سالم عثمان

❝ Believe me, when shit gets too hot - as you poetically put it - you’re going to need me a hell of a lot more than I’ll need you -

- But don’t worry. I’ll hold your hand. But I’m not cuddling you. I have to draw the line somewhere. ❞

“Oh,” Sebastian says, his tone coming wryer than he intends, “wow. Lucky for you I like ‘em old-fashioned.”

Teasing aside, he holds his hand out. “I’m Sebastian.”

And if Salim chooses to shake it, then he’ll keep his grip firm as much as the hold remains short. It really is more important to get the damn knife out of him.

With the promise of medical support, Sebastian doesn’t hesitate to curl his fingers around the knife’s hilt and pull. True enough, blood drools out once the blade is out, and though his lip curls as he reaches for the end of his shirt, he tugs it up over his head and sets it down beside him without issue.

“You got me good,” he muses, affording the dripping wound a glance before watching Salim work instead. “I’d be impressed if it didn’t” – a breath – “hurt like a bitch.” The blood mats the hair that travels down his navel and stains his trousers a shade darker on the way.

He peers at the open medical kit. “If you see a syringe in there with two barrels, hand me one when this is over.”

Salim does shake his hand, not bothered by the blood staining it nor by how brief the gesture is. Instead he immediately rummages through the medkit when they part, ready with gauze and medical tape by the time he pulls the knife out and lifts his shirt up.

With his teeth he rips open the sterilized packaging around the gauze. Despite that, he does pay attention to keep the side he presses against the stab wound clean from the blood and dirt that stains his own hands. “ It has kept me alive , probably . “ His focus remains on what he’s doing, medical tape keeping the gauze, red already appearing through it, in place as he takes out some thick bandages. “ I was beginning to think I was the only person here . If I knew I was wrong , I probably wouldn’t have thrown my knife at the first thing that moved . “

He moves closer so he can start wrapping the bandage around his torso, only pausing momentarily at Sebastian’s odd request. Quickly though he decides that it’s really none of his business and chooses not to comment on it. More medical tape is applied to keep the bandages in place once they’re layered on thick enough to prevent being immediately bled through.

“Sure,” Sebastian says as easily as he can. He swallows against the pain in his belly, pulling his handgun from its holster and offering it the other man’s way. “Something tells me you’ve got killer aim.” That something is the knife inside him. “And I’d rather not waste any bullets pretending this shit doesn’t hurt.”

But on the other hand, it isn’t like Sebastian has a lot of options in a place like STEM, anyway. It’s nothing he’ll voice to the man explicitly, but the obvious lack of Mobius decor on his clothing already makes him the most trustworthy person Sebastian’s met so far. As he leans against him, leading him to Union’s hilariously well-locked post office, he takes enough stock of him to figure the man’s as confused as any STEM first-timer would be.

…which isn’t to say Sebastian isn’t confused. At this point, though, confusion is second to finding Lily.

They reach the office without incident, and once the door’s locked behind them Sebastian gives an upward jerk of the head in the direction of a medical kit decorated with the telltale Union tree.

“Over there. I haven’t opened it, but I figure there must be some good inside.”

It is the smarter option, Salim doesn’t disagree. But he still glances between the gun and the man offering it with a look of surprise before he takes the weapon. “ Thank you . “ He says, bewilderment in his voice. “ And sorry about that ... Again . “ He adds sheepishly. Checking how much ammo is inside the revolver before putting his attention and his remaining free hand on helping the other remain upright.

If nothing else, Salim is at least relieved to know he’s not the only person alive with these monsters. Not that, in hindsight, he should be all that surprised. It seems wherever there’s trouble, there tends to be Americans too.

There’s a million questions he wants to ask. Hopefully he will know at least more than Salim does, which is absolutely nothing. He abstains from it for now though, at least until they're somewhat safe. This guy seems to actually know his way around decently, which is all the more suspicious.

