That's Bait

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Madi just wanted to go on a walk. It was the middle of the day, she’s been working since the sun came up over the horizon, and she needed a little rest. But sitting down felt like she’s been wasting time, so she ended up taking a walk.

She hasn’t seen the smoke, that wasn’t what drove her towards Iyaz. Not at first, at least. She’s been really close by the time the first whiff of smoke appeared in her vision and after a moment of worry, she headed over. It was probably nothing, but she should still check it out and–

It was, thankfully, nothing.

Or, we’ll, not nothing, it was Iyaz playing around with small pyres. Madi stopped on the edge of the clearing, feeling like she was intruding and feeling a good chunk of awkwardness as Iyaz and her eyes met.

“Hi, uhh– sorry, didn’t meant to interrupt your–” he seemed to have a glint of excitement in his eyes, if Madi could recognize it well. “Uhm, what are you doing exactly? –you don’t– you know, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, I just– sorry.”

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Iyaz just stood there. Looking back in Madi’s eyes, unable to really think of anything to say.

With a terribly pronounced sense of self awareness Iyaz could now imagine how he looked from an outside perspective. Humiliation so profound it was almost an out of body experience. There he was, all alone and muttering to himself, ash caught in his hair, and surrounded by pitiful piles of dying smoke.

“It’s not what it looks like.” His smile was so tight his molars ground together with teeth whittling force. “Course, it’s a little of what it looks like. I am lighting fires but I’m not some kind of pyro-maniac.” Which is of course what a pyromaniac would say. Backpedaling his immediate denial with a more candid one had obviously been a bad decision. Madi wasn’t one of those castaways that judged people for simple embarrassing things. She had a more or less moral code she judged people by. I

“I’m not doing this to blow off steam or anything. I’m not angry.” yaz was one to judge people for simple embarrassing things. So it was hard to move past how the initial interruption threw him off. “It just feels good.” His eyes pinched, as his intake of air caught the ‘wait no that’s worse’ from slipping out. “I’m getting good. Is what I meant.”

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Emre certainly felt like he was going to die.  If the drought carried on, they’d all die of course; but waterbabies would be the first to go.  And it pissed Emre off, knowing he’d expire and leave Iyaz to fend for himself.  For weeks, months, maybe even years. The thought was unbearable.  Like every other time Emre courted his own death, he pivoted with one counterpoint, one absolute: he had to live. For Iyaz, he had to live.

And as usual, Emre didn’t share any of his morbid thoughts with Iyaz, no fretting the baby.  He just squeezed Iyaz’s arm when the younger folded his longs limbs next to Emre.  He knew Iyaz was taller than him, but he still just seemed spindly, like a newborn giraffe to Emre.  That just made Iyaz…smaller.  Cuddlier. 

Iyaz allowed Emre to tell the story.  Not completely in full yet, but without interruptions, which made it easier for Emre as well.  He drank some water.  “I was…embarrassed,” he confessed, thick and dusty with regret.  “Stupid thing to feel.  Manz just killed and I was embarrassed to talk about him.  There’s a lot about Afghanistan I don’t tell you.  I’ll never tell you, you shouldn’t know.  But nah…company weren’t entirely shit.  Glad you was not there.  All I wanted to do was come home to you.”  

Emre’s throat tightened, at Iyaz’s measured sympathy.  He gave a birdlike nod, staring at the fire as Iyaz joined him.  “Ajitpal Johiya Raj Singh.  Just Ajit, he thought it’d be easier for the British and the Yanks.  Course, they called him ‘a shit’, laughed at their fucking cleverness…” Emre’s mouth tensed, and he spat to the side.  No spittle, but the effect was enough.  “He didn’t care about them, he didn’t give a toss.  He was brave.  I kissed him first, you know.  I told him it was alright.  Neither of us knowing the fuck we was doing, but he was so…so bloody kind, man.  The kindest.”

More silence, and the eventually, Emre looked sidelong at Iyaz.  “Oi.  Why’d you say that thing about Kaz, then.  When I told you about mummy.  Why’d you…why would you say that to me, Yaz.”

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Even in Emre’s long absences overseas, and again when he went to work Iyaz always knew he’d come back. Because that is what Emre did. He was the one person that didn’t leave for good. The thought of Emre ever dying and leaving him was not really something Iyaz could entertain. Emre even came back from his banishment to the fishers hut. He was persistent. The idea that Emre would not bounce back from this too was more far-fetched then anything Meridium could throw at them.

“I’m glad you came home Em. Even if I’m sorry you’ve gone through more shit than I know.” He watched the fire burn. Had to reach out his hand slightly, tense around his eyes to keep it from burning through the dry wood too quickly. With experiments he found he could drag out the time it took to use up the fuel. It just made him look a little constipated sitting next to his brother who obviously had it worse all around.

“Those absolute pricks. Of course they thought they were clever.” Iyaz let his concentration on the fire drop. More concerned with just being with his brother at the moment. A quiet moment of reprieve. “He sounds like a good man, Em. Good for you. I’m glad he was there when you needed him, and.” His shoulders lifted in a shrug. Unsure of what else to add.

Emre was coming out to him. Which was a twist if ever there was one. Especially after the shit his big brother put him through when he tried it. But Iyaz was older than Emre was at the time, and wiser about things like this. He probably owed Peter ten pounds. Still, Emre deserved more than this probably. If they were back home Iyaz would have to treat him to a few drinks, introduce him to some culture even if it were just to see Emre’s reaction. Now all he really could do was put a hand around his shoulders and hope that was enough.

“Fucked in the head. Now there’s a medical diagnosis for you; one people could grasp right away.” Tomas meant it, actually. It would be a damn sight easier to understand than the jargon and DSM diagnostical terms. “I’ll stick with that one, Dottore.”

