salim before we even booked the flights.” Rachel starts to drive, easily ignoring their bitching. “I’ve offered you his number about a dozen times Jason. You can always call him and check.”

“Why would I do something like that?”

Rachel's actively driving the car so she's got to keep her eyes on the road but Jason feels the moment both Nick and Eric snap their attention his way. 

“Dude, you're still on this?”’ Nick sounds exasperated. 

“Don't know what you're talking about Nicky.” 

“You kissed him like five times man.”

“What the fuck Nicky?” Jason hisses, kicking at the passenger seat. 

“No violence in the moving car,” Rachel clucks disapprovingly. “It's not like it's some big secret Kolchek, we were there for two of them.”

“Two of the- you fucking watched when I went after him?” 

“Yeah.”

“Duh.”

“I would have taken a picture if I could Kolchek.”

“Fuck all three of you.”

“No more openings available for that position,” Eric chuckles at his own joke. Dick.

“We think you're great Jason,” Rachel tells him, patronizing. “But only as a friend.”

“Guys, leave him be. We gotta have a real conversation about whatever your defect is with Salim,” Nick says, frowning at Jason.

“I ain't having a real conversation with you while you got these two in here with us,” Jason grumbles, crossing his arms 

“C’mon man, it's Rachel and Eric. You know I'm gonna end up spilling to them about it anyway.”

“I'm gonna listen to my podcast,” Eric announces to the car before he sticks an ear bud in and promptly begins to ignore them all.

“See, now it's just Rachel and you were never going to keep a secret from her anyway man,” Nick says, Rachel humming beside him in agreement,“So tell it to me straight; what the fuck is going on? We all thought you were kinda, y’know, into it with him.”

“Well you thought wrong,” Jason growls, wondering if he might be able to just open up the door and toss himself out of the car so the conversation doesn't have to keep going. It'd bruise him up something fierce but he'd probably survive. “I ain't into nothing with nobody, least of all Salim. There ain't nothing between us. What you saw happened because we thought we were gonna die. That’s it. That’s all.”

“Yeah man, sounds really convincing but that timeline doesn't exactly add up. All the monsters were cooked by the time you guys started making out”

“Why exactly do you have to pay so much attention to me Nicky? Don't you have enough going on with these two that you can keep outta other people's business?” Jason snaps, arms crossed over his chest. 

Nick rolls his eyes. “Whatever man. Say what you want but you haven't actually answered the question”

Jason rubs at his temple. Nick's worse with the two Kings at his side. He used to be able to let things slide for a bit but now he can't ever let a fucking thing go. 

“I'm gonna say this to you once and then you put it to rest, all of you.” 

Nick nods. Rachel hums her assent. Eric continues playing with his iPod and ignoring the rest of them. 

“I ain't queer. Salim is maybe, I dunno I didn't bother to ask while we were busy fighting for our lives. Yeah, we had some contact but that was just an end of battle kinda reaction, like those pictures they took when we beat the Japs. The killins' over so you grab somebody and lay one on ‘em, and the only girl was Rachel and her dance card got punched twice.”

Nick, bastard that he is, lifts his fist up towards the back of the car. Eric looks up, vaguely confused, then after a second bumps it with his own. 

“Hell yeah it was punched. But that still doesn't explain outside the hut man,” Nick says, persistent fuck.

Jason clenches jaw. “That was all Salim. Look, he's a good fuckin man. Maybe the best of us. I don't know how many times he saved all our lives down there and I thought I wasn't ever gonna see him again. I wasn't about to haul off and make him feel like shit when I was trying to say goodbye.”

It's a reasonable fucking argument, so it pisses him off even more that Nick just stares at him like he said the stupidest saddest thing ever. 

“That's terrible reasoning,” Eric says from beside him. “And you can't say Japs, it's offensive.”

Jason punches him hard in the arm. “You fuckin asshole I knew you were still listening!”

They're supposed to meet at some restaurant after sunset. Salim works and he can't eat until then anyway so it'd be a shitty thing to try and meet somewhere sooner. Jason putters around the hotel as long as his mind will allow. He showers and sets up his room; clothes for the next day neatly folded in the top drawer; go bag ready under the bed; and he lays on the mattress for half an hour before he gets antsy. He doesn't bother trying to talk to Nick. The car ride over was enough to get him good and sick of Kay and the Kings and anyway, he's guessing they're already putting their hotel room to use, what with the way they all kept throwing glances at one another while they checked in. Jason's room is a double but Nick didn't even bother with the pretense of putting his suitcase in the closet.

Outside it's fucking cold, which isn't new. The sky overhead is an ugly, unhappy grey that lets you know every once in a while it's gonna spit out some cold, damp horseshit, not enough to be a proper kind of rain but enough to get your clothes wet. 

He walks, eyes front, heading nowhere in particular. He doesn't even want to be outside but it's either this or staring at the clock of his hotel room for another hour and a half. 

He hasn't been walking long before he stumbles past a big square. There's a fountain in the middle, tower off to the side, people taking pictures all around. Jason's about to head towards the nearest side street when he notices one of the bordering buildings seems open, yellow light spilling out between big stone columns. It looks warm. 

Jason takes the steps up two at a time. There's a man at the front greeting people. 

“I need to pay to get in?” He asks.

“No,” the man says with such a stiff, polite little tone that Jason knows he must have noticed the accent and already decided he didn't like the stupid American tourist. “It is open to all members of the public.”

“Well thanks then,” Jason says, putting a little extra twang on each syllable as he reaches out to clap the man on the side of his arm just a little too hard. “Bless all your hearts.”

It is warm inside, well lit. The whole building is clearly a museum of some sort, vaulted ceilings and velvet ropes and paintings all around. Jason wanders from room to room, looking hard at each one and not letting himself think about-

“You were kinda, y’know, into it with him,” Nick had said. He'd said it with weight, like he was trying to find an easier word to use to cover up something heavier. The trip was already fucking with his head, churning up all the dust left behind by the desert and the vampires and him and Salim-

Jason walks over to a wall and stares at what's on it. It's a bunch of flowers in a vase all painted with big yellow and orange globs of paint. Jason squints at the little card next to it. 

“A genuine Van Gogh huh?” He murmurs to himself, glancing again at the painting.

“It's very beautiful isn't it?” A warm voice says from somewhere behind him. Jason stiffens.

“Did you know it was one of four? Apparently he painted them to decorate his home for the coming of a dear friend. The last time any of them were in the same room was over fifty years ago now.”

Jason hears the man behind him step closer, the excited cadence of his voice slowing, getting wistful. “There are only three of them left now in this world. I hope someday within our lifetimes they might be seen in the same place, all at once.”

Jason turns. Salim is there, stumbling through the first part of an insincere apology for talking too much. He's dressed in a supremely soft looking sweater and slacks and he's got an ID badge clipped to his chest. He's stopped talking now, realization dawning on his face as he finally sees just who he's been talking to. 

“Jason,” Salim says. 

“Salim,” Jason says right back. 

“You look different without your hat,” Salim tells him, then he's hugging him. The sweater is indeed soft.

Jason ends up waiting at the museum. There's no point in going anywhere before Salim finishes his shift. He sits on a bench and stares at some painting of a naked lady in front of him and he tries to think of what he might say once there's real time between them. 

After the hug Salim had pulled away from him, looking embarrassed. He'd been blushing, Jason remembers, the tops of his cheeks dusted pink and looking just as warm as any other part of him. 

They'd exchange a bit of information then. Salim works here now. He lives in London, which Jason knew because Rachel told him. He moved to be with Zain, which Jason knew because Rachel told him too. Zain's doing well, which Jason suspected but asked after anyway. 

“I missed you,” Salim had said at the end, ducking in a little closer like he was sharing a secret, smiling just a little. “I'm glad you're here.”

Then he'd turned and bustled into another room to go do whatever museum things he does. 

Jason turns that over in his mind, the sound of Salim’s voice, the closeness of it, the way Salim had smiled at him just so, fluttering his eyelashes. 

This is a problem. 

By the end of Salim's shift the sky’s fully opened up. It's dark out now and wet, gusting wind keeps blowing through the open doors. Jason frowns at the rain, already hearing Rachel and Nick smugly talking to him about his coat again. 

“I see you did not come prepared for the weather,” Salim says from behind him. Jason doesn't even have to turn to know he's smiling. He's dressed like it's winter in the fucking Yukon, puffed out with layers of fabric and down, umbrella in hand. 

“Fuck you too,” Jason replies, then winces. He might have to start avoiding that kinda language considering their predicament. 