“ Okay . Stay here . “ He carefully helps lower him onto one of the entrance hall, leaving the gun on the ground next to him. Then goes to quickly grab the med kit he’d pointed out. He looks inside as he returns to his side, nodding to himself. “ This should hopefully keep you from bleeding out , at least . “ He remarks as he kneels down besides him.

“You need it back?” Sebastian muses, his mouth twisting slightly. “Nah, you know what they say about finders keepers.”

His tone is wry, but it’s hard to stay completely cross with the sheepish, obviously regretful way the man holds himself. If this were real– and, God, it feels real, Lord knows Sebastian’s been stabbed enough times to tell– he might not be as charitable, but knowing he’s in the relative safety of mind space is comforting in its own right, even if Sebastian doesn’t understand how it works.

“Help me up,” he says, holding his arm out. “We’ll pull this out when we’ve got bandages nearby. I know a place we can go.

“You as handy with a gun as you are with a knife?”

The stranger’s nonchalance does manage to put his nerves at least somewhat at ease. “ Okay . I’m with you . “ He agrees easily, grabbing the man by his forearm to unceremoniously help pull him to his feet. He lets go once there, but remains close with his hand still hovering in mid air in an unspoken offer of a body to lean on.

He fixes him with an odd look at the question, finding less trouble in the question itself but rather with what it implies.

          𝗌𝗁𝖾  𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽  𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁  𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋  𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾  𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀  𝖾𝗅𝗌𝖾  𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇  𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌𝖾 .   she’ll  need  to  be  smart  if  she  wishes  to  stay  alive ,   but  she’s  quite  glad  he  found  her  in  the  nick  of  time .   after  lara’s  back  on  her  feet ,   she  lightly  brushes  off  her  jeans  in  which  she  mentally  notes  why  she  had  done  so  in  the  process .   perhaps  to  distract  her  from  the  adrenaline  that  courses  through  her .     ❝     yeah   …   what  the  hell  are  those  things ?   i  heard  them  when  i  first  got  here ,   ❞     she  manages  to  breathe  out ,   hazel  eyes  observing  her  surroundings  momentarily .

“ They’re vampires . “ He answers ominously, clutching the metal spike he used to kill the creature closer to himself. His gaze drops to it, now dead on the floor before returning his focus to her. His breathing slows, adrenaline leaving his body. Still, he remains on alert.

Salim says it’s all right to sit, so Eric sits. Pain flares up his right leg when his weight shifts, but here in public he does his best not to bring attention to it.

At the man’s question, he says, “Yes.” Only for his eyes to widen slightly as he backtracks swiftly and says, “No, I mean… not in that way. In fact, I think the less official involvement you have with us the better. After the debrief…”

Eric’s expression turns wry, awkward. “I can’t really talk about it in the open like this, to be honest. But Lt. Kolchek mentioned you had a son, and none of us want to see you taken away from him.” He pauses, hands folding on the table. “By ‘us’ I mean– well, Lt. Kolchek, Sgt. Kay, Rach– Agent King, and I.

“I’m sure we can arrange a more private meeting later if you want the details. If nothing else you deserve to know.”

When Kay spoke of what Othman did for him with the monster Eric had inspected, and when Kolchek spoke of what he learned in his time with Othman in the den, Eric’s blood had run cold thinking of what leaving him behind would’ve meant in the scales of the universe. He’d thought himself a step above going after Hussein’s weapons instead of openly attacking an already tired Iraqi military, but he’s got just as much work to do as the rest of them.

Eric’s thumbs fidget, rubbing against each other as his hands remain interlocked. “I came here because I wanted to see if you were okay.

“After ‘all that hell’ you walked away into the sunrise like some kind of storybook hero, and… I wanted to be sure you made it home.”

His eyebrows knit into a frown at the vague, almost nervous answer. The mention of losing his son has him tense up visibly and straighten his posture. Only briefly taking his attention off Eric to smile and nod politely, if stiffly, at the waiter bringing their drinks.

