[ic][1x1] ʟɪɢʜᴛ ɪᴛ ᴜᴘ (ɪ'ᴍ ᴏɴ ғɪʀᴇ)

Jaidev loved his faction fiercely — as much as anyone else in the Aladdin faction. He was one of the first to hear the news, of a peace conference gone awry, of a Red Riding Hood member who had gone berserk and an Aladdin member who'd died because of it.

He loved his faction, but he wasn't blinded by his devotion to it.  (He was blind because of a different reason entirely, but that was a topic for another day.) This alliance was one that the Red Riding Hood faction valued just as much as the Aladdin faction, and it simply didn't make sense for them to throw it away and go to such lengths as to kill one of his faction's diplomats. He was upset and he was grieving, yes, but he was also confused and more than a little bit suspicious.

Things weren't adding up.

Bitterness and resentment towards the Red Riding Hood faction had spawned a variety of cruel nicknames for them, a majority of which demeaned them to little more than barbarians because of their magic, but Jaidev knew that their members were just as intelligent as the members of his faction. It didn't make sense.

Few, if any, shared his views.

A cursory walk around the Aladdin headquarters yielded signs of unrest: clusters of people rather than individuals, stilted breaths, words spoken in undertones, the sounds of nervously shifting feet. If fear could be smelled by humans, he was sure that its scent would be potent now.

He debated returning to his quarters, but it was late in the morning (or so he assumed) and he hadn't yet had a bite to eat. He detoured to the cafeteria, once again thankful for the sensible, clear-cut layout of the headquarters, which made navigating its hall without sight so much easier.

Once he entered, he took stock of what was being served. There was the rich, sweet aroma of freshly-baked rolls, the spicy, tomato-like scent of some sort of pasta. No doubt there would be fruit as well. Jaidev's appetite was one that was easily sated, so he grabbed a roll and an apple, fingers expertly running over the grooves of its firm surface to make sure it hadn't gone bad.

His sharp ears picked up on footsteps approaching him — soft, as if carrying someone light, and with a distinct rhythm: slow and sure, but with the occasional skip.

"Shanna," he greeted without turning around. "How are you?"

She laughed from behind him. "As alert as ever, Jaidev," she said fondly. A brief pause; he could hear her swallow, and guessed that she was thinking about the news of the disastrous conference. "As well as I can be, considering what happened," she replied, a little heavily.  She inhaled. "At least I'm not out looking for revenge, yeah?"

Jaidev paused, his apple halfway to his mouth. He set it down and turned, looking at a point that he'd guess was approximately where she was at, but no doubt he was a little off. "Pardon?" he asked carefully.

He could hear her sleeve flutter, assumed that she was waving her hand dismissively. "You know how it is," she said, and there was something forcibly light in her voice. No doubt she was used to people not noticing, but he'd worked for years to notice the nuances in someone's tone to make up for the fact that he couldn't see their expressions. "Someone dies, everyone's up in arms, you know? I overheard this group talking about getting revenge on one of Red Riding Hood's members, eye for an eye and all that. One of them said something about — about a shadow-ops member, I think? I didn't get to hear more, because they noticed I was there and changed the subject."

"Shadow-ops member?" Jaidev repeated, and he tried, he tried to keep the panic from creeping into his voice, but the moment she'd said that his mind had jumped to the one Red Riding Hood shadow operative he knew.

Xavier.

"Did you happen to recognize anyone in that group?" he asked, more or less normally. He'd catalogued almost every Aladdin member in his head; he hoped to God that she'd say Haraldr, who was all bark and no bite, or Yevhen, who never meant what he was saying — or Samael, who was notorious for going back on his word, or Udo, who (Jaidev cringed for thinking so rudely of his fellow faction member) had the brain capacity of a goldfish.

"As a matter of fact," Shanna said brightly, "I did! The ringleader, or at least I think he was, since he did most of the talking, was Ar."

Jaidev's heart skipped several beats. He forgot how to breathe.

If anyone would actually seek retribution by attacking and attempting to kill one of the offending faction's members, it would be Ar.

'Shadow-ops,' she'd said.

Xavier.

" — aidev? Jaidev? Are you alright?"

A hand brushed his shoulder tentatively, and instinctively he flinched back. He heard her sharp, hurt intake of breath, felt the hiss of air as she recoiled. "Yes, I — I'm fine," he answered. He reached out to take her hand and squeeze it comfortingly; she hadn't meant him harm, and she was one of the few he could call a friend. "Apologies, Shanna. I was distracted, you caught me off-guard."