But Salim just chuckles and steps forward, tugging at the scarf around his neck. He spools it around Jason’s neck before he can stop him.

It's warm, like anything else that touches Salim, and it smells cleanly of fabric softener and soap and that vaguely spicy cologne smell from two years ago, and Salim. Jason's got a hand to it before he can stop himself, twisting the edges around his fingers. 

“You don't hafta.”

“But I want to,” Salim says, low. “Now stay close so you don't get rained on” 

The walk to the restaurant is short. Salim does his best to play tour guide, pointing out buildings and landmarks Jason can barely see through the gloom. He gets the uncanny sense Rachel somehow planned all of this out; that the hotel and Salim's work and the place where they're all supposed to meet are clustered close enough together to walk between; and that all the walks were pleasant and scenic. She's kinda scary in how meticulously she plans things out. If she wasn't such a royal bitch Jason could understand why Nicky got caught up with her.

They chat a little more about Salim's life. Zaine's adjustment to a new country and a new college had gone smooth, maybe a little too smooth. He's fully moved into the dorms which Salim clearly doesn't like despite all his protests that it will be good for a boy Zaine's age to leave the nest. 

“You don't gotta lie to me” Jason bumps their shoulders together. “I know you're steamed about it.”

Salim glances at him and then away. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth. That little gap. Jason watches, attention suddenly arrested. “I miss him. He already left Iraq behind to come here. Both of us did. He doesn't need to leave our home behind too .”

Jason chews on that for a moment, watches the orange of the street lamps play off the corner of Salim's face. “You know I got a little piece of American wisdom that might make ya feel better. You ever heard anyone say home is where the heart is?” 

Salim rolls his eyes but he's got a fond kind of look on his face. “I have.”

“I'm just saying. He doesn't lay his head there every night, so what? It's still his home,” he shrugs. “Kids grow up, they try new things. That don't mean they forget everything else. Shit, if I had a dad half as good as you they'd have to dig me out like a tick to get rid of me. He'll come back in time.” 

Salim nods and then, solemn, he asks. "Your father was not good to you?” 

Shit. Jason shrugs, looks away. “He'd hafta be around to be good or bad, so.” 

“Oh,” Salim says, “I see.”

Jason wants to snap at him not to talk like that with that soft sad voice and look at him like that with his soft sad eyes, but he holds it back because he doesn't want to see the face Salim will make if he does snap. He'd been good at that, back in the caves, leveling you with this stupid expression that lets you know just what a disappointing fuck you've been and how much better he knows you could be if only you were brave enough to try. 

Thankfully he doesn't have to wrestle with himself for long. The restaurant’s around the next corner. He can see Kay and the Kings outside chatting, all dressed in honest to god matching coats. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you three?” He asks by way of greeting. 

“Salim the dream!” Nick exclaims, dragging Salim in for a hug. 

“Eric’s got this thing about shopping,” Rachel explains while she waits for Nick to give enough of an opening she can greet Salim herself. 

“North Face was having a sale,” Eric grumbles, reaching out to shake Salim's hand like he's about to interview him for a job. “Good to see you Ottman.” 

Dinner goes off smoothly after that. It's Nick, Eric and Rachel on one side of the table and Salim and Jason on the other. They got enough room they can have space between them but Salim sits in the middle so Jason jams himself by the wall and tries to ignore the movements of Salim's right leg, the way it comes awful close to pressing against his every time he moves. 

The food is good. Rachel insisted on a middle eastern spot on account of Salim and it's all meat and rice with spices and herbs and a lot of different dips Jason's probably never heard of. It's a damn sight better than an MRE or the shit he cooks for himself at home, so he makes himself busy ladling it onto his plate. 

He glanced over at Salim. "You gotta pray or anything for uh, Iftar?” He winces as he asks, cuz he knows as soon as the word comes out of his mouth that he ain't saying it right. 

That gets the whole table looking at him, which he fuckin hates, but it's got Salim looking at him in a particular kinda way. Surprised. Pleased. 

“I can read a goddamn book or two,” Jason explains, defensive. 

“If you all wouldn't mind, I would be happy to recite a prayer here,” Salim says to everyone but he’s only looking at Jason.

“Salim, we're here to see you, please,” Rachel says. It's a real testament to Salim, how nice and good he is, that even Rachel turns sweet around him. 

Salim calls politely to a server and then he walks them through the steps. All in all it's not too different from church, ‘cept instead of a cracker and some wine in a paper cup it's a date and water, and he says something in Arabic instead of Latin. Jason’s not sure what to do with himself so he just sits still and kinda closes his eyes. He doesn't really, just narrows ‘em a bit cuz he wants to watch Salim pray. He gets this look on his face that's caught somewhere between relaxed and serious, reverent he guesses, peaceful. When he opens his eyes they're a little shiny like he mighta been getting emotional. 

“Lets eat,” he says, and Jason keeps himself still and doesn't jump when his knee bumps against his under the table. 

It's probably the best meals Jason's had in maybe his entire life. The food is good, Nicky, Rachel and Eric are far less annoying when they're stuffing their mouths and catching up with Salim on all the bits of their lives they have going on. Jason mostly tunes it out. He's lived for too long in uncomfortable proximity to Kay and the Kings and he doesn't need to get caught up. He only really perks up when Salim talks. He’d heard a little about Salim from Rachel, whenever she had news, but it’s not the same as hearing it from him. Rachel lacks detail, the way he smiles a little when he talks about his son, the open gratitude when he talks about his cousin who helped him move there, the soft, melancholy look he gets when he talks about Iraq.

And then, too soon, the dinner's over and they're getting ready to go. Eric and Nicky get caught up bickering about who's identical beanie is who's. 

“Yours has a lining remember, because you don't want it frizzing up your hair.”

“They're both lined, man.”

“Yes but this one is a different materia-”

“We took the car if you want a ride back Kolchek,” Rachel offers. “You too Salim.”

“Thank you, but I will walk. I think I may find it more peaceful,” Salim says, wry as he watches Eric turn both hats inside out and shake them at Nicky who's already laughing. 

“I'll walk you back,’ Jason says, because he's not looking forward to riding in a car with that either. 

“You don't have to, my friend.”

“Yeah, but I want to,” Jason parrots back to him. He'd taken the scarf off to eat, mindful not to get any food on it. When the meal was over he'd meant to just hand it back to Salim but when he tried Salim just took it and wound it carefully back around his neck, slick little bastard. 

“Alright then,” Salim says, and then he grins. 

Salim's got a flat with a little garden space in the front. He proudly announces he got not one but two pumpkins in this year and Jason politely oos and ahhs. There's a warm little orange light on by the door and they stand in the pool of it, huddled tight under the umbrella. 

Jason's squinting out at the rain and wondering just how quick he can make it back to the hotel if he books it when Salim says, “You could stay if you like, and just go back when the rain stops.”

Jason feels something in him go taught, a weird kind of not quite anxiety that flutters through him, bouncing all through his middle and up and down his arms.

“I would like it if you stayed,” Salim says, very gently. 

This is a bad fucking idea. 

“Alright then, if you'll have me,” Jason says. He shrugs and he doesn't look at Salim cuz he knows he's going to be smiling at him again, all bright and happy, and if he looks over and he's not careful enough Salim might get ideas about-

Jason glanced up. Salim’s bit his lip just a little, worrying the edge of it.

There's a dry clicking sound that comes from Jason's throat when he swallows. 

“My couch is very comfortable,” Salim says, a little too quick, and Jason's gotta blink and reorient. 

It's a gentle little rejection, no confrontation about it, no shame attached save for whatever is welling up in the pit of Jason's stomach cuz he ever assumed Salim was suggesting different. It's confusing as all get out because up until now Jason had kinda been thinking Salim wanted something from him he probably couldn't give. So this is a good thing too, to know Salim doesn't think of him that way, wants him in his life and his house as his friend and nothing else. It only stings cuz he's a little embarrassed he was making such a big to do about it while Salim wasn't even thinking that way in the first place. 

Inside Salim's apartment is warm, everything wrapped in fabric and rugs, all the shelves stuffed tight with books. He's got a stereo in the corner with a genuine record player hooked to it, and cardboard sleeves of vinyls in a crate right beside. The couch does look comfortable, piled up high with cushions. 

“I can find you something to sleep in,” Salim says, stepping further in and disappearing down the hall. 

When he gets back he's changed into a sweater and some ratty looking sweat pants. His socks are patterned with swirls of blue and yellow that Jason recognizes as the Starry Night, a fact Jason knows is irrelevant and knows he won’t be able to forget about anyway. He's got a similar get up folded in his arms for Jason to take. “There's an extra toothbrush I laid out for you. Use anything else you need to wash,” Salim says, and Jason, a marine through and through, does as he's told. 