“ Taken away from - ? What do you mean ? What do I ‘ deserve to know ‘ ? “ He replies, now speaking in a hushed tone. He doesn’t understand where all this keeps coming from. Was a war and an ancient temple infested with demons not enough? He’d enjoy seeing Eric’s squad again, of course. Even with the little time they spend in the temples together, he really feels like they made an impact on each other. Nothing like a life or death situation to bring people together. But whatever King is talking about, he already knows nothing good will come from it.

Zain will be leaving for England in a few months. Salim is proud beyond words, and mournfully relieved as well. Is getting to enjoy these last months of his son’s childhood with him in peace too much to ask?

He knows that, whatever this is, he shouldn’t take his frustration out on Eric. Just him coming all this way to warn him means that what he’s saying aren’t just empty words. That he really does care. That’s really all he can want from him. It’s more than most Americans give at least. His expression softens. “ I am okay . I’m sorry I left so suddenly . After almost dying all I wanted was to hug my son . And I did . I made it home . “ Seeing his son so full of worry had broken his heart. The memory of his wife just leaving them one day had involuntarily crossed his mind at the sight. He’s never felt more relieved to be alive as when his son’s expression changed the moment he realised he had returned home.

Salim hasn’t told him the full extend of what had happened. He wouldn’t even know where to start. After a tearful reunion he had all but collapsed on the cushions in their living room. He doesn’t know how long he was out for but when he woke up the bandages on his chest had been replaced and Zain had left for school.

Starter with @enemyhero​ for Salim and Eric!

Quarantine’s a hell of a time. Certainly not Eric’s first time, probably not his last. But there’s something about this time that’s so different from anything that’s come before; no chemical spills or noxious gases, no potential parasites or illnesses. This time it’s something bigger, and the hazmat gear on the people who pass through and study them, interrogate them, talk to them like it’s a normal conversation to ask about what happened in an underground temple filled with blood-sucking creatures, feels like this is bigger than anything that’s come before.

Like they already knew.

Nighttime seems to be the only hours when it’s quiet. There’s still people awake, scientists and businessmen and, of course, the security detail making sure none of them slip through the perimeter set up around the crumbling building Rachel’s crew had set up base in. But the only peace is when the sky is dark, as if the US military respects the setting of the sun enough to keep it down.

Eric finds Salim as close to outside as he can get, standing between two pillars in the walkway surrounding what Eric thinks might have been a courtyard once. There’s a breeze out here, a bit of chill on the wind that doesn’t ease the tension surrounding them all. They’re all nervous, but Salim has more reason to be than any of them. That fact isn’t lost on Eric as he moves to stand beside the other man, leaning against the waist-high wall and crossing his feet at the ankle. No bulletproof vests or gun holsters on now; just jeans, a t-shirt, sneakers, his watch. It makes him feel vulnerable.

“Sorry about all of this,” he says, and it isn’t the first time he’s apologized for what’s happened, as if he had any control over what would happen when air support saw them come out of that house with what most would deem an enemy soldier. Lieutenant colonel only goes so far until he isn’t calling the shots anymore. “I’m going to make sure you see your son again.” However much a promise like that can mean at a time like this. Still, he says it, means it. “I know Jason will help, too.”

The American base might only be a few hours drive from his home in Bandra-Mandali, but with its the hours long interrogations, all in English of course. The white sheets covering every surface of the hallways and the American soldiers and people in hazmat suits not giving him a moment of rest they may as well have taken him to a different country entirely.

He’d almost rather have stayed down in that cursed temple. At least there he felt like he had some form of control over what was happening to him. Prisoner of war he’d heard them call him. Yesterday he thought the war was over. What a joke.

They left him to his own devices when the night fell. With everything that’s happened, to say Salim is exhausted is an understatement. Despite that he’d had no illusions about even getting a moment of sleep. And he needs a breath of fresh air almost as desperately. He’s not sure if he’s even allowed to be out on the open courtyard, but none of the many soldiers he passed have started shooting at him yet, so that’s probably a good thing.

He’s staring off when Eric approaches him. He’s so tired he doesn’t even notice he’s there until he speaks up. It startles him. But he quickly relaxes again when he realises who it is.