He tried for what he hoped was a comforting smile. The success was up in the air; his smiles were better when they weren't thought through, and he hadn't been able to see his face (or anyone's) for quite a long time. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go do some — damage control." He was proud of the fact that he managed to keep his tone steady throughout, that it didn't waver or break or do some other embarrassing thing that would betray the forced casualness that he'd adopted.

With that semi-passable farewell, he turned to leave the cafeteria, breaking into a run once he turned the corner, his breakfast all but forgotten.

•

Jaidev's knowledge of grounds outside those owned exclusively by the Aladdin faction was . . . rudimentary, compared to his impeccable memorization of his own headquarters. But for once he was not careful, he didn't think things through, he let his desperation and intuition guide him.

People were quieter on the streets, more uneasy, a fact that normally would've put him on edge but right now was a blessing. He could hear things better. He kept up a light jogging pace, which was fast but admittedly a lot slower than if he were to sprint; but sprinting was loud and distracting, and he needed to take note of his surroundings.

Not for the first time, he confessed to himself that it would be far easier if he could see; but the fact of the matter was that he couldn't, so he'd just have to use what he did have.

After two rounds of the area, though, he began to despair. He'd heard nothing out of the ordinary, only the occasional fearful whisper (which got more intense when he passed the same group of people three times and was now stopping in front of them). Every second he wasted was another second that Ar and his group could be using to attack Xavier a shadow-ops member, and if he got there too late to save him them — if he could have prevented something and yet failed, Jaidev would never forgive himself.

"Think," he muttered to himself, one hand running agitatedly through his hair. "Think."

Shadow-ops members weren't stupid. They were the elite, the most dangerous the faction had to offer. No doubt they'd heard the news, and if they happened to be out on an errand, it'd make sense that they'd head back to headquarters, back to friendly territory, as soon as possible.

If he guessed wrong, though, and wandered a little too far into Red Riding Hood territory, it was likely he risked injury or even death; but that was a chance he was going to have to take. He could waste all the time he wanted pulling out numbers and weighing risk against benefit, but he was sure he'd come to the same conclusion.

•

The territory was one he was unused to, so he reluctantly slowed to a brisk walk. Things were eerily quiet here, not even punctuated with the occasional whisper or footstep, and it made Jaidev uneasy. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears, and he shook it off, about to turn back and start over, when he heard it.

A weak, ragged inhale; a shuddering exhale.

He stopped, senses sharpening. He almost missed it, but now that he was paying attention: the smell of singed flesh, a scent he was all too familiar with from being on the battlefield with Aladdin members, and the coppery odor of blood.

The breathing was slow and irregular; as sharp as his hearing was, he had trouble keeping himself constantly trained on it, so he followed the smells instead. When his boot nudged against someone's limp hand, he fought every instinct that told him to turn tail and run, and instead knelt by the body.

His fingers found the person's jawline, traced it to where it joined with the neck, trying to find the carotid pulse. There was nothing. Just to be sure, he found the wrist, placing his thumb over where the radial pulse should be. Nothing.  He placed his hand on the chest, cringing when it came into contact with still-slick blood. The chest did not rise and fall.

There was another body, somewhat close to the first. He repeated what he did — rinse, wash, repeat.

Nothing.

He began to fear that one of the two bodies was Xavier's, and he would have no way of knowing. He had grown familiar to the low timber and slight inflections of the other's voice, the callouses on his hands; but he hadn't yet drawn up the courage to ask to feel Xavier's facial features, to map them out for himself, and now he might never get a chance to.

He could be sitting beside Xavier's corpse and he'd be none the wiser.

To distract himself, because Jaidev could begin to feel his eyes begin to sting and the last thing he wanted to do was cry, he began to feel around to see if there was anyone else. Maybe Xavier wasn't even the shadow-op they were aiming for, he told himself as his palms met cobblestone. A loose chip sliced across his finger but he ignored it, and finally, he met flesh.

Still warm; either recently dead or still alive. He hoped for the latter, but his tired mind told him the former was much more likely.

So he did what he did before: found the jawline, traced it back, and waited. Nothi — wait. The barest of sensations had pressed against his fingers. Did he imagine — no, there it was again. It was as weak as the flutter of butterfly's wings, as if the person to whom the heartbeat belonged was barely holding on, but it was there and for now that was enough.