Tomas wasn’t really looking at Iyaz for this conversation – although he’d employed his unsettling flat stare many a time in an idle attempt at discomfiting the younger man, it was true – but he looked up when Iyaz talked about his passion falling by the wayside. Or being swamped over by a more pressing hierarchy of needs, more like. “Y’know,” Tomas said, “half the time I can’t tell if you’re being self-deprecating because you’re British, or because you actually mean it.”

But Iyaz had more self-awareness than Tomas gave him credit for, which became more obvious as he went on, dwelling on the subject of passions. Tomas was profoundly uncomfortable, now. That word, that concept, had always given him trouble. People following their passions as if that was the be-all and end-all, and your passions didn’t change or didn’t have a rankings system. He’d sidelined his passion for music in order to have a family and support them. Was that really some kind of saddening tragedy? Didn’t having a wife and daughters fulfill a different sort of passionate need?

The type of passionate need that Iyaz was hinting Emre would focus on, well. “You’re right about that,” Tomas grunted, amused. “He’s more invested in you and your romantic fulfillment than you are.” Belatedly, Tomas remembered some of the things Iyaz had told him about … Paul? Patel? Peter – and walked it back. “I mean. We’re all trying to make amends, here.”

Tomas, familiar only with the actual book Gray’s Anatomy, had to struggle slightly with the context but he caught on (like St. Elsewhere, he supposed) and met Iyaz’ imaginary menu with an appropriate disgusted face. “Maybe we should keep you a doc a while longer,” he chuckled, as he looked over the first pillar–

–only to find that slightly rictus grin on Iyaz’ face, the one where he was bringing all his manners to the fore. Tomas was startled. He’d just approved of Iyaz’ work! Really, the young doctor needed so much nursing and petting, it was amazing that Emre had time to do anything else. “It was all Thighmaster and the cabbage soup diet for us,” Tomas said. “Cowshit water might be a step up.” He sighed, suddenly, hands hovering over the next pillar he’d shaped. “I really hope my girls didn’t fall victim to any of that nonsense. Since my sister raised them she probably had a lot to say about it, but I don’t know what kind of society they grew up in. Supposedly that nutritional shake fad is still popular?”

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Everyone’s getting diagnoses, all of them various kinds of fucked. Save out on a lot of wasted time explaining.” He looked to the side, then down slightly. A satisfying tilt to his chin followed by a smile. “I will be honest. With as big as a head I’ve gotten a little British self-deprecating is the one thing that makes me bearable to most.” Iyaz had to grin at the achievement of explaining away self-depreciation in a self-deprecating way.

“But if you are ever worried I believe what I say too much, you can rest assured. I have a very healthy self-esteem. If anyone was worried.” He couldn’t imagine Tomas would be, about him. Not counting that against the man, Tomas had enough worries to adopt some for Iyaz. Who was more than cared for in the worry department by Emre. It was for Emre’s sake even that Iyaz was assuring him now. It was the strongest link between them, Emre, even more than the island itself. Which felt right, Emre beating out Meridium like that.

“Oi, hey now. I don’t think I’m completely un-invested in my own romantic fulfillment.” Iyaz reacted before thinking. Protesting too much, because he had been feeling un-romantic, and uninterested. It was a natural reaction to being a widower, as Tomas would know. “I just don’t need it right now.” Which of course completely discounted his earlier statement. His own thoughts were distracting him from the task set in front of him. Wiping dust from his palms her turned to Tomas, “Do you think that’s why Emre is trying to set me up with someone? That he’s trying to make amends?”

That felt sick to imagine. In the first year, yes, Iyaz blamed Emre for taking him on this trip. Under false pretenses even. But after a year or more being exposed to Meridium and it’s mysteries he knew that was unfair to Emre. If his brother was to blame for getting them lost on the island cause they got on a plane than Iyaz was to blame for Peter’s death because he had misfortune to love Iyaz who got stolen away to Meridium. There was not way that Iyaz would shoulder that blame, so he had cut Emre a break too.

Iyaz didn’t want to be around other people, so he’d snuck out. It as if anyone would really notice him gone, and he certainly wasn’t under house arrest. Hut arrest. He had his freedom, for all Tomas may gripe about schedules or expectations. Emre was busy making eyes at someone else. Iyaz just needed a little alone time. He couldn’t just nip off to a tree-side picnic, he needed something to regulate himself. And most of all he felt a bit silly.

It was all the sun lately, and feeling a bit high and mighty after all that praise. Jobs well done all around. Good on you Iyaz, look at you standing strong despite adversity. All of that went to his head quicker than any sun stroke. He just wanted to feel more in control, strong, useful again. So he went off to find a patch of stony ground so he could burn things safely and in private. It was silly. So it made sense that he felt as silly as he did. Still, he was out here by himself building tiny pyres to himself. Like lighting alters for a god, except he was the god, and the one lightly fires. All very masturbatory of him. So it was silly, but it still made him feel better.

He exhaled, crouched down as he watched the first tendrils of smoke crawl out to the sky. The spark he struck alighted and he felt a thrill in his chest he was beginning to recognize. “Anymore of this and I’m sure I’ll be-” He stopped short, the sound of pebbles crunching under feet finally drawing his attention.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

“Right well you are tall and you can bawl pretty big, man,”  Emre snarked.  He reached for more water, drinking it in the comfort of knowing Iyaz wouldn’t stop him.  But Iyaz could still get his end in, and Emre barked in laughing protest.  “Oi!  Watch it!  Ten minutes minimum, mate.”

But of course while Emre could take the mick out of Iyaz, he immediately rushed to reassure when Iyaz self-deprecated.  “You’re not a numpty, it’s all just well uncommon innit.  We all fuck up.”

Fire is hungry and it loves to be fed.  There was something both poetic and ominous about that, which Emre quietly admired his brother for observing.   “Cauterize a vein?  Are you serious?  You could do things like that with your fire?  Flipping hell, man.  That’s brilliant, you clever little sod.”

