fourstrings | pray i pray come back to me

pray i pray come back to me

[ It costs him something, to go to Durgesh and play nice with Yuma. To joke and act like it’s not tearing him apart, like he wouldn’t bomb the place to powder just to keep Ajay away from it. But he does it; he chats and jokes, bickers with Yuma and drops in a line or two of Cantonese in the hopes of evoking that long-lost sibling affection, because he knows that if he lets her see just how frantic he is it’s going to cost him everything.

It hurts, too, not to tip his hand when they pull the bag off Ajay’s head. Things have been... unusual, since Ajay showed up on his doorstep with de Pleur. Admittedly Pagan could be viewed as having started it, given he’s the one who stripped off and climbed into the bath right alongside his guest, but Ajay is the one who kissed him. And Ajay is the one who was gone in the morning (with what Pagan can only imagine was one hell of a hangover) and had answered Pagan’s attempts to stay in touch via radio with either stoic silence or brief, awkward acknowledgement, so he too must share the blame! But the point is that they haven’t really had a chance to talk it out, and so Ajay has no way of knowing that when Pagan calls him a naughty little shit and plays it off as entertaining, that’s the only protection he can offer Ajay without provoking Yuma to do something worse.

Too many unknowns. Too many variables. There are only two things he’s certain of, but as it goes they’re rather good things in the circumstances: firstly, that Ajay Ghale is far too tenacious to simply give over to Yuma’s attentions and will definitely escape. Secondly, Ajay will not have to do this alone. Pagan has men among Yuma’s guard, of course. Not enough to make it easy, but enough to ensure there are weapons and ammo left in places they might be discovered. Enough to get a message to him once Ajay is on the move. And once that signal comes, it’s a blur of action. They can’t get a helicopter close enough to take Ajay directly to it without alerting Yuma, of course, so a jeep is sent out to collect him and bring him to the chopper. There’s a fight about that; he insists upon being in the jeep, his staff insist this cannot be permitted, and in the end Gary drives it out himself, a full half hour before schedule, just to prevent him. In the end, it’s for the best; if he’d been able to witness Ajay’s progress down the cliff he’d have lost his mind, given the game away. He damn near loses his mind anyway when they finally bundle Ajay into the helicopter. He isn’t conscious. The worst of the snow is off him so he’s damp rather than caked with ice, but his skin is waxy and cold to the touch. There are blankets, thick, soft wool, and as the helicopter takes off and Gary prepares an iv Pagan strips both Ajay and himself to underwear and bundles them into a veritable cocoon in the hopes of warming the boy up, muttering pleas for him to be alright all the while.

By the time they land the deathly chill is out of Ajay’s skin and any lingering effects of the drugs should be faded. Ajay still isn’t what one would call conscious, but he’s stirred in Pagan’s arms, murmured things – unintelligible, but enough to bring hope. And Pagan has Ajay brought directly to his room, only angry that he can’t carry the boy there himself, and slips right back into bed with him. Brushes a dry little kiss against Ajay’s forehead, begs him to be okay, and presses up close. It’s a waiting game now, and Pagan is painfully good at waiting. ]

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[ ajay actually snorts at that one, because pagan makes it sound like the reason he left was some principled choice. the leaving warrants an explanation, and ajay plans to provide it -- but he's just aware enough to realize he isn't in any kind of state to have that conversation. leaving had nothing to do with pagan and everything to do with ajay; for fuck's sake, pagan offering him the throne just made ajay realize that he didn't have a clue what he wanted for kyrat. he'd said that he was staying, and he meant it -- but what did that look like? he kept wandering down paths that other people laid down for him, and where had that gotten him? he kept trying to pretend his choices didn't bear weight, but look at the mess he's made of things.

he'd needed to think. away from the golden path, away from pagan.

still no clear vision -- but he's working on it.

of course, all of that is a lot to string together when you have a fever that's trying to cook your brain inside your skull, so. cuddles for now, and water, which ajay drains greedily until it feels like it's done the job of putting out some of the wildfire in his throat. ]

S'fine. I've got --

[ wait.

there's a moment in which he freezes, and then he jolts halfway upright and slaps at his hip, as if he's forgotten entirely that he's mostly naked and not decked out in his usual gear. panic ices through his veins all at once; he remembers yuma's voice echoing down to him through the dark tunnels of his nightmare, laughing as she promised to scatter his mother's ashes for him, to mix them in with pig's slop. ]

My stuff. [ the exhaustion has burned off like fog in sunlight; adrenaline has him pulled as taut as a bowstring, ready to climb back up that fucking mountain and back into durgesh if he has to. ] Where's my stuff?