"Hello?" he tried, feeling a bit stupid for speaking out loud. "Can you — can you talk? It's fine if you can't, it just" — stop babbling, they're this close to death — "it'd just help if you could tell me where you're injured."

As he spoke, his hands moved: up their torso, down their arms, up their sides. There was a lot of burned flesh, he could feel the coarse, irregular grooves. They were lying on their stomach, so he was careful not to jostle them.  Down their back — oh. He winced, hands feeling the wetness where their shirt was more or less drenched in blood. He tried to be as gentle as possible, peeling the layer of their shirt up and feeling the wound, trying not to yank his hand away from the ripped flesh. Stab wound, it seemed like.

For a second, he couldn't remember what to do with a stab wound; he panicked, hands now more or less looking like he'd just killed a man with his bare hands — there was so much blood, which was worse, finding people who are already dead or finding someone who's barely alive and failing to keep them alive —

"Breathe," he whispered, as much to himself as to the person. "Breathe."

Stop the bleeding. Right. The other person's shirt was all but useless, and Jaidev wasn't about to go ripping up their pants. He'd violated enough personal space enough already, thank you; besides, his shirt was clean and fairly absorbent, so he pulled it off and folded it crudely before placing it on top of the wound, pressing down and applying pressure.

He was stupid for not bringing gauze or bandages. How was he supposed to save someone's life with a shirt? And running back to get medical supplies was all but out of the question. He could feel the blood begin to soak through the shirt, but he needed it to clot, and removing the shirt would prevent just that. Steadily, he applied more and more pressure, until he no longer felt comfortable pressing any harder.

"How are you doing?" he asked softly, trying to gauge whether or not they were in good enough condition for him to move them. If not — well, he'd think of something.

Two dead, one barely alive. He was fairly sure there were more originally, but they must've left, either leaving one of their own behind or leaving their job unfinished.

Her faction as a whole was . . . tense, to say the least, but Inaya refused to let the unrest get to her. She had yet to encounter a problem where the solution could not be find with level heads and low blood pressures, and she had been around a decent amount of time. More than decent, if you were to ask the teenagers in her faction that teasingly called her Grandma. She tolerated it, but she was (unfortunately) a long ways off from old age, and thus a long ways off from retirement.

Was retirement even a thing? She wasn't quite sure. It wasn't as if many people ever lived long enough to have that question be answered. She herself just recently turned thirty and may yet find herself dying soon on the battlefield —

— or, considering recent developments, in a peace conference.

She pursed her lips and shook her head. Resentment and negative thoughts would not do; they'd cloud her judgement, guide her actions, and in such a time of turmoil, both were extremely unwelcome.

Contrary to her appearance ("you just look like a tea sort of person, that's all"), when Inaya found herself feeling a bit off, she sought to remedy it through a cup of coffee or two. She found it surprisingly easy on her palette, and the scalding, slightly bitter taste grounded her well. Sometimes, if she were feeling indulgent, she may order something sweeter, with more than just a few pumps of cream and chocolate.

Now was not one of those times.

Her feet led her to the doors of a popular café, one that she herself had only frequented a few times before, but all times she'd found it extremely satisfactory, if not a bit on the crowded side. Today, though, it wasn't as packed as usual, and the line was far shorter.

"What can I get for you today?"

"Just a regular cup of black coffee, if I may."

"It'll be right out."

She smiled before turning her attention to the rest of the occupants on the first level. It was easier to do it today than other days; perhaps the news had encouraged most to stay at home. Her eyes fell upon a familiar head of blonde hair, and she blinked before scrutinizing the figure closer, confirming that it was indeed her —

— her thoughts faltered. What were they, exactly? Acquaintances seemed too general, friends felt too bold. The other woman was one of the very few people Inaya was unable to get a read on; she was unpredictable, sometimes seeming like an entirely different person than she had earlier that same day.

When her coffee came out, she thanked the barista before clasping the hot porcelain cup in her two hands, making up her mind to cross over to where Lucia sat. Inaya did not smile, but her eyes were warm.

"Mind if I join you?"

The whisper was faint, and considering the state the other was in, must have taken a tremendous amount of effort to force out. There was more breath than sound, but even though his frenzy, Jaidev heard it as clearly as if the person had shouted it.

"Jai...dev..."

The voice was quiet and unsteady and a little hoarse, but Jaidev could recognize it in his sleep, the press of consonants and the flow of vowels. He opened his mouth to laugh or maybe give some sign of assurance, a firm "I'm here", but what came out instead was an almost-crazed sob of relief.