He laughed meanly and fraternally though when Iyaz rushed to do damage control on his bonfire.  Got far less funny when the fire leapt to some dry brush near Emre though.  “Yaz! Careful, alright!” Emre unnecessarily chided him, as if Iyaz wasn’t already fixing things.  

And once there was no danger, Emre slid into the sand, and pat the ground next to him.  “Come here,” he lightly ordered, confident Iyaz would eventually comply.  “Right.  We can chat until one of us falls asleep.  We’ll take turns… take shifts watching, alright?”

Emre was quiet for a long time though, despite his mention of ‘chat’.  He looked over at Iyaz, knowing they should talk about their alive mother, living in America.  But Emre still couldn’t bring himself to bring it up like this.  It would cheapen her, make it all feel artificial and unnatural to talk about Urmilla like this.

Instead, Emre looked over at Iyaz tentatively.  “Yaz…you know when I was overseas - over in Afghanistan - I reckon I was only about 25, yeah?  I had this mate, this friend.  A - a translator from the Pakistani army we was stationed with on the border.  He was a good man, innit.  I knew him for a few months, proper mate of mine but he, erm  He was killed.  Bombing in the night.  Night just like this, it’s what reminded me, erm.  Big fire, everything so bloody dry…”  Emre studied his hands like they were new to him.

“He were killed while we was in the same dugout together, so bomb hit me too.  It’s how I got the thing in my ear, and my fucked-up shoulder and that.  Anyway, we was keeping watch, was was just like this.  Only - only he wasn’t like.  It weren’t like he was a brother to me, right.  No one replaces you, no one.  But I told him loads about you, he understood, right.  He had little siblings of his own.  We was mates, he was my best mate over there, man.  Erm.  He…I mean…we.  We was close innit. He was a good man, Yaz. He…I mean, we.”  Emre looked up at Iyaz, flame flickering in his dark eyes.  “Yaz, bruv I never told you about that.”

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They were naturals at this, the two of them. Some siblings had a awkward air, or found it difficult to get back to that comfortable set after the smallest hint of trouble but the Akbar brother’s bond was formed in crucible after crucible. What was a little magical misery thrown in to throw them off their game.

“The cleverest! And don’t you forget it.” He felt guilty lying like this. “It’s practice that makes perfect. Innit.” Slightly guilty, not enough to stop. The point was he was unable to cauterize anything smaller than a limb really. Big was easy, small was fine work was impossible for his novice skill. It was trying to do that fine work, over and over, that he got good enough for the limbs. But he’d let Emre think he was that amazing for a little while longer. It wouldn’t do any harm now. When he started sending people his way to burn off warts or for micro-surgeries then Iyaz would explain how he was more likely to immolate them than anything else. 

“Yeah alright.” The guilt ment he came when called. No fuss or fight when Emre ordered him about, which would likely mean Emre suspected something was up with Iyaz being so eager about it but Iyaz didn’t worry about that. “At least shift over so you don’t dry up and burn into a charred husk of yourself.” Iyaz found the his place beside his brother. Firelight bathing them both.

The silence that followed made his joke feel in poorer taste than he meant. Or maybe it was the shadows cast on Emre’s face as his older brother really seemed to mull over what he was going to say next. It was the seriousness of the expression that kept Iyaz from spouting off when Emre began his talk. Just nodding enough so Emre could tell it was getting through. He watched Emre, jaw moving, eyes cast into the fire and this past scene. Parts of his life Iyaz had not had access to.

“You never said anything about him, Em.” Iyaz looked at his hands before bringing his eyes up to search his brother's face. The side of his head he didn’t favor because of that ear thing, the shoulder. “I’m glad you had someone there. Not as good as me of course but, if you had to be somewhere terrible I’m at least glad the company wasn’t shit.” It was sad softly, with a smile after it because that was the kind of thing Iyaz did to be gentle and charming even on Emre. Emre was the easiest to charm though; it’s where he cut his teeth at it. Knowing his brother as well as he did Iyaz knew there was still something Emre wasn’t saying just yet. 

He was letting Iyaz know it though, in every way except words. “It’s not fair that he died, Em. I’m sorry that happened.” Iyaz nodded at Emre and turned his face back to the fire. The reflection of flame bright spots in the dark of their eyes. “What was his name? Your translator mate?”

“PTSD.” Tomas grappled with the acronym for a moment, then nodded. “Ah. That newfangled fancy term for shell shock, gotcha.” The odds weren’t high that Young Doctor Akbar was a fan of George Carlin, but Tomas kept going, anyhow, what he recalled of a monologue that had stuck with him: “–battle fatigue, operational exhaustion, post-traumatic stress disorder, all the increasingly euphemistic terms for when you get severely traumatized. Just call it that, Iyaz.” Tomas looked up at the sky, envisioning it, the flaming plummet of the craft that had brought him some of the people he cared about most. “You guys went through something horrible and you’re still fucked in the head about it.”

It was worse than hypocritical for him, an anth professor who found comfort and solace in long (fifty-cent, Libby’s voice chirps helpfully) jargonny words, to be giving this advice to a plummy medical doctor with the most affectations of anyone on the island, but. Tomas had his moments of contradicting himself and Iyaz seemed to awaken them all.

“And now?” Tomas grunted, hauling up another lumpen pillar of mud, shaping it with his attunement. “You don’t follow your passions anymore? Can’t let big brother hear that. He’ll be writing in on your behalf to petition that you to take sabbatical from being doctor so that you can run off and fulfill yourself spiritually.”

A broad assumption, given that Emre had in truth been decidedly not impressed by Iyaz’s culinary aspirations. But Tomas felt secure enough in his Akbar lore to make that assumption, and Iyaz’s full on declaration that he’d be happy to shift his attention to cooking made Tomas feel he’d gotten the right of it. “Listen, kid,” Tomas said, reaching out to pat his hands along the post he’d just raised, smoothing it compulsively, “we don’t get what we want much on this island. But if another doctor shows up, then I hereby decree that you should be turned loose to go chef to your heart’s content. All right? Good.”