He doesn't bother showering. He'd gotten clean enough at the hotel and anyway there's just something a little too close about the idea of it, even if there's a line that's been drawn between them now by Salim. But he splashes cold water on his face and brushes his teeth and then splashes cold water on his face for a second round to get his head on straight cuz he keeps looking around and thinking and feeling nonsensical shit. 

He's here to visit a friend from a long time ago, make sure he's doing alright and give the thanks he couldn't quite render back in Iraq, and then he's gonna leave and go home and be done with it.

When he gets back out Salim's got a mat on the ground. He's murmuring something to himself in Arabic, he bows, low to the ground and straightens again.

Jason stands at the threshold and waits. When Salim’s done, he rolls up the mat and sets it aside and smiles at Jason. 

“Do you want some tea? I can try and make it sweet the way you Americans like it.” 

Jason nods and doesn't say or do anything but watch. Salim putters around his little kitchen, gets a kettle out and actual tea cups, not mugs but actual pinky in the air with a saucer tea cups along with a real sugar bowl and an actual little pitcher he pours some cream into from the fridge. 

“The British are very serious about their tea” he tells Jason, gravely. Then his face cracks open and he smiles. “I like that.” 

And it's all a little bit much. It makes something heavy and warm and almost sickeningly sweet rise up in his chest, so big it threatens to choke him. 

He'd worried about Salim a lot after the the caves. He worried he might not have made it home and worried even if he did he'd somehow get caught up in more trouble, his army forcing him into another battle he didn't want to be a part of, or Jason's army getting ahold of him and sending him somewhere awful to rot, or killing him. When he'd heard from Rachel Salim made it to London it had only been a little relief, a couple big worries  just replaced by a dozen little ones, picturing Salim unhappy in an unfamiliar place, cold in the shitty UK weather and all alone.

So of course he's relieved to know Salim is well. He'd felt something similar learning from Nicky that he was actually happy with his little arrangement with the Kings, not just tolerating it to stay with Rachel.

And he's lucky he's not a fruit, he thinks, and he's lucky even if he was a fruit that Salim's made it clear he doesn't mean for them to shack up together anyway, otherwise, seeing Salim like this, the way Jason has always wanted to see him, comfortable in his little home, well cared for and warm and happy, it might have made him consider doing something irreparably stupid like crossing the room and pushing him up against the counter and kissing him one more time. 

Chapter Text

Salim wakes up early in the morning to pray and eat before the sun rises. Jason gets up with him. His time in the marines stamped him with the habit. He can't rest when he knows there's work going on around him. And well, he can't lay still when Salim is bustling around, so he tidies up the couch where he slept, changes back into the clothes he wore yesterday. In the bathroom, he stares at Salim's toothbrush and his loaner sitting together in a little glass, then he brushes his teeth. 

Salim makes him the best coffee he’s ever had in the tiniest cup he’s ever had it in. Jason  insists on repaying him for the space on his couch by making him toast and eggs. Salim prays again, rolling out the same little rug to pray on. After that, when Jason tries to leave Salim's scarf behind, neatly folded with the rest of the clothes he lent him, Salim clucks his tongue and moves again to twist it around Jason's neck, the back of his hands brushing his skin a couple times as he does it, warm as always. 

Jason grumbles about it, then laughs when Salim starts to layer on his own Arctic get up. 

“Laugh all you want American, but I am from the desert and I will not be cold if I can help it,” Salim scolds him, shoving an extra umbrella into his hands. “You should find a new coat. This one is too thin and it's no good in the rain.”

“Yes mother.”

Salim says something exasperated in Arabic and pushes him out the door. 

He meets up with Nick at the hotel and they go for a run. Neither of them were very good at breaking the habit after getting out and now, when they’re close enough together to meet up, they run. Well, Jason runs, Nick jogs and yaps. 

“Eric and Rachel are being weird,” he tells Jason as they make their way around some park near the hotel. Jason’s pretty sure he and Salim walked past it last night Everything’s still damp and misty and the sun's only just starting to get serious as it rises higher in the sky. 

“Weirder than usual for those two?” Jason asks.

Nick nods, mouth pressed thin. The Kings had better not fuck this up, Jason thinks to himself, the whole point of them was to stop Nick from feeling that way. 

“Yeah, weirder,” Nick says. “I'd be worried they were gonna break it off with me but like, everything else is going good y’know? And it's not like they're icing me out all the time, it's just sometimes I catch ‘em whispering to each other when they think I'm asleep or something.”

“Well I'm no expert on intimate relations” Jason says after a second. “Least of all whatever goes on when there's three people involved, but Rachel and Eric aren't such shits they're gonna lead you on then drop you, ‘least they aren't anymore.”

Nick glances over at him, and Jason can tell he's said the right thing cuz he's looking a little better, more himself, less worried. “I’m sure whatever it is they'll read you in when the time’s right, now keep up.” He picks up the pace after that, hears Nick curse behind him before he breaks into a sprint. 

“You wanna come get lunch with Rachel and Eric?”  Nick asks later, when they've both run themselves out and they're laying on some wet, awful British grass, panting. 

“Nah, m’good,”  Jason says, “I'm trying this whole not eating in daylight thing, figure it'd be polite so it's not just Salim showing up hungry as all get out to every dinner. Plus I gotta buy a coat. He keeps on bothering me about it.”

“Who are you and what have you done with Jason Kolchek?”

“Shut up Nicky,” Jason grumbles. 

“I'm serious, man,” Nicky says, once he's finished laughing and dodging the couple of weak hearted jabs Jason threw his way. “You're like, a totally different guy sometimes it's wild. Two years ago, around this time you were wearing that stupid hat and spouting racist bullshit all the time. Now you're trying out fasting for Ramadan. And Rachel's been on you about the jacket for like, two weeks before we left and every time you just waved her off but the moment Salim says a word you’re gonna get one “

“Shut up Nicky,” Jason growls again, but there's no real bite behind it. He's right after all, damn him. 

“Speaking of Salim,” Nick says, and Jason clocks the threat already in the tone of his voice. He'd just run about three miles, sprinting the last one was a truly bad decision because he's too wiped just to get up and start running again before Nick says whatever idiot thing he's gonna say. “How was your little sleep over?”

“You are a certifiable asshole,” Jason kicks weakly at Nick's leg. 

“Hey man, yeah, but how’d it go?”

Jason pinches the bridge of his nose, squinting hard at the weak British sun. “You ain't ever gonna let this drop huh?”

“Sorry J, you're kinda my friend and I kinda care about your life, whoops.”

“If you tell the Kings I'm gonna rip your fucking head off.”

“Okay, okay, I won't,” Nick says, waving his hands like a white flag, “but you gotta give me some mercy if Rachel just guesses, which she does all the time. She has special ops interrogations skills and I'm just a man.”

“Fine, whatever, you know becoming half a fruit cake has really turned you into the worst fucking gossip,” Jason grumbles. 

“PC term is bisexual bud,” Nick says, grinning, “not that I'm sure that really fits all the way.”

“Waddya mean by that?” Jason settles back into the grass and closes his eyes, realizing he's not going to be able to shake Nick off any time soon. 

“It’s like making a cake man.”

“But not like a fruitcake cake?”

“Shut up and let me finish, you need like flour, eggs, sugar, at least right? It's gotta have all three or it doesn't work, it makes something but it's not cake. That's how it is with the Kings. You know I'm pretty sure I saved their marriage? Like I took a trip to see my folks without ‘em last Christmas since it'd be kinda awkward to show up with not one but two white folks to the family dinner, and they both nearly got divorced again while I was gone. I think they actually need me to kinda even em both out so they're not fighting all the time. And I dunno, I love Rachel, but the more I get to know her the more I'm like, pretty certain I wouldna been able to handle her long term without Eric and well, Eric” he gets a little quieter then, like he's a kid on the playground telling Jason a secret. “He's annoying, don't get me wrong, but then you realize that's just because he cares so much and his rich parents never taught him real manners, and he's actually really good to both of us, and it's weird. I never thought in all my life I'd be okay fooling around with a dude, much less fooling around with one that's married to the woman I'm with but I dunno, when we're all together it's like-” 

He hears Nick exhale and beside him, the grass rustles like he's just laid back down. “It's cake man, it's best when it's all three and if one's gone you can tell it's missing and you want it back. 

Jason hums, frowning as the sun finally decides to become bright enough to bother him, even with his eyes closed. He should get another fuckin’ hat while he's buying new clothes. “Well, I don't get it all the way good buddy but I'm glad you're happy. You deserve to be after what you been put through.”