Where's --

[ Pagan oofs quietly as he catches a stray elbow in the stomach when Ajay launches himself upward, but - well, Ajay's panic makes it clear enough what his concern is. Pagan pulls himself up to sit with Ajay, rests a hand on his shoulder, and points. ]

Shh. Just there, see?

[ At the side of the room, tucked beneath a window, there's a small table and a comfortable chair. On the chair, Ajay's clothes - now laundered - sit in a neat pile, and once he's well enough to investigate it he'll find a few extras tucked in. Clothes more appropriate to snow, extra underwear, and a sturdy pair of boots tucked beneath the chair next to his terrible sneakers. And on the table, atop a flat cushion of embroidered silk and with a garland of marigolds at its base, is the urn. Remarkably no worse for wear, considering. ]

You didn't leave her.

[ oh.

oh.

all of that awful tension bleeds out of him all at once, until he slumps bonelessly back into pagan and lets his weight carry them both back down to the mattress. and for a moment, he keeps his eyes fixed on the urn sitting in that little circlet of flowers -- and then he turns himself back into pagan, squirming and shifting until they're tucked up just as snugly as before. ]

You're not a terrible man. [ because it's suddenly important not to leave that unsaid. and he slings a heavy arm over the other man, punctuating the statement with a drowsy open-mouthed kiss just under his jaw. ]

[ Oh, no, he is. He really is, and even the fact that his affection for Ajay (and, yes, his mother) is 100% genuine doesn't stop him from feeling like he's lying about that. But Ajay tucks in close and presses a warm, delicious kiss to his skin, and Pagan can't bring himself to argue the point. He hums quietly instead, threads fingers into Ajay's hair and presses a kiss to his forehead. ]

Well. I've met worse, certainly.

[ It's good. Everything that's gone beforehand is terrible, the fact that his sister is currently somewhere doubtless raging like a caged tiger and plotting her revenge over this is terrible, but here, like this, with Ajay tucked close and safe building a little pool of warmth inside him - that is splendid. ]

She wouldn't have loved someone terrible.

[ because he doesn't know everything, but he knows that.

his mother wouldn't have loved pagan, and she wouldn't have loved kyrat, if there wasn't good in both of them. and ajay likes to think she sent him back here knowing that he would see that. despite the hate and the violence and the drugs, there's still something startingly beautiful about kyrat -- her feral wildness, the pride and devotion of her people, the glimmer of promise that says there can be something better.

and pagan is the same. a tangle of old ghosts and eccentricities, of edges sharp enough to cut, but underneath? this unexpected tenderness, something genuine and raw and lovely. something worth sticking around for. ]

Well. She loved one of the most fascinating men I know, at least.

[ Ajay, he means Ajay. Not, as may shock everyone, himself. And he was... different, when Ishwari had been with him. When they'd all been together. Not good, certainly, he's never been that - but willing to try to be, and perhaps that's what counts in the end.

Then, of course it had all been taken from him, and he'd thought he'd never have a reason to try again, but here it is. A reason he'd thought lost to him, curled up warmly against his chest and making him want to live up to that faith. ]

I know I can't keep you here, but it would save me a great deal of worry if you'd stay at least until you're healed and that nasty cough clears up. God knows there are enough bedrooms to let you pick from now that I don't have the excuse of trying to save you from hypothermia.

You're not staying with me?

[ perturbed and drowsy all at once, as if pagan means to oust him from the bed this minute. and he's trying to blink himself awake to understand that one better, pushing back slightly from pagan so he can get a better read on his expression. being curled up together like this feels like the most right thing in the world -- but if he's misunderstood something -- ]

[ well, that was... hoped-for, but not expected. The way Ajay asks isn't exactly offended, but it sounds as if there's a little woundedness underneath all the tired and the sick and the sore, and it's selfish but unavoidable that it puts a little warm glow in Pagan to hear it. ]

I am if this is the room you pick. I like it too much to let you kick me out, no matter how sick and pathetic you look.

