Chapter Text
Cairo, Egypt
Nasser was crossing the bazar when he noticed the khawaga.
It was always him. Always alone. He would stare at him from a distance, nothing else. Sometimes he would smile. Nasser just marked him down as a freak, but today was different.
He was hauling crates of hibiscus when he turned the corner and found him standing at the end of the narrow alley. The man just smiled and gestured for him to follow, before stepping into the open entrance of a house.
Nasser thought that any excuse to avoid the job would be a blessing enough, so he dropped the boxes and made his way through. He wondered if he could also get some money out of it. His brother’s friends used to talk about how to take “polite advantage” of tourists.
The door was ajar, breathing out a flowery, rich scent. Nasser pushed it open and stopped just inside the entrance. It was dark inside, except for a tiny, stained window in the corner shedding a ray of colored light on the carpets.
“Is anyone here?”
No reply.
He straightened his back and slid sideways to close the door behind him, his back making contact with the damp wood.
“I said, is anyone h-”
“Nasser”
He startled as the voice echoed in the room. He jerked around, his eyes starting to get used to the darkness. The room was furnished, and he could spot a silhouette by a table in the corner. He asked who it was.
“A friend, I hope. I’ve been meaning to talk with you.”
The khawaga stepped out from the shadows and offered him the same smile. He looked placid, almost bored. His Arabic was good, natural even. It nearly carried the same tilts of the streets. He raised a hand towards him. “Please come forward. Let's have a chat."
He brought a chair forward and invited him in.
Nasser didn’t move. “I don’t know you.”
The man’s face shifted into a grimace. He sighed, shaking his head and hanging his head as he started pacing the dusty floor. “I wanted to give you my condolences. I am…truly sorry. He was your brother, yes? Elias”
Nasser’s blood froze in his veins. No one spoke of Elias. Not since the accident. How dare he mention his brother like that? How the hell did he know?
The man ignored him as he continued talking. “So young. A tragedy, really. What that man did to him was unforgivable.”
Nasser’s breath left his lungs. His ears were ringing, and the man’s voice arrived to him distorted. He opened his mouth to say something - anything - but he could only stammer. It was too soon.
A hand landed on his shoulder. “Easy, boy, easy. I know. How you must be feeling, what you must be thinking. I lost a brother, too.”
He let himself be guided into the room - couldn’t object, really - until his legs touched a chair that he fell into. The man was crouched in front of him, his hand still on his arm. He barely recognized his own voice when he managed to ask, “What do you know of Elias?”
The stranger smiled sadly as he squeezed his shoulder. “Unfortunately, more than I would like.”
Nasser’s mind was swirling with too many thoughts and images. His brother’s dead body was suddenly in front of him, his eyes stuck in a stare as the blood spread from under his head. His limbs were contorted in an unnatural pose. He was under that cliff all over again. He could see his mother weeping on her knees, and his brother’s friends fighting and cursing at “the American.” How he had killed him.
He had crouched by his mom and couldn’t help but dip a finger in the blood. It was so dark. It’s all he remembers about it. The blood, the screaming, and his brother’s eyes. After that, everyone decided it would be better to stop thinking about Elias. He was “just an accident.” There was no “American,” just kids making things up. It was a tragic accident to accept and mourn, to keep living. His mom needed it, anyway.
But he knew his brother would’ve never willingly fallen to his own death.
He believed what the others said. He tried to ask them countless times, but they would always shut him up. Eventually, the years had passed, and he had tried to let the fire go cold. For his mother's sake, he told himself.
Three years since his brother’s murder, and now - now-
He winced when someone shouted his name.
The man was still crouching in front of him, only now both of his hands were shaking his shoulders. His eyes were focused on him.
“Nasser. I can only imagine how difficult it must’ve been for you. The pain, the rage…” a pause “But I can help you.”
Help him? He couldn’t keep a humorless laugh down. “Is this what this is about? Are you one of those priests on a mission?” How dare he? He was going to punch his face in, if needed. He could fight him even if he was so big.
The khawaga smirked and tilted his head. His eyes were shining. “A priest? Oh, no. Not me, Nasser." He squeezed his shoulder one last time before rising to his feet. His comment had put him in a good humor, apparently.
He started pacing the room again. “I’ve come to you because I need your help.”
Nasser swallowed. His throat was closed up and dry in a way that hurt. He shifted on his chair as he followed the stranger around with his eyes. “My help.”
“Your help, yes. In avenging your brother.”
The boy’s head was quickly turning into a storm again, but the man continued his speech right away.
“That man…he hurt so many people, Nasser. Believe me.” His voice was barely a murmur as he studied the stained glass. “It’s about time that someone stops him. That his victims can get the payback they deserve.” He twitched his head towards him. It made Nasser’s skin crawl. “Don’t you think?”
Nasser could only think of Elias. No matter how much he scrunched his eyes shut, he could only see him. The blood. The blood’s warmth on his fingers.
All the wrath he suppressed in the last few years came back multiplied, his chest scorching with it.
“What do you need me to do?”
The man regarded him for a moment. Then, his lips curved. “Oh, don’t worry. We have time to discuss that.” He leaned in, his shadow swallowing Nasser whole, his voice thick with such gratitude and appreciation that made Nasser nauseous. He had stopped listening.
“But what a terrible host I am! Tell me, may I offer you anything to drink? Eat?”
Nasser only shrugged. He felt hollowed out, a shell waiting to be filled with something, anything other than the grief.
A minute later, the cold touch of metal against his fingers made him flinch.
It was a cup.
The liquid was dark, but light. It almost smelled of hibiscus - and something else, more earthy. Hibiscus tea was Elias’s favorite.
The man had taken a seat next to him, a baring of teeth on his face. He raised his own cup. “To justice" he whispered, the glass chiming against Nasser's cup like a bell. "And to the blow finally landing where it belongs.”