There's a long, heavy quiet between them, and then Nick says real soft, “ Do I?” 

And it always comes back to this in the end. Jason used to be so fucking sick of talking about it but well, that was before the vampies and before Salim and before he basically had to blow up his whole world and rebuild it into something better because there was no way, not after Salim, that he could keep on living the way he lived. 

“I'll tell you Nicky, the same way I've told you a thousand times before, if it's on anyone it's on me,” Jason says, sitting up and looking over at Nick, who looks the way he looked before when he was talking about the Kings sneaking around behind his back, but worse this time, more solemn, more unhappy, more guilty, all Jason's fault.

“You did what was drilled into you since the moment you signed up. You did what you were supposed to. You followed orders. The one who made the call was me. It was my job ya hear? To make sure you were safe and that we were doing the right thing and it was me who fuckin failed, not you.”

“Jason,” Nick says, voice tight. 

“Shut it, I let you talk, now you let me. This ain't some game of who's the worst fucking guy. It's the truth. The commanding officer is supposed to be better than I was. I wasn't. I'm the one who needs to live with that, not you man. Never you. If it was up to you we would let her walk away. So enough man, enough wondering if you’re some kinda bad guy and don't deserve to  be happy after what happened. You're not and you do. And if anyone tells you different you point them to me.”

Nick is staring at him now, looking for all the world like a lost fucking puppy. Shit, no wonder he managed to roll his way into Rachel's bed in those first three weeks. He just looks like he needs someone to wrap him up and take him home and take care of him. 

“Thanks man,’ Nick says, solemn, “but you deserve to be happy t-”

“Ask me about Salim,” Jason cuts him off, because his life is so fucked that talking about that is a better option than talking about this. 

“Jason,” Nick starts, but Jason waves his hand, jaw set. They've talked this thing through to hell and back already. It's clear neither of them is changing tack on it. Better just to say his piece and then change the subject before Nick starts to dig in.

“Fine,” Nick relents, then, “did you guys…y'know?”

“No we did not. He offered his couch. I slept there cuz I didn't wanna walk back to the hotel in the rain. That's it,” Jason says, and the sun must be picking up because his face is starting to feel kinda hot.

“Oh,” Nick says, humming. “I guess that makes sense since it's Ramadan, but I'm surprised you didn't try and make a move.”

“Why would I make a move? I told you already, I ain't like that, and the heck you mean because it's Ramadan? Is it some Muslim thing to let people sleep on your couch this month, all charitable like?” Jason asks, pulling up blades of grass as he talks. Shit, being exposed to Nicky for too long isn't good. It always makes him feel like a kid again, bickering with whichever of his sisters is willing to talk to him. 

“It's kinda the opposite actually,” Nick wiggles his eyebrows at Jason and he's gotta resist the growing urge to throw a handful of grass in the other man's face. “They don't just abstain from food and drink dude. They also abstain from fuckin’.”

Jason feels his temple start twitching the way it does when a headache is coming. 

“You're talking like this has got a point.”

“The point is that you ain't down and yet boy,” Nick says, putting so much country on the word “boy” that he loses the “y” sound entirely. “Just cuz Salim banished you to the couch once doesn't mean nothing. Just means he's a good Muslim which we all already knew.”

“That's great Nick, real nice, except for the fact that I'm still not gonna be fuckin him because I'm not gay,” Jason snaps, hands fistinc in the earth by his sides. “Even if I was, this is Salim we're talking about.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Like I’m not an option? Like how could a guy like me ever get a guy like him? In fact, there should be at least fifty buck toothed red coats with candy and flowers at his door all hours of the day, and it proves just how much this country fucking sucks that there aren't.”

“Jason, man, I know you're not gay but maybe like Salim is your hall pass because that sounded pretty gay,” Nick rubs the back of his neck and shrugs. “I like him too but not the way you do and he saved my life too.”

And Nick doesn't really get it because why would he? Even at his worst Nick had always been a good guy. But Jason hasn't been, not back then. Salim hasn't just saved Jason from vampires he'd saved him from that shitty version of himself he woulda just kept on being if he'd never met him. That's the difference between them.

“But why don't you just be the guy with the flowers and candy?” Nick asks, still not getting it, still wiggling his eyebrows like it's all some kinda joke. 

“No, shut the fuck up and listen, you don't understand Nick. It ain't me. It's never gonna be me. Cuz it's Salim. Cuz he's good. He's the best fucking man I know and he deserves the best. He deserves everything good, not some fumbling war criminal who just got the memo he's racist breaking his fucking heart.”

And that lands, clear as day in the way Nick looks at him, suddenly sad and surprised and so fucking pitying Jason wants to punch him. He doesn't. He just gets up and fusts the dirt off his pants. 

“Cut this shit out, Nick. It ain't happening. It just pisses me off,” he says, then, “I gotta go.”

“J-,” Nick starts, soft, like he's talking down a wild dog. 

“Go have lunch with your people man, I'll see you at dinner.”

And then Jason's jogging off in whatever direction is away and Nick’s not following. 

The thing about it is. Jason’s imagined it before. There'd been a lot of down time in quarantine and then in holding after that, and then, when they'd asked him to go back and help clear out them caves, well, a place like that, a man needs something good to hold on to, and it wasn't half bad to think about it most of the time.

The sex of course woulda been a shit show but he’s done a lot of stuff for drugs. He'd know how to at least make it good for Salim and that woulda been alright. And he's sure there's parts he coulda learned to like, Salim's not bad to look at, and he's real gentle and he's warm and he’d probably smell good, even if he wasn’t a chick. And Jason would get the rest of Salim out of the deal too; Salim laughing, Salim reading his books, Salim making tea, or Salim perched on his couch listening to the radio while Jason made him tea. Jason woulda been able to see what he looked like when he woke up and when he went to sleep and every face he'd make in between. He'd be able to make him dinner and take him out to nice places and surprise him with nice things. In his head it was always good. Better than he deserved. 

But that's the thing. He doesn't deserve it. Doesn't deserve anything even close to it. He's not a good man. And maybe he could fake it for a while, but not forever. Then he'd be staring at Salim and Salim would be making that face at him again, the same one he'd made when he told Jason someday he would regret the way he spoke to him, right before he tossed his dead commander's wallet into the waterfall. And he'd be right of course, because he's Salim and he's always fucking right. Except this would be worse because by this point Jason wouldn't be a stranger to him, he'd be someone Salim had mistakenly thought he could love. 

He walks around until he stumbles into a mall. This is at least familiar, sanitized air and fluorescent light and a thousand shiny storefronts hawking shit he doesn't think is worth the money. 

He gets a coat that looks like it'll keep him warm and keep the rain out. He knows he's spending too much time with Eric cuz he can hear the fucker in his head “tsk”ing away about how it could be better. He spares himself a glance in the mirror to make sure it doesn't make him look like a chump then he bundles it up to head to check out. He stops by the hats before he decides the British don't know how to make a fuckin cap and then-

There's scarves hanging over in a little alcove right by the register. Jason's still got the one from Salim on. He'd thought about leaving it in his hotel room but well, it's fucking cold and he's pretty sure Salim would give him shit for it if he found out he wasn't wearing it, what with the way he kept taking every opportunity to put back around Jason’s neck.

He's looking at the cheapest ones they have, which are unaccountably itchy, when he sees the red one. It's on a whole other shelf with a fancy little cardboard tube wrapped around it and printed with squiggly cursive. Something about cashmere, something about luxury. Jason scans that and the price, which is insane, and then just gets to touching it. 

It's soft, really soft, and he can already tell it's gonna be warm. The color isn't anything too wild, a deep rich red, a little purple-y, like wine. No pattern or unnecessary frilly shit. Just a nice warm, unaccountably expensive thing. 

He tosses it on top of the coat at check out. When the lady at the front asks him if he wants it in a gift bag he coughs, rubs at the back of his neck and glances around like he's scared of getting caught, then he mutters, “yeah, sure.”

Eid al-Fitr is coming up in a few days, Salim tells them all, which marks the end of Ramadan and is apparently a big to-do for him and his people. The Muslims around London are gonna do a bigger celebration, like a fair or something, and he asks if they want to attend and then maybe have dinner at his house which everyone agrees to in a heartbeat. 

“We can finally meet your son,” Rachel coos like she's some suburban housewife. 