Jordano’s leg had come off with as little complication as could reasonably be hoped for. But it had still been a tense, nerve-shattering, ugly operation. Tomas wasn’t sure how Iyaz had fared afterwards but he’d had his hands in aching fists well into the next day, trying to stop them from shaking. Phantom echoes of the feel of bone coming apart under the teeth of a saw. It would be good to spare Iyaz any more of that.

No raw spots, Iyaz diagnosed his work, and Tomas lurched over to take a closer look once the firing was done. “Hard through,” he agreed, his tendrils of air finding it difficult to make it into the post. “i’d love to see someone try to drink cowshit water. It’d serve them right.”

An empty gloat; as the two doctors, they’d be the ones dealing with the resulting sickness. 

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“Yeah alright.” Iyaz could argue that PTSD wasn’t a euphemism. He had a very good argument, by his standards. PTSD  was jargon. Which was different then euphemisms, because of stiff diagnostic reasons, and just because. It was out of respect for Tomas, and the things he’d been through. Not at all related to how right he was or how weak he suspected his arguments might be. “Severely traumatized, in the severely traumatizing island. I think we’re all fucked in the head.” 

Iyaz was being generous to Tomas’ even as the man needled him. Something about the smell of the buffalo so close didn’t exactly inspire Iyaz to linger just to complain at Tomas. Iyaz watched the mosaic of the other man, all pieces and contradictions set next to each other and instead of seeing the picture they made he only felt the sharp prickles at all his sore spots. It was fortunate that the two of them almost always shared a goal or else they’d likely have started fighting with more than just back-handed jabs.

“As long as we’re calling spades spades then I may as well admit I’m not following any passions anymore. I’m following necessity mostly. Or aimlessly wandering to it at least.” His pillar, as Iyaz thought of the first one now that he’d taken charge of it even if it was Tomas who formed it, had formed nicely. Even as he felt the heat now coming off of the dried mud he had to keep his hands up just a bit more, just in case. “Of course that’s just me moaning on. Best to keep it from Emre, or else I’m worried he’ll become very invested in making sure I’m getting fulfilled by some passions, whoever he decides that passion should be. If you catch my very unsubtle meaning.”

Iyaz was grinning, back again to his good mood. Working side by side with Tomas he could pick up on, here and there, why Emre liked the man so much. “Careful what you say Tomas. It will be season eight of Grey’s Anatomy here, and we’ll be chock full of doctors and I’ll be at the cookhouse making seagull sautéed in pawpaw sauce.” Iyaz didn’t bother laughing at his own joke this time, moving on to the wet-mud of the second pillar. Hands outstretched and just waiting for Tomas to get clear enough that Iyaz could set off the ceramic baking blaze.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

“Yeah, yuh, you’ve always said,”  Emre gently jeered his brother’s haughty words.  Emre was fond of course, but Iyaz did have a propensity for being a know-it-all; albeit often after the facts.  As Iyaz’s elder brother, it was Emre’s job - nay, his right - to take the mick out of him for it. “Okay Hermione; anything else you’ve always said, then?”

But he chuckled loosely when Iyaz wanted Emre to stay within sight.  The type of restriction that pleased Emre immensely.  Iyaz was worried about him and wanted him close.  Iyaz wanted to watch him, if only for dermatological reasons.  Why wouldn’t Emre be pleased about this.  “Sure you can put up with me 24/7, bruv?  Don’t want to cramp your style innit.  And you know I’d be a right distraction for all your patients.  Fit as I am, even wilted down,” Emre bragged.

Iyaz brushed aside Emre’s proclamations of pride, which was fair enough. Neither of them wanted it to get awkward after all.  It was far too hot for more intensity.  Emre perched on the log, manspreading out with the imperious nature of a khan, even in the oppressive heat.  “Remember when we thought that ship were out in the fog, on North Beach?  You went charging out there like a right numpty innit…”  Emre said, waiting for that comforting pat response of Iyaz groaning ‘Don’t remind me’ or something equally endearing.

Then Emre continued.  “You know it’s been almost two years.  Two years on this bloody island, we’ve survived with the rest of them.  It’s…we…”  Emre wanted to say something then.  Inspirational, or profound; both of which Emre didn’t have the vernacular for.  Something Abu would say.  

Fortunately, Iyaz jumped at the teasing, angling himself and making Emre snort with laughter.  “How you still such a muppet.  Is it only with me, then?  Brilliant doctor to the rest but still get to play the fool around me, is that - whoa!”  The spark that Iyaz plucked from the striker leapt expertly towards the assembled logs, growing into a burst of flame.  Fed by kindling, oxygen - and Iyaz himself.

“Dear me.  You’ve actually gotten good at this. When the fuck did you manage that, bruv?”

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“I have said plenty, next time I’ll just have to say them louder so everyone listens.” He affected an accent so posh it was bizarre enough Iyaz couldn’t keep it up without cutting himself off with a laugh between words. “Bruv, I’ll start prescribing you to my patients if it get a few of them off my hands for a bit. 5 minutes at least.” Iyaz snipped back, the cutting words blunted by the humor behind them.

“Ah yes, one of the other times the island decided we were looking a little too comfortable. Honestly at least we can see what we’re doing this time even if it is being spiteful. At least I’m not that much of a numpty now, I’ve got more to stick around for…” It sounded better than saying he had nothing to escape for, which was true now but would no doubt put a damper on Emre’s jovial teasing mood. 

At least he didn’t have to side-step how far he’d actually gone into the bone-dry ocean because soon the too of them were occupied by the sudden bonfire. Iyaz concentrated hard on not letting the fire grow out of control and burn them to death. Emre got the lucky job of marveling at it.