[ he wasn't dead oh thank the gods he wasn't dead ]

"Xavier," he answered shakily. "Xavier."

He was a diplomat, someone whose words were one of their most useful assets, who had the power to smooth over wars and soothe raw wounds without so much as lifting a finger, so it was indeed funny how his words seemed to fail him when they mattered most.

Xavier hissed weakly in pain and Jaidev murmured a soft apology, but he couldn't think of another way to go about treating his wounds without at least some degree of discomfort. He stemmed the flow of blood from the stab wound in Xavier's back, biting the inside of his cheek as he cast about for an idea of a better solution; the blood hadn't fully soaked through the cloth yet, as far as his hands could feel, but judging from the severity of the wound he doubted it'd be long before it did.

"It's dangerous to be here," Xavier muttered, and upon feeling a slight tremor run through the other (a wince, he told himself), Jaidev slightly eased the pressure. "If anyone sees you, they'll kill you."

For the second time in the past fifteen minutes, Jaidev wanted to laugh. I don't care, he wanted to say. If I died and you lived, I wouldn't care at all. He only barely managed to stop himself from saying it, if only to keep any words relating to death from permeating the air between them. It was a little too late for that, but he was going to make an effort regardless.

"Leave me."

All thoughts of laughing vanished, and briefly Jaidev's arms slackened. He swallowed past the lump in his throat. Even the thought of getting up and leaving Xavier here, weak and wounded and already knocking at death's door, made him sick. The fact that Xavier even suggested it —

— Jaidev wondered, how many people had made Xavier feel as if he were someone to be left? How many people had told him so, and how many people had done so — how many people had left him?

"No," Jaidev replied sharply, uncharacteristically fierce. "I'm not leaving you. Don't even think about it." He paused, breath coming short and fast, before he exhaled and his tone softened. "I can't — I can't lose you, Xavier. Not you."

But the fact remained: Xavier was going to bleed out if Jaidev didn't get him to someone with more medical expertise. However, if he left to find someone, Jaidev would leave Xavier vulnerable, and the fact that he would leave the Red Riding Hood member didn't sit quite right with him.

But he wasn't an Aladdin member for nothing. He still had his powers, and he was perfectly capable of producing an emergency flare. The only problem was that he was on Red Riding Hood territory, and by far the most likely possibility was that his flare would be seen by a Red Riding Hood member, who would then find them.

The problem was this: considering the recent tension and the current state of one of their own, the Red Riding Hood member may or may not kill him on sight.

Jaidev didn't have a death wish, but he was out of options and the emergency flare was his best bet of getting Xavier the help he needed. He bit his lip briefly; every second he wasted brought Xavier a second closer to death.

He made up his mind.

Removing his hands from his now-bloodied shirt and giving reassurance ("I'm still here, Xavier"), he rose to his feet and took a step or two back. To his knowledge, it shouldn't be dangerous; there shouldn't be any sparks or anything that would further injure Xavier, but with his lack of sight and inability to see the sparks should they be there, it didn't hurt to be safe.

Inhaling, he angled his hands towards the sky, let fire course through his veins before finally bursting out of his fingers in large jets of flame. Heat seared up the skin of his exposed back, burns crawled up his torso. He didn't cry out, but the pain knocked him down, his knees impacting against the cobblestone with a dull thud.

If no one came, and came soon, he'd have to carry Xavier to the nearest infirmary — piggyback or fireman's carry, both would jostle Xavier and cause him significant amounts of pain, but without assistance, Jaidev couldn't see an alternative.

"If you want something done right," Shirina muttered under her breath, "you have to do it yourself."

She stepped out for one meeting — one! She agreed to stop micromanaging, was asked to take a step back and let the rest of her faction members handle it just this once without her hawk-eyed supervision —

It wasn't an easy fight at all. She'd refused over and over again, until they'd resorted to dirty tactics and pulled out the trust card. "Don't you trust us, Shirina? We're family, right?" they said, and reluctantly she said that, yes, she did trust them.

Look where that trust got them.

An alliance gone up in flames, an Aladdin diplomat dead, and a whole faction baying for their blood. Wonderful. Absolutely splendid. She could not have hoped for a better outcome.

Beneath her frustration and righteous indignation, though, Shirina also felt doubtful. Yes, so trust aside, she may have felt like her faction was a tad on the irresponsible side, but they weren't stupid, especially not to the extent of killing another diplomat. And while she hadn't known them well, the one who had done the killing had never lost control before — really, all in all, they were a fair and level-headed person, and without provocation (which witnesses said there was none of), she didn't see how this would make sense.