Salim smiles at that but it's wrong, all tight and small and his eyes don't crinkle around the edges. “Yes,” he says, and he hesitates like he doesn't know what else to say, and Jason knows Rachel has already caught it and it's only a matter of time for the others and he can tell just looking at Salim that he's not happy and doesn't want to say more but doesn't want to be impolite either. 

He knocks his drink over. It spills across the table in a wave that lands directly in Eric's lap. It's mostly because he's the one right across from Jason but also because it's the funniest option. Eric stares at him from across the table as ice cubes melt into his slacks.

“You're lucky you left the military Kolchek,” he says, before he gets up to clean himself off. 

“Sorry man, accident,” Jason says, only a little sorry. There's a fuss about napkins and Rachel makes apologies to the waitress and by the time they're sitting back down they’ve moved on to other subjects. 

Jason's letting Eric bitch at him about how he just ruined a 200 dollar pair of slacks when he feels Salim's knee bump up against his. He ignores the weird prickly feeling it sends up and down his spine and waits for Salim to move away, but he doesn't. His leg just stays there, pressed up along Jason's, warmth seeping through fabric and into his skin. 

Jason glanced over at Salim. He's looking at him, eyes warm, and he shoots Jason this small, private smile, like the one from his apartment the other night when he was making tea, like there's this special little secret between them that's just theirs and no one else's, and it's so fucking happy and warm that Jason feels his face heat up from the force of it and he's gotta look away. That's a dangerous fucking expression. It's like staring directly into the sun. 

Eric is still bitching about his pants, and that means he's either been bitching about it for an unreasonable long amount of time or Salim's smile has the power to bend time itself. Either way, Jason's sick of hearing him whine. 

He turns to Rachel and Nick. “You let him spend 200 dollars on ugly pants?” 

Rachel shrugs, “It's his money.”

“They do actually make his ass look great,” Nick says at the same time.

That gets Eric spluttering and the rest of the table laughing and well distracted and Jason can finally opt out of the conversation and stare straight, feeling every minute movement of Salim's leg against his, where it seems determined to fucking stay. He keeps his eyes forward, mostly, but whenever he does forget himself and glance over Salim is always there, looking back. 

He didn't mean to but he’s entered a routine. Cuz there's no way he wouldn't offer to walk Salim home after that first night. There's something about the idea of watching him disappear again, his back getting smaller and then suddenly gone. Jason doesn't  like it and he doesn't have to deal with it so he walks him back every time and anyway it gives him an excuse not to head back with Nick and the Kings. Then when they get to his place Salim asks him if he wants to stay over again and he says yes because he can't figure out how to say no. They talk, Salim makes him tea, he sleeps on the couch, they eat breakfast together and then Salim leaves for work and Jason heads back to the hotel and changes and showers and lets Nick, Rachel and Eric pester him for the rest of the day. Then dinner with Salim. Then rinse and repeat. On the weekend, Jason manages to stretch the morning out till early afternoon, talking to Salim, listening to the radio with him and nodding along when he talks passionately about some music artist Jason’s never heard of. It's not a bad way to live. It’s a little like what he would picture when he was stuck in the caves exterminating the last of the vampires, Salim smiling at him from his space on the couch, feet tucked beneath him, always wearing ridiculous socks from his museum’s gift shop. Kay and the King’s are annoying as ever but it's the kinda annoying that comes along when you know someone too well to bother with being polite. And Nick”s eased up a little since the park, but he can tell he's just simmering away on it for now. He's gonna try and talk to Jason about it again, and Jason doubts he's gonna be able to shake him off when that time comes. 

It's kinda scary how comfortable he becomes with the routine of it. He’s sure that some kinda drop has to be coming soon. There's no God out there who'd send him this much good without planning to take it away just to teach him a lesson. 

The first bad thing starts with Salim, but well, when doesn't it? 

It's the second to last night of Ramadan. Salim's been kinda quiet the whole day. By now, Jason's realized he likes to yap, all the time, about anything. It's kinda pleasant to shut up and just listen to him go on and on about his garden or his job or whatever he read in the paper or heard on the radio. So Jason notices and misses it when Salim doesn't say much that morning, or at dinner. He’s not sure if the others catch on. Nick is right, the Kings are being fucking weird and it's hard not to get distracted by it. Nick is asking them what they were up to all day and Eric’s muttering some unconvincing bullshit before Rachel comes in and changes the subject. Jason almost considers trying to text Nicky about it, which he fucking hates doing for the record, but then the Kings end  the night by linking their arms with Nick's and wrapping around him like a couple of snakes and whispering about how much they want to get back to the hotel loud enough to be overheard and Jason had decides nicks problems don't need his intervention just yet.

So he goes back with Salim. Salim's still weird and quiet on the way back. He's weird and quiet in his house. It makes Jason worried, like the bad thing he thought was gonna happen already has and he's just too stupid to realize what it is.

He thinks about asking. He's working his way up to it. Then midway through his final prayer of the night Salim bows his head down for a really long time and when he rights himself he doesn't look all peaceful like he usually does when he's done praying. He looks miserable, and then he lets out this forlorn little sigh and sniffs and a slightly wet edge to it.

Jason wasn't aware he was still capable of this level of dread. He thought the army and his ordeal in the fucking caves of hell had fried his ability to feel this scared but apparently not. Apparently all it takes is Salim sitting up on his prayer rug and looking unhappy, face ducked away in the other direction like he doesn't want Jason to see. 

“Don't fuckin do that,” Jason says before he can stop himself. He already knows he's dog shit at this part, being nice and comforting and listening has always been Nick's arena, not his, but Nick's not here and Jason is, so he crosses the room and he says, “Whatever is wrong you tell me about it right now so I can make it better.”

Which is a stupid thing to say in hindsight but he's freaking out and it's the truth. He’d kill for Salim if he asked him to, but he knows Salim is a good enough man he'd never ask. Anything less is easy work as far as Jason's concerned.

Salim looks at him. There’s little drops of wet on the spidery eyelashes under eyes but he's already stopped any major water works. He sighs and looks down, eyes on his hands. 

“Zaine will not be coming to Eid al-Fitr tomorrow. He didn't want to participate in Ramadan this year. When he told me, we fought. I said things I did not mean. He has not been home since,” Salim confesses all at once.

Jason shifts a little. He doesn't say a thing but he sits as close to Salim as he dares without messing up his mat. Their knees brush and Jason doesn't think about it. 

“To be Muslim, for me it is the correct thing, I cannot imagine being any other way and I thought my son was the same,” Salim mumbles, eyes still downcast. He looks up at Jason then, looking suddenly a little nervous. It takes Jason a second to realize it's cuz he's afraid to talk to Jason about his religion. And it's easy to forget Salim missed two years of him growing the fuck up, that the last time they saw each other was in the caves when Salim couldn't say a word to Jason edgewise about his people and his ways without Jason being a bastard about it.

He nods for Salim to continue and after a second he puts his hand out and rests it on the curve of Salim's shoulder, hoping it's enough to convey what he can't quite say. That there's no part of Salim that Jason can stand to hate anymore. 

“The war,” Salim continues, “he already lost so much of Iraq before we even came here. It felt as if our faith was the last piece of home we had left.” Jason squeezes his shoulder, and Salim leans into it, bringing up one hand to rest over Jason's, which gets his heart rate going something awful. “But now I think he did not lose anything. He is choosing a different life, and there is already so much distance between us and I am- I am scared.”

He looks at Jason again with those big fuckin cow eyes of his, and Jason feels himself slipping closer and closer to doing something stupid. 

“The way I have lived, the man that I am. I am frightened that man is not the man he needs to be his father anymore,” Salim says finally, looking tired and sorry and lonesome 

And this Jason can understand, because he's spent how many fucking years of his life in the same spot, seeing the person he wants to be and knowing the person he is an understanding some gaps you can't bridge no matter how hard you try.

But that doesn't mean you stop trying. 

Jason gets up. There's an awkward moment where he tries to get his hand off Salim's shoulder but Salim’s hand is still there on top of his and their fingers kinda get tangled together and Salim looks a little like he expects Jason to drag him somewhere with the way he starts shuffling to stand and then Jason's shook him off and walked to the other side of the room to grab his cell phone where he leaves it hooked up to charge for the night. It's a brick of a thing, old fashioned and clearly used as little as possible. Jason feels kinda mad about the way even that is a little charming. He takes it to Salim and drops it in his lap.   

“Jason, what-”

“I don't know shit about shit,” Jason says, standing over Salim. “Not about being a good dad or a good man or a good Muslim or whatever, none of it. But I'm an expert on having a shitty father so trust me when I say you ain't one. You love him? You want to be good to him? You want to be in his life no matter how different you both end up?” 