“I know right?” Emre had done a fantastic job of ensuring Iyaz had self-confidence. Even if under the grin Iyaz’s teeth were gritting together. “Course it’s fucking easy to get it big. Fire is hungry and it loves to be fed. It’s hell trying to get it small enough to cauterize a vein. Before the drought I was attempting with some of these sticky stem plants…” All of his prowess he was showing off was because of his past failures. And he was showing off, because the awe in his dizzy dehydrating brother’s voice was too good not to try and elicit more. 

“Would you?” Tomas was dubious about Iyaz’s claims regarding his supposed happiness were he an earth-attuned, and didn’t bother hiding it. “Have you done much when it comes to your fire attunement? Out of all the flame-heads I’ve known, it’s the plane people who have the biggest aversion to using their powers. What is that? Endemic of your generation?” 

Tomas didn’t have much of a reason for why he got such pleasure when it came to poking and prodding at Iyaz. It was probably nothing more complicated than the impulse to indulge one sibling and criticize the other; not commendable, but in Tomas’ mind, no mortal sin. “You could weave hats without being earth-attuned,” he pointed out, flat-eyed and blunt as a bludgeon. “You just don’t.”

Iyaz came back with that twisty-sneery posh copy of his brother’s agreeableness in matters of being bidden by the farmer, and Tomas nodded, his own smirk half-hidden in his beard. “How’s that going, by the way?” he asked, using both hands and attunement to shape the earth mounds into rib-height posts, tall enough that the buffalo would find them obstacles. “Your cooking. That’s what you wanted to do back in the World, right? Emre never shuts up about the kinds of meals you can prepare, apparently.” 

His gaze roamed over to the warehouse, where the communal oven was positioned to be built – plans abandoned for now, of course. Each new Meridium calamity meant plans being pushed back a little. “If you weren’t needed so desperately for medical duties I’d conscript you into cookhouse. Get some burns on those soft hands.”

Moving on to the next post, Tomas gestured with his chin at the one he’d finished, prompting Iyaz to fire it hard. “Once we establish this rice paddy as a cowpen, things should take care of themselves. Nobody’s gonna be stealing this water to drink once the buffalo shit in it a couple of times.” That sounded callous, but that – projecting what would be needed and preventing other people from fucking with your long-term plans – was also the job, a few times over. As farmer and as a leader. And Tomas didn’t mind explaining his reasoning, if anybody asked.

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“Endemic. Must be.” It seemed like a poor time to bring up the burns he unwittingly caused, and any half controllable fires. Or the time he and Madi practiced in the burnt out ruins of the old farm. Neither would inspire a lot of confidence and he was supposed to be here to help with the baking portion, all that fire that shouldn’t go awry. All that heat that shouldn’t boil away the rice shoots. “Course it could be the PTSD, there was a lot of fire on the, er, tumultuous dar of arrival.”

Even Iyaz was wincing at that. He shouldn’t have tried to be cute. Two years later and it was still gauche to joke about the plane crash. It was always Tomas who somehow goaded him into acting the most pretentious. “It is a bit easier when the hats help weave themselves…”  But the complaint was mumbled into his chest. His will to be contrarian diminished. It was true that he could do more, spend the little hours of the morning and night when he was done playing chemist with Meridium plants. It’s not like he had a pressing social calendar; he could fill it with work till his hands grew a tough shell of calluses.

Emre managed it even as, socially engaged, as he was. Iyaz brought his hands up, laying them flat against his lips to contemplate. The skin was soft, babied, pampered, Iyaz internalizing all the wrong lessons from his older brother. To hear that this older brother was annoying Tomas with his praise of Iyaz’s cooking made him smile. “Yeah, yeah, cooking for Em I learned I liked it, thought back then I’d follow my passions.” 

He had to pull away his hands to talk, letting them rest on the damp earth of the post before following Tomas’ eyes. They were off somewhere else, more plans, future plans while following through with present plans. “If we do find ourselves a better doctor I’d be happy to shift over to the cookhouse. Burns and all.” Iyaz didn’ have time to reflect on the accuracy of the statement before Tomas’ cue. It was time to do his part in all this. He pulled a small bit of straw from behind his ear and let it catch fire. That was the easy bit.

“So you’re saying if any one wants to take a sneaky sip to do so now before they get any chance of truly awful bacteria.” It was show-offy to joke while doing what he’d been tasked to do. Two years of practice and Iyaz hadn’t quiet gotten a handle on micro cauterization but he could pull the small flame into something larger, thin, and hot. Like a sheet that coated the mud pillar till Iyaz pulled the heat through to the core of the clay. A hard shell around a wobbly foundation would do no one any favors so it was up to him to heat it even throughout. 

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

“Bruv, you and I both know, one can never get enough head,”  Emre easily teased back .  Interesting how (crassness aside) Iyaz’s ‘British humour’ was so much like mum’s.  Abu and Emre were similar - boisterous humour, while Iyaz and Urmilla were more droll.  

Now was usually when Emre got extremely invasive and nosy, and would inquire if Iyaz was getting any head lately - got to make sure the baby-jalebi was happy, after all - but Emre bit his tongue and asked nothing.  He was afraid, plain and simple.  He was afraid of Iyaz turning it around, and bringing up Kaz again.

“I am resting, I just can’t sleep when you’re not there, man.  Makes me think of the Fisher’s Hut.  I could never proper sleep in there.  Esther must be loving it right now innit.  That or she’s dead.  Reckon I should pop down there and check.”  Maybe.  Probably not.  It was difficult enough for Emre to traverse the farm.  The Fisher’s Hut was far away, and Emre was near-exhausted, all the time.

But being with his brother brought Emre deep comfort, and as he listened to Iyaz’s plan, Emre’s chest couldn’t help filling with pride. The stars in Emre’s eyes matched the stars in the sky, the way he gazed at Iyaz.  “You what. That’s brilliant, Yazzie.  Proper thoughtful of you, innit.  Reckon there’s loads of people who went out into the ocean, fucking hell.  I didn’t even think they’d get lost.  Finally all your university training put to some use, yeah.”