[ Which is a double invitation, really; an invitation to what Pagan hopes he'll choose and also an out, the opportunity to pick a different room and left alone. Not that Pagan won't fuss and peck at him, but still. ]

[ it takes a moment for that to sink in properly through the fever-fog, but. then he mms a thoughtful little sound, splaying the fingers of one hand lazily across pagan's chest. ]

So this could be my room? Where I belong?

[ Oh, fuck.

It's been clear for a good while now that Pagan is absolutely in over his head with this one. He's used to being King, the man at the top of the mountain, orders going unquestioned - and then Ajay Ghale strolls back into his life with beautiful eyes in a handsome face and strong, warm hands that land on Pagan's body like Pagan belongs to him, and turns it all upside-down and back-to-fuck.

And the bugger of it all is that he knows Ajay isn't well, he knows he can't take anything he says right now as the unvarnished truth because his fever is high enough and the drugs Yuma had pumped into him messy enough that delirium is a distinct possibility, but - damn if he doesn't want it.

He sighs, and places his hand over his own chest, fingers spread between Ajay's own. ]

Yes. For as long as you like.

[ For forever, damn it all. ]

[ he sighs out another little sound at that, something pleased and drowsy. this is probably straying closer to the kind of relationship-defining conversation that they definitely shouldn't have when he's dead tired and cooking with a fever -- but there hasn't been a place in the world that's been home for him since his mother died, and now? it feels like it's found it again, even if it is in the unlikeliest of fucking places. ]

I like this bed better anyway.

[ not least of all because it has pagan in it. ]

Is that so?

[ There's a chuckle behind it, both warm and resigned at how entirely fucked he is. Pagan's heart is a bruised and battered thing and here he is, handing it over to a man in the grips of illness and what has to be one of the worst come-downs ever, a man who may not even remember he's holding it tomorrow and shatter it entirely.

Still, he hears that sigh, and it feels worth the risk. ]

You needn't have gotten yourself kidnapped to get it, my boy. It's been yours for the taking for weeks.

Your fault.

[ but he's smiling, even if it's a little fuzzy. tired, but he likes this -- the cocoon of them nestled together in the soft lamplight of the bedroom, talking in soft voices and touching just for the comfort of contact. it's something shockingly familiar for a relationship(?) that's really only a scarce few days old, but it feels right. ]

For serving shitty crab rangoon.

[ joking! mostly.

... stabbing a guy at the dinner table was definitely a little harder on the stomach. ]

Edited 2020-03-07 21:51 (UTC)

[ Well, it's something that Ajay is cracking jokes with him, and Pagan chuckles and runs fingers through the younger man's hair. It's wonderful to be close like this, warm and laughing together. ]

More fool me. I should have realized you were too thoroughly Americanized to get the joke.

No matter. When you're feeling better I'll make you jiāng cōng xiè. It's a pain in the ass to eat but worth the effort.

[ he hums as pagan threads a hand back into his hair, secure enough in this to let his eyes slide closed again. he still feels like absolute shit warmed over -- but it's a big improvement to feeling like shit and trying to huddle up to sleep in the boughs of some tree or bunkered down in some creaking old bell tower, always worried that a honey badger is going to come chew his face off or some royal army nutjob will stumble across his hiding spot.

but here? safe. warm. taken care of. ]

Tell me what else we're gonna do. [ muzzy with sleep. ]

Well, you haven't really had a proper tour of the palace yet, have you? We'll do that. I know everything's a bit dire and fortressy up front but there are some lovely gardens out back.

[ Quiet, warm, his fingers still combing through Ajay's hair. He likely won't be awake much longer - Pagan can hear it in his voice and the sound of his breathing, feel it in the way his weight goes boneless against Pagan's body. Maybe, just maybe, if Pagan can infuse this pre-sleep drowsiness with images of calm, Ajay's sleep will be untroubled. ]

There's even a little family of elephants that wander in from time to time because they figured out that as long as they don't trample on the flowers nobody's going to stop them from eating as many mangoes off my trees as they like. I'll bundle you up in something warmer than your denims and your fashion-over-function jacket and wheel you out there at sunset. The view over the lake is stunning, it lights the whole place up in pink and gold.