"I smell foul play," she said at last, addressing her companion in soft undertones in case anyone was around to eavesdrop. Speaking of her companion, Shirina had no idea what to make of her — Sirvart was amazingly exasperating, it was almost a talent, but at the same time (though she'd admit it to no one) Shirina felt safe around her, felt comfortable like she did around no one else.

But the fact remained: utterly, inexcusably, and unapologetically aggravating.

Before she could ask Sirvart's opinion on the recent turn of events, something caught her eye, and she turned around so quickly she almost got whiplash. Instinctively, she grabbed Sirvart's hand and gestured to the jets of flame not too far away from where they were.

"What is that?" she asked incredulously. Pause. "Dare we investigate?"

Inaya was not a woman to be cowed, so she met the magenta gaze impassively, without a flicker of fear of fear in her expression — only a steady, unyielding calm. The venom in Lucia's eyes was only there for a second, but for the second it was there, it was dangerous and so strong it was almost palpable.

Had she been someone with less experience, Inaya would have passed it off as a trick of the light or a figment of her imagination, it was gone so soon; but at thirty, you learned that very few things were tricks of the light or figments of your imagination, and if you didn't learn to trust yourself you weren't going to stay alive for very long.

Though not foolish enough to forget it, Inaya tentatively pushed her concerns to the back of her mind once Lucia smiled at her warmly.

"Of course not. Go right ahead."

Inaya matched her smile. "Lovely. Thank you. Your company is a gift."

She moved to sit across from the other, resting the porcelain cup onto the table without so much as disturbing its contents. She slid into the booth smoothly, meeting Lucia's eyes with a faint smile. Inaya may be unable to get a read on the other woman, but that didn't mean she didn't enjoy her company.

"Is everything alright?"

"They could be better," Inaya answered vaguely. She was sure that Lucia knew about the, er, accident regarding one of their diplomats, but it wasn't the most pleasant subject over tea/coffee.

"And you? Is everything alright?" She paused, choosing her next words carefully. "You seemed a little off just a few moments ago."

Jaidev was quite accepting of the knowledge that he was useless, thank you very much.

It wasn't news to him at all. The most recent incident would have been six days ago, when someone attempted to describe a building to him and the directions there using details that would have helped anyone but a blind man. He'd pointed this fact out to them, gently, and in a brief fit of frustration the other snapped at him, "Gods, you're so useless."

They'd apologized immediately after, and he assured them it was alright. It was not the first time someone had said something similar, nor would it be the last, but what he did not say was that the words still felt like a punch to the gut.

Sometimes it seemed like no matter how hard he worked, he would never be able to compensate for the loss of his vision.

And he'd not been able to forge very close relationships; acquaintances, yes, and comrades and working partners and fellow diplomats, and even the occasional friend, but all seemed reluctant to invest too much into a relationship with someone who could not see. There was a gap between him and everyone else that he could not seem to cross, one that he'd stopped trying to cross once he realized it was fruitless. It was as if, every time he couldn't quite manage to look them in the eyes, they were already envisioning his death, already deciding to cut their losses before the fact that he couldn't see cost him his life.

Which was why when Xavier gasped his name, at a time when he was already struggling to breathe, Jaidev was — surprised. No one had ever uttered his name like that, all rushed syllables and desperation, and a feeling of warmth washed over him, soft and pleasant and nothing at all like the searing heat that had burned him only moments before.

It was soon replaced by worry, when the sounds of rustling cloth and shifting limbs and pebbles clicking against each other reached his ears. "Xavier," he said, sitting back up and reaching out for the man in question. When his hands met him, far closer than he should be, Jaidev felt his own lips tug into a gently reprimanding frown. "You shouldn't be moving."

His fingers found the folded square of the makeshift bandage, which had shifted during the Red Riding Hood member's travel, and moved it to cover the wound once more.

"Is...everything alright?"

Jaidev hummed, ignoring the sting of his burns as he shifted position to better staunch the flow of Xavier's blood. "They will be, once we get you to an infirmary." He paused, voice quieting. "Don't exert yourself like that again, okay? Everything will be fine."

He was seized with the insane temptation to brush Xavier's hair from his face, as if to make his claim more believable — surely his bangs are in his eyes, and he wouldn't have the strength to move his arms. But the gesture would be made more awkward by Jaidev needing to find Xavier's face first, and his hands were bloody and besides, Xavier may not want Jaidev to touch him outside of caring for his wounds.