Emre teased, but he eased himself down to sit on a log, instead of helping Iyaz.  This was his baby brother’s project and Emre was conserving his strength for the inevitable work on the farm tomorrow morning.  “Don’t mind if I watch you work, do you?  I could criticize your work as you go, if you like.  No - put that log there! Acha, stand it up just so, just so!  35-degree angle, mate!  Turn it the other way.”

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Iyaz’s laugh started in his chest, like his father’s did though Iyaz wouldn’t have known. It tapered out through his nose, when he sniffed, more like his friends in school. He was expecting Emre to lob more at him, accusations, suggestions. At least suggestions that were more, suggestive.

“I think someone’s out there checking on her.” Or maybe no one was because everyone assumed someone else was checking in. “She’s got a raw deal from a night where no one could control what they were doing, not really. I’ve always said.” Mostly when he thought it was Emre that killed Matthew, but his points still stood. “But you are not going anywhere too far out of my sight right now. Not when you’re flaking wherever you go. I want to be in ear shot at least.”

He said it with a smile and a laugh, to make the message seem gentler. But as pride filled Emre’s chest Iyaz’s heart was so filled with worries that it hung heavy in his own. “Yeah, that’s your university boy, brilliant and thoughtful. The lighter of fires,” The compliments his older brother foisted on him were a lot, but this was Emre and Iyaz was used to it by now. He’d internalized a good deal of self-aggrandizing that he didn’t even blush.  

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Emre wanted to say something positive that Iyaz might’ve been able to survive the island without Emre’s aid; but his pride got in the way.  Of course Iyaz needed him to survive!  That was most of Iyaz’s entire life.  Spent entirely dependent on his brother for survival.  There were blips where Emre couldn’t control of course: Iyaz in boarding school was the roughest (for Emre, anyway) and med school as well.  And even online gaming, a world that Emre never delved into as deeply as Iyaz had.  But Meridium?  Iyaz needed him to survive.  

And Emre needed Iyaz to survive too.  Perhaps more than the other way around, not that either of them would admit it.

“It wasn’t neglect,”  Emre insisted, but his tone became hushed, pensive.  He watched Iyaz folding onto the ground beside Emre, like a long-legged calf finally yielding against its mum.  Emre reached out to pet Iyaz’s hair, unable to stop himself.  Petting Iyaz helped Emre think.  “They disappeared innit.  Not one word, not a postcard or an email.  Nothing.  Nothing and I honestly thought they was dead.  Didn’t want to admit it aloud, not to you.”  Not to himself either.  “But in my heart, I thought they was dead.  No other reason for all that silence…innit.”

Emre sighed too, because he was with Iyaz, and Iyaz heard Emre sigh millions of times before.  “No clue about abu either, yeah.  Just - seems only mum’s in Seattle, no dad.  So - so I’ve been told.”  Emre flushed, loathe to bring up Kaz’s name again, and make Iyaz think about where Emre had learned about Urmilla.  And then, the clincher.  Emre carefully said,  “I’m…I’m gonna find out more.  About - about what happened to mum and dad.  If I can.  Is that alright, luv?  Now that I know she’s alive, I can’t…I can’t stop thinking about it.  About her - about what she’s doing, why she’s there, why everything.  Where’s abu, why she never - why she didn’t come back for you.  For us.”

The way Iyaz gazed up at Emre did the trick - Iyaz’s big dark eyes that Emre only recognized as a six-year old’s big dark gaze.  Thumb shoved into his mouth, late at night, looking expectantly at Emre to do something.  That look shattered Emre’s heart into a million, blissful pieces.  Emre relished how much it hurt, to love his brother.  He bent over and imparted a million little kisses onto Iyaz’s crown.

“Love you more than anything and anyone, yeah?  You matter to me more than anyone ever will, in this whole world. I’ll never leave you, man.”   Emre paused, then added.  “Don’t ever think I’d do otherwise, alright?  You’re it for me, you’re my world, Yazzie.”

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Iyaz could argue what was and wasn’t neglect, and he suspected he could make a rather good point of it. Winning the point would only make Emre feel worse. They never had an opportunity to form alliances together against their parents like normal siblings should do. It felt disrespectful to do it now, so far removed from normal that their parents might as well be deceased. “I thought they were dead. For a bit. Figured I’d forgotten going to some funeral as a kid, or you were being kind keeping it from me. I don’t know if you knew that, or that I told some of my friend that they were dead. Most of them I guess. Saying they were missing just made friends look at me uncomfortable, like they’d have to break to news to me my parents were dead, or as good as dead anyway…” 

He sighed. The body was supposed to feel lighter after awkward admissions like this. Instead Iyaz just burrowed more into his position. 

“Suppose I’d like to know what her life is like now.” His ire placated. The rough edges of old anger smoothed down while Emre smoothed down his hair. “Or not. I just, feel like I need to know but knowing will make me incredibly angry. Even if it turns out she stared out into space and looked like she sadly longed for the children she left with the mother-in-law that hated her most of the day.” It turned out it was much harder to smooth out all the edges of his anger. Especially now with Emre, knowing he’d only ever remember Emre calming him like this. 

The big brother that Iyaz had to stretch out in his mind so Emre’d fit all those missing spaces of mother and father. Stretched him out so Emre could smother Iyaz now, and he knew he was the one doing it. Looking pathetic and helpless, hurt and alone, Emre would be perfectly positioned for Iyaz to cling to. “Love you too, yeah.”  Now that he wasn’t running away anymore, stuck on this island. Iyaz suspected he could do it any time he felt Emre drift, but it wasn’t a nice feeling knowing that he would do just that.” That’s all we’ve ever needed Em, each other.”

Great, she came for a doctor and ended up with a smart ass. Harry’s usual tolerance for people, socialisation and asking for help was usually pretty light. Add in a broken leg and exhaustion and her personality was the least charming. She glowered at the doctor as he loomed in the doorway, making jokes about an eclair. “Christ almighty,” she whispered under her breath, thankful that at least he extended a vestige of doctoral care. He kindly reminded her not to move the leg, that it would get worse before it got better. “You don’t say,” she sniped back, grumpy and in pain.