[ he tries to say something -- i'd like that -- but exhaustion blurs the words into something absolutely incoherent, little more than a low mumble of nonsense. and then he's out, pulled down into the kind of sleep that's too deep and dark for even dreams. it's been days since he's slept in anything longer than two or three hour snatches, but apparently his body has decided that he's safe enough to flip the switch into full coma mode.

it's hours before he stirs again, nudged back towards the land of the living by something that itches at the edge of his instincts. his first semi-conscious thought is to cast a heavy arm out and find pagan -- but when he realizes the sheets next to him are empty, albeit still warmed with body heat, it's enough to jar him further awake. he still isn't altogether there; the fever lays heavily over his awareness like a thick woolen blanket, making him feel like he's trying to grind out his thoughts through sludge.

it's stupid, because he knows he's safe, but being safe has become such an unfamiliar thing that he can't stop the prickle of adrenaline that flares along the surface of his skin, can't stop his struggling mind from trying to find the threat. he makes an effort to struggle out of the bed and to his feet, but he's fucking dizzy, and one leg buckles underneath and sends him down hard to his knees with a thump.

the answer to that is a soft clatter from the other room, and then the sound of the door starting to swing open. and that makes the panic leap up into a bright and feral thing in the back of his throat -- he fumbles for his gun where he always keeps it, underneath the pillow, and the spike of terror when he comes up empty is nearly enough to choke him. he's panicked, still half-asleep, muzzy with a fever, and --

that's why, as the door swings open, ajay ghale makes the brilliant tactical decision to nail pagan min directly in the face with a particularly ridiculous throw pillow. ]

[ Unfortunately Pagan's response to that is rather more dire than one might expect. A strangled gagging sound and his hands flying to his neck - because he'd been brushing his teeth in the ensuite, still had the toothbrush in his mouth as he heard that thump and rushed in to check on Ajay, and the force of the pillow is just enough to knock it back toward the opening of his throat.

In the end, he just spits the offending object to the floor, coughing, and wipes the foam of toothpaste off on the back of his hand. His eyes are red, now, and with his hair unstyled - fluffy in the back, hanging limply in his eye in the front - and sans his trademark swipe of kohl, he's feeling very exposed. Especially because despite Yuma's tender mercies and the bright spots of fever burning in Ajay's cheeks, the sight of him near-nude and on his knees is dangerously close to causing Pagan a physical embarrassment.

Pagan sweeps his eyes up, away from Ajay's taught stomach and the tight v of muscle that draws one's eyes inexorably towards his crotch, and focuses on his face. ]

You're up.

[ Croaky, toothbrush-abused.]

[ ajay's poor brain is doing its fucking best, okay?

because he just barely has enough time to come to terms with pagan's appearance before the man starts deepthroating his toothbrush -- and while he gets the distinct sense that he really should be doing something, there's just an empty dial tone between his brain and the Do Something parts.

fortunate, then, that pagan manages to spit out the toothbrush before ajay even recovers from his slack-jawed staring.

but! that sweeping look sparks something, and ajay's brain manages to helpfully point out that he's... very nearly naked. and he feels himself flush with a heat that has nothing to do with the fever, immediately fumbling to drag one of the blankets over himself in a messy attempt at covering up. ]

I didn't -- I wasn't --

[ back to three-packs-a-day raspy; luckily, pagan isn't missing anything particularly important. ] I --

[ fuck. he settles for just hopelessly gesturing to his own face, and then: ] Sorry.

Please, no need to apologize! It's no surprise you're out of sorts. Here, let me just -

[ All of that is directed approximately to Ajay's hairline, because it wouldn't do to make the boy feel objectified. But then he does move, and when he turns back he's offering Ajay sweatpants and a soft cotton tshirt. Hardly dressier than what he's currently in, but comfortable and better able to preserve his dignity. ]

No pressure. You can do as you please here, of course. My bed, the bathroom, my kitchen staff, all at your disposal. And if you wish to lounge around in your underwear you're more than welcome to do that, as well.

[ Only Pagan can't promise not to sneak the odd peek. Ajay may be unwell but he is gorgeous, and Pagan is only human. ]

[ it's not really as if it's a surprise, but the reminder that he's been given the run of the place is enough to bring to mind their conversation from before. and that sparks the warm and cozy feeling all over again; it's enough to dull all the edges of that misplaced waking panic, and something eases in the line of his shoulders.

it is something of a surprise when pagan passes over clothing that happens to be exactly ajay's size -- but chiffon did have his measurements and a pretty loose tongue, so maybe that's one mystery solved already. either way! he manages to get to his feet, a little wobbly but passable, and sits down on the edge of the bed without making a further ass of himself. ]

Do you -- [ hesitating, breaking off looking at pagan for a moment to take in one of the hanging tapestries instead. pagan told him to ask, but! still! ] ... I mean, is anyone awake? I can make a sandwich or something if you show me where the kitchen is.