Salim nods helplessly at him. 

“Then far as I see it, that's all that fuckin matters. So you call him. Tell him what you just fuckin told me and apologize if you think you need to.”

“You think I have not considered this,” Salim says, suddenly angry, rising from the floor to match Jason's height. “What if he does not listen? What if I follow your nice little plan and make it worse?” 

“Worse than what?” Jason asks, throwing his hands up. “You're already sitting all depressed in your house without him! And you won't make it worse!”

“And how exactly do you know that? You've never even met my son?” Salim says, voice rising.

“Yeah but I've met you!” Jason snaps, pushing up close to Salim. That gives the other man pause, his expression sliding from irritated to confused. 

“You’re good. You're the fuckin’ best. You even make other people better. You did it with me in what? Maybe eight hours? You've had eighteen years with Zaine, so yeah, I know he'll hear you out because you’re you and he's your kid,” Jason says, punctuating the last six words by jabbing a finger into Salim’s chest. His hand stays there at the end, finger still pressed up against Salim’s. He’s got a necklace on beneath his shirt, Jason processes, feeling something thin and under the thin layer of cotton t-shirt. And suddenly his mind is caught on stupid images of Salim with a little necklace on, gold probably, and glittery as it hangs over his bare chest-

Salim’s mouth opens like he’s going to say something. Jason cuts him off.

“You raised him to be a good man, Salim. Good men listen and good men forgive. Why not give him a chance to show you that you raised him right?” 

Salim blinks at him. He exhales a breath that's so close Jason can feel it on his own mouth which kinda roots him into place on the carpet for a second. Lucky for him, Salim is turning, looking defeated, and picking up his phone from the floor. 

“If he doesn't pick up I will be inconsolable,” Salim warns him. “And it will be all your fault.”

“I'll take responsibility,” Jason mutters, and he's got no fucking clue what he means by that. 

And then there's that little smile again and Jason's lucky he got stuck to the floor or that woulda bowled him right over. 

Then Salim taps at his phone and holds it up to his ear with the graveness of a man facing the firing squad. 

There's about twenty minutes of Salim talking on the phone in Arabic that Jason politely excuses himself for. He goes to the kitchen and puts on the kettle. He ignores the way his heart rate kicks back up when he hears Salim’s voice quiver around the midpoint of the conversation. The tea Salim likes best is in a little yellow tin in the cabinet by the stove and the fact that Jason knows that is frankly fucking embarrassing. 

By the time he's done on the phone, Jason’s got the tea cup and the sugar and the cream and the whole stupid tray is waiting for him, still steaming but not hot enough to burn his tongue. 

Salim walks into the kitchen and sees it there on the table and he stares at it for a very long time. Jason's sitting in the chair he usually sits in when they have breakfast together, and he's expecting a couple reactions, a hurried little thank you mostly, an update on how the call went, and maybe if he's lucky one of those tiny secret smiles Salim likes to toss his way. He's not expecting Salim to round the table and stand in front of him, something thunderous on his face. 

“Salim?” Jason asks, suddenly a little scared.

“Those two years after we left the temple, why did you not ever try to contact me?” Salim asks, voice very low.

Jason blinks. Salim stays where he is, eyes intent on his face. He's not sure what the fuck is going on but he knows whatever it is, it's important to Salim. So he tells him the truth. 

“First year and a half I was still in the military and still under surveillance. Didn't wanna risk leading ‘em to you.”

Salim nods once, that automatic movement of a soldier trained to show he understands without making too much noise. He steps a little closer. 

“But I relocated last year, and you left the military and Rachel’s always known where I am and how to reach me, and still, you did not, until now. Why?” 

Ah, and here it is, the moment he's been dreading since he arrived in London. This is when he's got to pump the brakes on all the good to make sure there's enough room for all the bad to rush back in. This is when he's gotta break Salim's heart.

“Because of the way you look at me,” Jason says, voice tight. “Because I'm not the same as you. I ain't.”

And it's supposed to end there. Salim's supposed to look hurt and maybe embarrassed and Jason's supposed to make some kinda shitty excuse for an apology and see himself outta Salim's house first, then his life second, but it doesn't. 

“Liar,” Salim snarls, and Jason hasn't heard that voice since he got pushed up against that wall in the temple. 

Salim's striding toward him now, shoving the whole table out of his way with a little too much force and it reminds Jason, suddenly, that only two years ago this man was in hell with him stabbing vampires through the chest with unnerving ease. 

“I am not stupid and I am not blind. You might not be that way, but you look at me that way,” Salim says, low and angry and closer. He's got one hand gripping the back of Jason's chair and he's only and inch or two taller when they're standing but with Jason sitting like this he towers above him. And Jason's mouth opens just a little and he can't get it to close cuz he's too busy looking. Salim’s eyes are so dark they're almost black and they move back and forth over Jason’s face, studying him. And then there's a shiver of something that crosses Salim's face, and he doesn't look as angry anymore, just kinda like he did when he was thinking about his son, sad and sorry and somehow alone even though Jason's inches away from him.

“At least tell me the truth,” Salim says, curling forward so their faces are very close together, foreheads nearly touching. “Two years I spent wondering why you didn't want to find me.”

And well, fuck. 

“It ain't about wanting you,” Jason says, feeling something inside of him snap. He's stuck here. The kitchen's too narrow for him to try and rush to the side and there's no standing without running into Salim. He gets his hands up and he means to push Salim away but instead he's got them on his face, keeping him there so Jason can tell him straight on what a fuck up he is. “Jesus Christ Salim anybody would want you. But that doesn't fucking mean I should.”

There's an inhale that Jason can feel along the ridge of his cheek. Salim's so close. 

“I didn't call because I was in the caves, and after that I was trying to get myself court martialed for what I made Nicky do.” Jason barks a hollow laugh and drops his hands away. He can't imagine Salim's gonna want him touching him after this. “They wouldn't fuckin let me. Too much bad press about the war already. Threatened to take Nicky down if I kept making it a problem. So I kept my mouth shut. Even ended my service with a special commendation from the top. Get it Salim? I'm a fucking war hero and I got my medal for killing people who looked like you because they looked like you ”

Salim is quiet. Jason feels the shift as he moves, raising his hands. Salim grabs his collar and Jason lets him, he hauls him forward and up and Jason lets him. Jason braces for impact and then-

Salim kisses him. It's an angry kiss, which Jason wasn't aware were actually a thing. There's teeth involved. Jason's pretty sure he tastes blood when Salim bites his lower lip. It makes him feel like he's on fire. 

Then like that, Salim's gone, pulling back away from him and Jason's lucky he's held in place or else he might have pushed forward to chase him. 

“Someday, you will stand before Allah and he will pass judgment for all you did in this life,” Salim says, solemn. “But while you are here and alive you will not  use me to punish yourself Jason. I will not bear that burden.” He pauses then, and oh fuck, fuck, his voice trembles at the end, soft, sad. “My heart cannot take that.” He takes a breath and composes himself. When he opens his eyes they are damp at the edges, but they are clear. 

“Please get out.”

Chapter Text

The morning of Eid al-Fitr filters in slow through the hotel window. There’s a square of light on the ceiling that first appears, then grows brighter. Jason can see it arrive because he hasn't slept. He's just sort of laid himself out on the bed. It's the first time he's really tried out the bed in the hotel room for longer than an hour and the whole thing is fucking wrong. It's not lumpy enough, not warm enough, no faint smell of tea and incense and Salim lingering around in the air. 

It's funny in a messed up way. He'd known it couldn't last. Now he's wishing he'd savored it more, like he didn't know from the start he shoulda been doing that the whole time.

He stays like that most of the morning, lying still and feeling sorry for himself, until Rachel finally breaks into the room. 

It's not a charitable thing to think, since she paid for it but he thinks it anyway. 

She stands at the threshold for a second taking him in.  “You want me to send Nick?” 

“No “ Jason doesn't bother to look at her, he keeps his eyes on the same spot on the ceiling he's been looking at since about 3 am. 

“Bad choice soldier, that means you've got me.” Jason hears her step in and slide the door shut behind her. “So how did you manage to screw this up so badly?’

“Fuck you Rachel,” Jason says, bitter.

“You don't get to talk to me that way,” Rachel says, sternly. “I don't care if you're mad you shit the bed with Salim.”

Jason's jaw ticks. 

Rachel sighs. He hears her padding across the carpet and feels the dip of the mattress as she sits on the side of it 

“I ain't sick,” he says, voice low croak. “I don't need some nurse at my bedside.”