Iyaz, as she assumed he was the doctor, came closer to inspect her leg. Harry dissolved the cast that had been wrapped around her leg, chunks of mud falling to the floor. Even in the failing light she could see that the skin of her left leg was purple and swollen, located around the middle of her calf, to the outside. Looking at it reminded Harry of the fall, the crack and the blinding pain that had made her black out immediately. Harry swallowed back the salty spittle that gathered in her mouth, her stomach churning uncomfortably. “Nah, always been like that,” she muttered, Iyaz’s earlier sarcasm prompting her own glib reply. She simmered for a moment, clenching her jaw.

“Harry, he’s going out of his way to help you,” John’s voice chided her, his memory acting as her conscience as he had done when he had been besides her. He always gave her a little nudge, a knowing look, hissing in her ear. God, she missed him. He’d happily take the reigns for her over the monotony of playing nice with the doctor. Now it was up to her.

Harry took a deep sigh. Playing nice, as John would have told her to. “Fell down the ridge, leg smacked into a rock. Few days ago.” She spoke through the side of her mouth, barely moving her jaw, about as pleasant as if Iyaz was pulling teeth. Him prodding her broken leg wasn’t far from that. “You can examine it.” She’d try not to curse him out, but she wasn’t sure how much control over that the pain would leave her. As she’d hobbled through the forest, she’d muttered the darkest curses she could think of. She could feel John about to pipe up again about manners, so Harry tacked on, “Thank you.”

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“Not quite, though I can forgive the mistake. I also have an excellent beard, and according to his PR team that’s all anyone seems to remember about him.” Iyaz was joking out of spite now. Not the best start to a doctor and patient relationship but he had a hunch that the woman in front of him would appreciate a chance to be mad at him. If he started acting too kind people they started thinking he was gentling them up for the worst news.

“Right. Good news first. You appear to be earth-attuned so the mud cast was an excellent choice. Earth-bound healing far outweighs the chance of infection. Magic, it’s been a learning curve.” He was smiling up at her from his position by the injury. Conveying what confidence had built up in him over the past year. It was only slightly deflated by the sharpe inhale he made while looking at the purple bruise and the amount of time that had passed since the injury.

“Now for the bad news.” And for this the smile flattened out into something serious. “A couple of days ago you broke your bones when you smacked into that rock. And if I right, like I suspect I am, the bone needs to reset and that’s going to hurt. But just to be safe let’s check.” He winced, apologetic for what she was about to endure. “You need to tell me if this hurts.” He prodded a part of her leg where the flesh protruded in a way he suspected wasn’t from swelling. His teeth grit when he felt the bone wiggle. He suspected that she wouldn’t be thanking him for that.

..&&..

“Emre’s used to it? People moaning in the night needing a good seeing-to?” Tomas lapsed shamelessly into the doggerel imitation of Emre’s accent that he’d been amusing himself with lately, marginally aware that his use of that particular bit of slang wasn’t exactly fitting but also not caring. The head injury had restricted or fucked up his life in many ways, but it had also done its part to free him, somewhat, from the desire to stay within certain bounds of polite interaction. And he was enjoying it. Why not? Especially with somebody like Iyaz who would benefit from a little casual evisceration now and again.

After all, it was big brother’s sacred duty to attempt removal of every single pebble from baby brother’s path. Tomas was under no such obligation. He still provided, yes – Tomas’ life on the island had been and would continue to be one of service, no matter whether people recognized it or not – but what he offered Iyaz came without the benefit of a spoonful of sugar.

He curled his lip watching the tall doctor effortlessly fetch his saw from a ridiculously high shelf, but that did, at least, answer the question of how Iyaz secured his surgical tools. Turning to fetch the alcohol, Tomas said, “You have some kind of sedative for him, I assume. Unless you intend to knock the bugger out with your dulcet tones alone.” 

Jordano’s comfort wasn’t, strictly, Tomas’ biggest concern given what he’d learned of how the man had attacked Lily, but despite that and the hardening and honing he’d undergone himself in this last year, Tomas still didn’t want to cause pain. Or stand by and savour it, even if it was a fuckhead who’d hurt his daughter. 

“Can you use that?” Tomas gestured at the saw, held in Iyaz’s graceful, long-fingered, somewhat fey hands. A far cry from his own hard-working mole paws. “You have to do the removal. I’m gonna be flooding the cut site with oxygen for vasoconstriction so we don’t have to worry about him bleeding out.”

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Iyaz snorted. There was no way he could avoid it. Times like these the body was desperate for something to cut the tension and Tomas walked them up to that perfectly with his poundland version of Emre. It was hard to even mind that it was Tomas who was taking the piss. 

“Alright, yeah that one’s my fault. But I can’t help it if Emre’s proficient in seeing-to all sorts.” So maybe it wasn’t that hard to mind  that it was Tomas taking the piss. After the initial rush of the gallows humor wore off and the situation was unchanged. 

“I’ve got alcohol, painkillers and a few poultices of local anesthetic. I’m a bit wary of knocking him out completely with what we have on hand. There’s no telling if Jordano will wake up after the surgery.” Iyaz frowned. Looking at the instruments in front of him knowing they were still lacking so much, no matter what they could gather or grow. “If we can numb the area where we’re cutting he doesn’t need to be out-out. As long as he doesn’t freak out on us.” If Tomas took issue with his excuses that was fine. Iyaz was already defensive. Overly cautious and lacking in the proper herbalist knowledge to help anesthetize the patient.   

“This” Iyaz’s grip on the saw tightened. His defensiveness taking on notes of bluster. “You don’t need to worry about. As long as you’re covering the vasoconstriction I can handle the actual cutting.” There was a sense of pleasure in using the proper name for the procedure as Tomas had, only to follow up with his curt promise to cut. Tomas was still a professor, under all that scar tissue there was that beating heart of an academic. Tomas had the magic assisted game plan. All Iyaz had to be was another set of akbar hands to enact the plan.