Let's go.

[ He's certainly not going to stand for Ajay making himself a sandwich when he's wobbling like a foal just from standing, but he gets the feeling Ajay will refuse help from the staff once he figures out it's about five in the morning. Still, together they can certainly rustle something up, so he offers Ajay his elbow like asking him for a dance in a Jane Austen and leads the way, trying not to be overly solicitous about putting a hand to the small of Ajay's back when they come to the stairs. In the kitchen itself there are of course already a few staff bustling about, and there's already a huge pot of soup bubbling away - ostensibly chicken and noodle but in a tomato-y broth with an array of kyrati herbs that are mean to promote healing. And there's no wonderbread, but there is a rather nice sourdough, so Pagan henpecks Ajay into a chair before he carves off a few slices and sets about making grilled cheese to go with the soup. ]

Your mother was the very devil for this kitchen. No matter how many times I reminded her she was only a little paperwork away from being queen she'd sneak down here to gossip with the staff and make dumplings.

[ it says a lot about his coordination that he's able to go wobbling down the halls and still manage to pull on those sweatpants, but pagan steadying him at his side probably goes a hell of a long way. still, he hasn't managed the shirt by the time they reach the kitchen -- and one of the scurrying servant girls gets one look at him and gasps out a little oh! that makes ajay redden all over again.

he gets plopped in the chair, the shirt gets yanked very quickly over his head, and then he gets treated to... the very surreal sight of pagan min making a grilled cheese sandwich. (and the rest of the staff simply continuing their quiet bustle around him, instead of fleeing in mortal terror the way ajay was expecting. huh.) ]

She loved to cook. [ which is probably nothing pagan didn't know, but it's a fond memory. waking up in the mornings with his mother already bustling in the kitchen, long hair tied up in a braid to keep it out of her way, singing softly to herself. it's a surprise that the feeling stirs more warmth than it does grief -- it's been hard to think about her at all without the pain of losing her swelling up and blocking off everything else, but. ] She always said her favorite thing was watching me eat something she made.

[ it's then that one of the staff takes pity on him, pushing a steaming cup of something in his hands. it smells like some of the herbs he's learned to pick out in the wild, fragrant and earthy, and the first sip of it is blessed on his scratchy throat. ]

[ One of the girls presses a cup of tea into Ajay's hands, and it's like a miracle. Pagan can see the effect it has, a little of the furrow going out of his brow, a little of the tension going out of his shoulders. He casts an eye over the girl (woman, really, she must be 40 or so) - short, dark-skinned, wearing her hair in the traditional long braid - so from the south, most likely, which is rarer among his staff. Pieces slot into place. ]

Parul, isn't it? [ She nods as silently as she gave Ajay the tea, and he smiles and pats her shoulder. She's raising her grandchildren, if her remembers rightly. Something extra in her next pay, then. ] Good girl.

[ It's all quiet, but he's back to his normal tones as he checks the underside of the sandwich, decides it needs more browning, and gives it a friendly little slap with the spatula as he smiles at Ajay. ]

I remember.Of course, that was back in the day when eating just about anything seemed to be your favorite thing to do, but you'd still turn your little nose up at whatever came out of the kitchens if there was a chance of something she'd made instead. She pretended she was mortified at your rudeness, but I could see the way she lit up.

[ the little exchange between pagan and the kitchenhand is too quiet for ajay to overhear, but... it's soft. far softer than he was expecting considering the way pagan shrieks at that one poor guy over the radio. and really, it's a little disorienting to watch the way the staff exists in the same space as pagan; fuck, most of them seem more gunshy about being in close quarters with ajay, and he's not the one that goes around stabbing people with pens.

pagan min, man of mystery. ]

I used to have to sneak fast food. [ with a little huff of laughter. ] I was always worried about hurting her feelings if she found out.

[ and there's one of those pangs -- he remembers complaining sometimes when he was younger about the foods she'd send him to school with, upset because they weren't american enough, worried the other kids would tease him. so stupid in hindsight. ]

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