It was a silly impulse, he told himself.

"But who?" Sirvart asked, the one question that mattered the most and also the one question that Shirina didn't want to think about. For one, she didn't know, and she hated not knowing the answer to anything; and, for another, it put a name and a face to the crime.

She wasn't idealistic, not in the least, but she was afraid that the perpetrator may turn out to be one of the rare few that she allowed herself to trust.

Sirvart brought up another good point (surprisingly, Shirina jibed halfheartedly to herself, but she was well-aware that Sirvart was scarily intelligent, underneath her front) — it was a time of tentative peace, as far as they knew, and no factions held grudges against them.

Emphasis on the past tense. If the Aladdin faction wasn't out for blood by now, Shirina would be surprised.

Shirina was loathe to admit that she also couldn't think of an outside party who'd want to cause chaos, not to mention that the power it took to mess with a Red Riding Hood diplomat's mental faculties — this outside party, whoever they were, just may be a bigger threat than she would've originally thought.

The tensing underneath her hands did not escape her, and Shirina winced and pulled away. "My apologies," she mumbled, uncharacteristically sheepish. Scolding was easier by a long shot than apologizing. "I" — reacted on instinct? jumped too far ahead of myself? am not usually this touchy-feely at all? — "won't do it again."

Shirina nodded in agreement. "Getting our pelts sounds wise." She turned to retrace their steps and enter their headquarters again, thankful that they had chosen the gardens; she didn't have to go very far.

She found her leopard's pelt; she had a few alternatives, not many but some, but if she had to shift, she preferred a leopard's body best. It was powerful, but also agile and swift, and she could both attack while avoiding taking too much damage herself — and she could retreat quickly, but that was a thought her pride didn't like very much.

She regrouped with Sirvart, and together they made their way outside once more. Shirina narrowed her eyes, trying to recall exactly where the fire had come from. She raised her hand and pointed a slender finger ahead, at one of the more unfrequented paths.

"The flames came from about there, no?"

"I think one of our members is in trouble."

It was not the most pleasant of thoughts, but Shirina had to admit that it made the most sense.  It could either be merely a coincidence, or it was directly related to the death of the Aladdin diplomat.  Honestly, the latter seemed much more likely.

There was too much bad blood between the factions to let something like this go without retribution.  The tentative peace (now shattered, she was sure) was one that was highly flammable; all it took was a single match, and everything went up in flames.

"I'm afraid that it probably is so."  She sighed regretfully.  "I had hoped that things could be resolved without anyone making a rash decision."

Shirina made a noise of agreement in answer to Sirvart saying they should hurry; she broke into a run to match Sirvart's pace.  Running in heels was awkward at best, but it was a discomfort that was easily managed.  The place the flare had originated was altogether not too far from their starting point, and Red Riding Hood members were known for their stamina.  It did not take the pair long to reach their destination.

Shirina stopped, meaning to catch her breath; but the first thing she registered was blood, a lot of blood, and people who were terribly still.  The line of her shoulders tensed. Three were on the ground, one was on his knees.

"Oh my," she whispered.

Her mind seemed to be working terribly slowly.

A gasp punctuated the middle of Xavier's sentence, and part of Jaidev wanted to tell him to stop talking and save his strength, Jaidev understood what he was trying to say; but the rest of him was too busy hanging onto every whispered word, and he didn't have the heart to cut Xavier off, not when he spoke rarely enough as it was.

And it hurt; it hurt him to know that Xavier was this terrifyingly close to death and still, what he was afraid of was losing Jaidev — and all the Aladdin diplomat wanted to do was take this beautiful broken man in his arms and never let him go.

"You still...haven't even...met Sera... She wants to...see you...you know..."

Jaidev tried for a light chuckle, but it came out warped and pained and a little more sob than laugh. "I want to see her too — it's alright, Xavier, please hang in there, help is coming and — and when you get better, you can take me to see her."

At first, when he heard running footsteps, he thought he'd imagined the sound; but it persisted, growing louder and clearer and he could've cried from relief when they stopped near where he and Xavier were. The short, quick breaths and murmured Oh my were as loud as thunder. His instincts told him these people weren't hostile; at least not to Xavier, and that was what mattered.

"Help him," Jaidev pleaded, gaze angled to where the footsteps had last sounded. "Gods please help him I can't — I can't lose him."