“I am trained in this. Yeah, mostly stuck to the dermis before but I know how to do a trans-femoral amputation.” The bluster remained unwarranted as it was. He stood there a beat too long examining Tomas. He had to bend his chin down to do so. Wondering at how the other man really was feeling about all this effort for Jordano, who was by all measures a creep. “I’ll just get the space ready, or did you want to while I go prep the patient?”

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“It’s not like walking around uni knowing that would’ve made either of our lives better.” Iyaz pouted. Mad that he couldn’t be jealous and unruly guilt free when his brother was getting upset. Emre should be upset, he should be as upset as Iyaz was and more. Still Iyaz couldn’t relish any schadenfreude in the situation.  That fact that it was his older brother who was the one in pain ruined it all. 

“Course I can’t, Em, I’m not thick enough to hate you.” Anyone else in his shoes would likely be smart enough to stop making excuses for Emre. “I couldn’t survive on this island if I didn’t love you bruv.” It was just that hating him was so hard, any kind of prolonged feeling just opened up this pit of uncertainty inside of him. All of that went away when Iyaz could gently excuse any fault of his brother. Even Iyaz’s own wrongdoings were fortifications, planks set over the pit in his heart to protect himself from it. They both were equally guilty of hurting each other. If they could forgive each other they could move past this.

“Fuck, fuuck.” On the second words her drug out the vowel as air hissed through his teeth. All that tension released as his skin flushed. “That was a bit bitchy of me wasn’t it. Selfish. It’s not just me she neglected.” He stood up, sighing again but shorter this time with so much less tension to release. There was no proper place to pace in the clinic, so much of the space they wanted to use efficiently and effectively he completely left out a long walk-way for long-legged pacing. Instead he sat back down, this time on the floor so Iyaz could look up at Emre.

It was appropriate to sit at Emre’s knees. Look up at him and study that sharp and soft-eyed face that echoed the same hurt and hopes in Iyaz’s  expression. Iyaz leaned forward and tipped his chin up, inches from just setting his cheek against his older brother’s knee. Letting Emre tell him another soothing bedtime story to keep him from exploding again. He did finally lean against Emre after Emre gripped his arm. 

“Alright. It just hurts not knowing why. But you’re right. Course you’re right. There’s bound to be a reason.” Iyaz would not share his more morbid guesses with Emre. Not right now at least. He didn’t remember enough to assure Emre that he was also loved, that their parents were clearly good people and it must have been the situation that was in the wrong. It’d be dangerous to cause anymore emotional wounds when he lacked anyway to address them. “You won’t bleed out though, Em, I’m not going to let you.” 

↤ ☾🔥☽ ↦

Wren was surprised by his rather chatty and jokey disposition as she entered. It made her wonder if he had seen something she didn’t want seen and was just trying to play it off, or maybe the memory shared wasn’t as bad as she anticipated. She had no idea how any of this worked. She might have seen something nice from Iyaz’s memory, but everything else she witnessed was much worse than the brotherly love she had to see just from bumping into the guy. But for all she knew, he was just the perfect guy who could do no wrong and that was why there was nothing bad to show.

“Hm, well if you want people to make themselves known, a bell would probably help. But maybe you just make a do not disturb sign. Doctor is out. Something like that so you aren’t constantly bombarded if that’s your concern.” She suggested, maybe taking his playful remark into a serious concern. Which it probably wasn’t, he probably didn’t mind unannounced visitors, especially if they were in need of his medical help.

“Well lucky for you this visit is very social in nature.” She told him as she hopped into a seat across from him. “You know I thought to myself, with Emre out free of the Fisher’s Hut, and me being an honorary sister and all, it was a shame I haven’t got a chance to meet you yet.” Wren smiled at him sweetly, resting her elbows on the table and holding her head up between her hands. “So hi. I’m Wren. We bumped into each other before but I was kind of rude that day, wasn’t I?” She distinctly remembered her harsh and sharp ‘don’t touch me’ as they bumped into each other before rushing off.

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“That would be perfect. I’ll have someone find the bell for me and look into making some sort of sign. Thank you for the idea.” Iyaz grinned. “And if the bell ever gets too bad I’ll happily tell Emre it was all your idea.” He was determined to stay playful and light despite Wren’s seriousness. Which was likely rude of him. Here she was with her serious demeanor underneath it all, trying to be helpful while he was facetiously moaning about things that didn’t matter. 

“Honorary sister, yeah.” Iyaz persevered with his pleasant facetious tone, despite any growing anxieties. Which was a talent he had to admit to himself. “Sorry I missed the ceremony an all that. Coronation, knighthood, whatever it was you’d want to call it.” There was a prickle in his stomach of a feeling he didn’t like. Though he very much wanted to smile and laugh with Wren. This fresh-faced smiling young woman sat in front of him offering an olive branch and Iyaz very much wanted to like her. She looked likable, Iyaz could see why Emre would be charmed by her. She also wasn’t likely grappling with loss that continued to make him a bit of a mope at night. He and his older brother, just getting used to sleeping in the same room again Iyaz had to put a bit of pause on the night crying. He should at least try to like her, if he put a little effort in it shouldn’t be that bad. 

“Hi Wren, I’m Iyaz. Course, I knew you already knew that but it did feel a bit awkward to leave the name part out of our official introduction.” He extended hi shand out to her. “I wasn’t too bothered by the bump myself. And I can’t hold it against you. That was an awful time for human contact. Can’t tell you how many bandages I tried to apply delicately avoiding a person. Though I am sorry about whatever you saw in my past that disturbed you. Hope it wasn’t too embarrassing. If you did see something weird, I swear I’m not like that anymore.” Iyaz paused briefly thinking of pulling back his hand. In case it was human contact of any kind that upset her.