“I'm not a nurse, I'm a CIA operative Jason, and this is my first vacation in six years. I should be spending it relaxing and fucking my boyfriend and my husband and instead I'm here. So let's cut the bullshit and get to it huh? What happened?”

And suddenly it's a little over two years ago when the queen bitch still reigned over their stolen corner of the desert. Jason sits up and glares at Rachel. 

“I told him the fucking truth. I ain't gay. Even if I were, I still ain't good enough.”

“Incorrect on at least one count,” Rachel says dryly.

“Fuck you Rachel.”

Rachel sighs. He remembers this sigh, the one that she used to use right before Jason and  his unit got some kinda chewing out. “Jason, this is getting old. I have eyes. You were in love with Salim before we even left that pit.”

“I told you already, that was just the adrenaline.”

“Oh shut up Jason,” Rachel says, talking fast. Mean as a snake. “I'm not talking about making out with him, I'm talking about everything else. The way you talked to him. The way you looked at him. And the way you were after him. You volunteered to go back beneath the mountains after we already got out once. Don't pretend that wasn't for him.”

“It was for everyone.” He has to wince at how much that sounds like a lie, even to him. Of course he'd gone back. It had been a goddamn nightmare but it had to be done. Those things were dangerous, fast, and as much as they’d done he’d been terrified they’d only kicked the hornets nest without fully incinerating it. Salim must have lived close by. Why else would he have been selected for the ambush? And the thought of some idiot in the top brass screwing the operation up and either bombing the whole place or letting some vampires slip through the cracks, it made Jason sick to his stomach.

“A day before you met him you would have just said to wipe it all off the map Jason,” Rachel says, and he knows it’s true, knows he wouldn’t have cared about the collateral, dead shepherds and dust clouds and entire towns collapsing in the blast radius, all of them faceless and less to him, not real enough.

“So be honest with me,” Rachel goes on, eyes on his face, calculating. “Is the reason you keep saying you can’t be with Salim because you’re really not gay? Or because of that?”

Jason pushes  himself up to look at Rachel, eyes wide, a little frightened. And he hates the way she looks back at him, soft suddenly, in a way she shouldn’t because she’s Rachel fucking King, queen bitch, the biggest fucking cunt on any battlefield. She’s not supposed to look at him like he’s somebody she should pity. 

“We were all in the military Jason, we all killed people.”

“Not the way I did,” Jason says, cold.

“Oh I'm sorry,” Rachel says, putting one hand to her chest, and blessedly, the softness from a moment before is gone. “I didn't know you were the saddest and most evil irredeemable piece of shit in the universe Jason. I wasn't aware I was in the presence of such a special little boy.”

“Get fucked King,” Jason snarls, snapping his head around to glare at her. 

“Believe me I will, by the two men who love me, who I let love me because I decided my life was actually worth living Jason. Rotting serves nobody but you.” She's glaring at him now and the expression on her face is so two years ago, like she’d  got his number in ten seconds and she's found he doesn't measure up. “

“People do things they regret all the time Jason. You're not special. The only difference between us is that I decided to live with it and you decided to make it your whole life. You wanna make up for what you did? Do that then, but don't act like screwing up the one good thing that's happened to you since Iraq is the noble choice Jason.” 

Jason's quiet for a second, then he says, “I’d hurt him.” 

“Then apologize when you do, moron,” Rachel snaps. “I don't care if you think you're not good enough. Salim picked you and he's been picking you for the past two years. He's not miserable because he loves you, he's miserable because you won't let him.”

She stands then, finished with him.

“We're all going out with him for Eid al-Fitr. Come or don't. I won't care but he and Nick will.”

She walks to the door and opens it, stops, then turns back, rummaging through her purse. There’s a folio file folded in half that she tossed onto the bed. 

“We’re proposing to Nick. Eric keeps whining that we need your input.” She tosses the whole file onto the bed and then she’s gone.

Jason stares at the ceiling for a little longer, then he sits up and flips the folio open. Eric’s made not one, not two, but three separate sets of plans, and in the left side he's actually made lined spaces for Jason to leave notes. 

Jason flips the folder closer and lays back down. 

He's starting to get hungry. The pangs of his stomach are easy enough to ignore when the rest of him feels shitty. By now the sun is slanting low in the sky. The light on the ceiling goes dim and blurry. Salim looks perfect at sunset, all soft and lit like he’s glowing. 

There's a knock at Jason's door which is fucking weird. Anyone who knows he's here could get a key from Rachel, easy.

“No room service needed,” Jason calls. 

“I am not room service,” replies a voice Jason doesn't recognize.

Outside his hotel room is a kid he doesn't know. Well, that's not true. He knows the kid in parts, the cut of his cheek bone and his big brown cow eyes and his stupid long lashes. Those are Salim's. 

“You’re Zain," Jason says.

“You are Jason Kolchek the American,” Zain says, raising his eyebrow in an expression that he definitely got from his daddy. “Your breath smells very bad.”

“Rest of me probably ain't much better, sorry,” Jason shrugs and steps back cuz he's fucked Salim over enough already, he's not going to be rude to his kid too. “You here to kick my ass or something?” 

“You Americans are always so violent,’ Zain huffs, lip curling. He hesitates at the threshold before he steps in. 

“Sorry, s’all the guns and shitty public schooling,” Jason says, motioning at the one chair at the corner of the room. Zain doesn't sit so Jason does, resting at the corner of the bed, staring at Salim's kid. This might be what Salim looked like 20 or so years ago. Jason wonders if there are any pictures of him at this age kicking around. He was probably a real dork, probably never without a Walkman and a big set of headphones and a giant stack of books, practically begging for someone to help him carry them. “Forgive me for the lack of pleasantries but why are you here kid? Shouldn't you be with your daddy? He missed you y'know.” Jason’s unable to keep himself from scolding the kid just a little, still thinking of Salim sitting on his prayer mat, forlorn. 

“I was with my father,” Zain says, frowning. “I came back this morning to have suhoor with him.” 

“Oh,” Jason says, slowly. “That's good.’ 

“It was. We spoke and we apologized and we hugged. I'm spending Eid al-Fitr with him and all of his weird American friends,” Zain says, still frowning at Jason. “But still, my father is not happy.”

Fuck. 

“Kid-” Jason starts, trying to cut him off, but he can't quite make it before the kid goes on.

“His smile isn't right,” he says, motioning at his temple. “It does not make it to his eyes. And he is too quiet. He usually talks all the time.” His gaze rises to meet Jason's then, sharp. “And I believe it is your fault.”

Jason swallows, mouth and throat dry. “Yeah,” he admits, “it is.”

“Okay,” Zain tells him sternly, “then fix it.”

“It ain't that simple kid.” Jason is suddenly so fucking tired. It’s the same record again and again, Nick, Salim, Rachel and now Salim's kid. It's like when his sisters cut him off, thinking if they just talked at him long enough that would be the thing that'd finally get him to kick heroine. 

“Then make it simple,” Zain’s voice rises. “You are Jason Kolchek, the American war hero who saved my father. This should be easy!”

“He told you about the mountains?” Jason falters.

“Of course he did.” Zain rolls his eyes. “He's my father. He does not lie to me, but apparently he exaggerates.” Zain motions vaguely up and down in Jason's direction. “I thought you would be more handsome.”

“He told you about me?” 

“Yes, the American who went back into hell for him, of course he did. He could not stop talking about you when he returned and then when he learned you were coming. It was one of the things we fought about.”

“What?” Jason asks, feeling kinda like he's been struck by lightning. 

Zain levels him with a stare, clearly unimpressed. “He waited for you for two years. You did not come. It made him sad all the time, then you come back and he is happy. I knew you would do this. I knew you would hurt him again.” 

“I shouldn't have fuckin come,” Jason sighs, defeated and tired and wanting to be somewhere else. 

Zain’s quiet for a long time after that. Finally he steps forward, holding up one fist. Jason braces himself for the impact of a punch but it never comes. The kid just stands there in the middle of the room holding something until Jason finally gets the picture and reaches out and he drops it into his waiting palm. It's silver, a long chain and two rounded dog tags. 

Jason stares at them in his hand. He thinks about a sunrise at the end of the worst and best day of his life, Salim looking at him like he'd fuckin’ lifted the sun up from the horizon just for him. 

“Where'd you find these?” Jason’s voice comes out wrong, wrecked.

“He wore them every day for two years waiting for you. Then today he took them off and put them away.” 

“You shouldn't go through your dad's stuff,” Jason says numbly. 

“You shouldn't have given them to him.” Zain glares at him, unimpressed. 

“No,” Jason agrees, still staring at the tags, imaging them around Salim's neck, warm against his skin. 