He doesn’t harbor any grievance towards Eric or his team for how this has all played out. He knows much too well how little the individual can do in the face of their government. Still he doesn’t respond to the apology. When he mentions his son, however, he sighs deeply. There hasn’t gone a moment by in this place that he hasn’t thought of Zain. He’s demanded to see him more than he’s said anything else. Has tried to make plans to escape even more. He’s not stupid, though. He knows that running now will just turn him into target practice.

“ He must think I’m dead . “ Salim concludes morbidly. “ But you are right . I will see him again . Ancient vampires didn’t stop me and these people won’t either . I just hope he doesn’t do anything stupid in the meantime . “

If Eric learned anything after his accident years ago, it was that denial and ignorance didn’t make him stronger; it only made him an asshole.

He wouldn’t say he had a proper rapport with Othman, granted. He wouldn’t even say he treated him well, not when he’d been ready to leave him behind when he was compromised (you cut the rope too, you know. Selfish, ungrateful little–).

But when he left Rachel’s team and prepared to return to the U.S., the part of him that wanted so badly to be a good leader throughout all this– the part of him that failed miserably– remembered that the whole team hadn’t just been Rachel and her operatives. That last night having drinks, that last night apologising to Kolchek and swallowing down his anxiety seeing Rachel leave with Nick’s arm around her, they hadn’t exactly been complete.

Hence, this.

“Non-alco–?” Eric cuts himself off, blinking. “Oh. God. Dietary restrictions. Right.”

Even if he’s realising very belatedly how creepy it is that he managed to find Othman at all (he could say it’s because he’s in intelligence, which wouldn’t be wrong, but then he’d have to tell Othman about how he had a phrase book full of Arabic that Rachel had helped him with so he could track down the Salim Othman in this area, and then he’d probably have to say something to prove it, and then Othman would laugh at his accent, and then his prosthetic would snap in half from the weight of his humiliation). On the bright side, though, Eric only really found him by pseudo-chance– he’d heard everyone in the neighbourhood came to dine at this little eatery, and a random-not-so-random meeting is less bizarre than actually showing up at Othman’s door. But a part of Eric felt finding Othman’s actual home would’ve been too much, too sinister, and so he’d purposely avoided that altogether.

He clears his throat. “Non-alcoholic drinks are fine. Yeah. I like soda.” Eric shifts his weight, not sure if he should sit at the man’s table. “You can have soda, right? Genuine question.”

Salim hadn’t expected to see any of them again after he had walked away. Let alone that the apparent commanding officer of their little entourage would come find him in Bandra-Mandali. 

He doesn’t know much about the lieutenant colonel. They didn’t have much opportunity to talk down in the temples. Not that he would’ve expected them to have time or the civility for any formalities in the first place. That he’d actually managed to convince them not to shoot him on sight had already been a surprise. The friendship he’d built with Jason and Nick had been a bigger, but even more pleasant one.

He’s more impressed than creeped out that the man managed to find him at all. Besides Zain and him, he doesn’t know many in their town that understand a word of English, even less that would openly associate with someone speaking it natively. Then again, the war is over as far as Salim is concerned, they lost. Technically this is American territory now, even if no one really seems to care about such technicalities. The Americans or Saddam, it’s the same to small town folk like him.

Of course, all of that is without knowing any of the misery that’s to come.

He sniggers at Eric’s confusion. Most Americans are ignorant, that much is a fact he’s come to accept. But it is amusing to see it manifest in such harmless things. “ I’m allowed to have soda , yes . “ He says then gestures towards one of the empty seats at the table. “ Sit down , I’ll order for you . “ With that, he calls out to the server in Arabic and orders them both a drink.

The situation is absurd, really. After all the vampires and aliens the idea that an American would come to him with such an offer on equal terms shouldn’t be so odd anymore. Still, Salim hadn’t expected any sympathy from them after the danger had passed. Let alone an offer for what could very well be mistaken for friendship.

@enemyhero 🖤 ’ｄ ｏｎｅ－ｌｉｎｅｒ ｓｃ

❛  Was that a friend of yours ?  ❜