“You should not have made him wait for you.”

“No.”

“And you should not have come back.”

“No,” Jason sighs, slowly curling his fingers around the tags. 

“So why did you?” 

And Jason can't really say the truth can he? That he knew he'd fuck this up, and he knew he would and he still came, he still gave him the tags back then, because he just couldn't force himself to make the choice that meant he'd never see Salim again. 

Zain is watching him now. It's the way Salim looked at him beneath the mountains, like Jason is something entirely surprising and new.

“When he called me yesterday he told me a good man told him he should trust me more, to be the man he raised me to be. It was the first time he spoke to me as an adult. Because of you.”

“I didnt-” Jason starts, weakly. 

“He trusts you to be a good man too. You should stop disappointing him.” 

“I fucked up so bad,” Jason says, and he's got the dog tags curled in his hand now, pressed up against his chest, right over his heart. 

“He will forgive you,” Zain shrugs. “He is my father. He will forgive you and he will be happy you're there.” There's a pause. “Maybe you should clean up a bit first.”

By the time Jason's cleaned himself up and arrived the group’s long abandoned the street festivities in favor of drinking at Salim's house. Eric's the one that opens the door looking goofy drunk. “Oh hey man,” he says, only a little hazy at the edges. “Finally, Nick and Rachel won't stop complaining about you.” 

“Hi to you too Eric,” Jason says, stepping past him and inside. Salim's little living room is packed tight. Rachel and Nick occupy the couch with a clear space left behind for Eric. Sure enough, the moment he settles back down Rachel throws her legs over him, locking him in place like he belongs there. Salim and his dad are on the other side, Salim’s in the chair he likes to sit and read in and Zain’s on a floor cushion beside him shuffling cards like they're getting ready for a game. 

They go quiet when they see Jason. 

“Can I talk to you,” he asks Salim, kinda surprised he doesn't choke on the words with the way his heart is hammering. “Please.”

Salim nods, very slow. 

There's a collective “oooo” from the Kings and Kay. Jason ignores them and grabs Salim's arm when he stands like he's afraid he might run away. 

They end up in his bedroom, cuz where the fuck else where they gonna go? 

Salim stares at him, expectant, and Jason realizes he has no idea what to fucking say. 

“I got you this,” he starts, shoving the scarf forward. Salim stares at it for a second, clearly surprised. He takes it slowly, like he's scared Jason's gonna snatch it back, and Jason knows that's his fault. 

His thumbs run along the fabric. “It's very nice,” he says, quietly. “ Thank you.”

Then he unfolds it and sees the tags, sitting tucked inside. 

Salim holds them in his hands so carefully it makes Jason's chest hurt. 

Salim opens his mouth to say something. 

“You were supposed to move on and forget all about me and find somebody else who'd make you happy," Jason says instead, all in a rush. “Cuz I'm not good and I'm and addict and I’m racist and I’ve fucked up everything good I've ever tried to do in my whole life.”

Salim sighs, looking tired and disappointed. “Jason, if this is another list of the reasons you will not be with me, I would prefer to enjoy tonight with the others."

He moves to step past Jason, and no, he can't let him leave like this, so he grabs at him, catching him by the shoulders and stumbling forward so they're pressed chest to chest. 

“You don't get it,’ Jason says, suddenly desperate to make Salim understand. “I don't want anybody else to try making you happy either because I'm a selfish fuck and it pisses me off to think of them doing it wrong.” they wouldn't understand how lucky they were and they wouldn't listen to him right when he got to yapping and they wouldn't make his tea for him right and they wouldn't watch him right to know when he was really happy or just pretending to be happy and they wouldn't see it soon enough, they wouldn’t see that moment dawning on his face that lets you know he wants to be kissed.

Salim’s lips part. There's that tiny little gap between his two front teeth. Jason moves in close and then he's kissing Salim again, soft because he's not brave enough to try anything more. He's frightened of course, that Salim will either take it to be too little or not enough, but he doesn't. His mouth goes soft and pliant under Jason’s and he lifts a hand, warm and shaking a little, and lays it carefully along the side of Jason’s neck. Eventually they both have to breathe so Jason pulls back. He’s still pretty sure he's gonna get hit or asked to leave again, so he keeps on looking at Salim, trying hard to memorize his face, the dark frill of his lashes and the brown of his eyes and that soft pink across his cheeks. 

“I'm gonna do it wrong too,” Jason says, voice weak, already apologetic. “But I wanna keep trying to do it right. I wanna make you happy, if you'll let me. I'm sorry I keep making you sad.”

Jason can see Salim looking back now, eyes searching for something in Jason's face, he's not sure what. He guesses he must have found it though, cuz he nods at him, just once. “I’ll forgive you,” he says, “but you will have to make it up to me.”

“Name it,” Jason says, feeling a little like he's drowning. 

And then there it is, the final nail in his coffin, that tiny little smile.

“Kiss me again.”

And because Jason hates having good things he hesitates, because Salim is giving him this look and suddenly Jason’s a fumbling teenager again and he's never kissed anybody before in his whole life and he's got no idea how to perform and his face is probably so hot you could cook an egg on it. 

But Salim has always been better than Jason, kinder, more merciful. He giggles again, and there's nothing mean about it, and he says something real sweet sounding in Arabic and loops his arms around Jason's shoulders and pulls him in. 

The second kiss is longer, and Salim makes this soft, pleased noise in the back of his throat which sends Jason's head spinning. He means to pump the brakes there, because he's already embarrassed to all hell and there's still four people just down the hall and he's never done this before with a man, but then Salim tugs back enough Jason can see him fully he looks so fucking soft and he worries at his lip with those stupid gap teeth of his and his cow eyes shift from Jason's face, inexorably towards the bed. 

 And well, it would be a shitty thing to do to disappoint him again. 

Jason, as it turns out, is indeed kinda fruity. It's a relief. He knows by now he loves Salim but he wasn't sure really, if he loved him like that. Part of him had been kinda scared that all the feelings he had would somehow fizzle out, damp and useless the moment their pants came off. But when they got to that point Salim had made another one of those noises and then he'd started putting his hands on  every which part of Jason he could reach, and the rest had gone pretty fucking spectacularly. 

Later, he's gonna be a bit embarrassed about their first time being a fumbling quicky. But right now, he's just too happy to care, lying on the bed and listening to Salim fuss over his hair, which Jason had messed up something awful.

“I am forty two years old,” he scolds Jason, flicking at his hip I with the edge of his comb. "And Ramadan has just passed and you have me acting like some kind of teenager.”

“Do you have pictures from when you were little,” Jason asks, thinking again about a little dorky Salim holding his stack of books and listening to his Walkman. 

Salim says something fond sounding in Arabic and flicks Jason's leg again. “You, enough, turn your head back on and get dressed, we still have guests.”

And he says it so easy, like this is as much Jason's home as his now. It does nothing to kill the high Jason's feeling. 

Salim drops his clothes on his chest. Now that he's standing and facing him, Jason can see the silver glint of his dog tags hanging around his neck, for once not tucked beneath his shirt but proudly on display so they can catch the light.

“Up, up, up,” he commands, trying hard to sound serious and failing cuz he can't stop smiling just as hard as Jason is.

“Yes sir,” Jason slurs, sitting up. He reaches for his shirt but pauses when he sees Salim who's frozen, lips parted and face a little red, smile wiped clean off his face. Jason blinks and feels himself rapidly start to flush.

“Oh, you like tha-”

“Guests!” Salim hisses, frowning now and moving to try and help Jason get his shirt over his head like he's an unruly kid. 

Nick, Eric and Rachel somehow manage to harmonize a wolf whistle when they get back. “We were starting to think we should just clear out but we didn't wanna abandon poor Zain,” Nick says, gesturing over at Zain who pouting down at his phone with the angry look of a kid who's really trying to pretend he's anywhere but here. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Jason grumbles, going to pour himself a drink. There's booze of course, but when Jason opens the fridge there's an untouched pack of cokes sitting on the second shelf. 

He looks behind him at Salim who smiles that little fucking smile of his that Jason knows is gonna be trouble, knew was gonna be trouble since the day he first saw it really. 

“Thanks,” he tells Salim. Then he calls over him to Rachel. “Hey Rach, can you get me a visa here?” 

“Did you do what I asked you to do?” Rachel asks, smirking at him. 

“Check your phone later queen bitch.”

“Then yeah, I can.” 

Jason nods to her then over to Salim, who's gone very still. “I mean… if you'll have me.’

And Salim beams at him then and it's so fucking good Jason can't help but smile back like a fool when he nods yes.