(no subject)

[kayip]

Sareh leans over the counter to watch him, balancing herself with her arms crossed on top and her feet almost dangling a few inches from the floor. "You know, if you're not sleeping, I'm going to tell Dad."

"Your dad wouldn't care."

"Dad's noticed it, too," she corrects, leaning back as Behrooz reappears at the counter after retrieving box of spare light bulbs beneath it. "He's worried about you, you always look tired all the time?"

"Is he going to get someone else to stand here?"

She frowns. "You know, some people actually care about other people beyond their usefulness."

"That's good, because I really do need this job."

And as he goes to retrieve the ladder from the storeroom, he notices her go around the back of counter herself. The annoying "ding!" noise comes from the door as someone enters.

"What's this?" she calls, as Behrooz carries the ladder back and puts it under the burnt out bulb, not looking over until he's done setting it up. What she's holding up something silver, and he looks away, again.

"Stop going through my stuff, Sareh." Instead, he hears the click as she opens it, but doesn't look away from what he's doing.

"What do you need this for? Were you like a boyscout or something?"

He pulls down the broken bulb. "No, Sareh. I just have it, now put it back."

She doesn't answer, as he replaces the bulb and it flickers into life. The man who came in arrives at the counter and piling a few things on, and hears Sareh set the compass aside.

When he returns from putting the ladder away, the customer is leaving, and she's looking at it again. He rolls his eyes at her – "Would you put that down already?"

"It's nice. Where'd you get it?"

Instead answering, he quickly takes it out of her hands, and mutters, "Don't you have something else to do?"

"Nope, school's out so now I can bug you all the time," she answers sarcastically, folding her arms. "That and your shift ended half an hour ago and I'm supposed to take your place."

Behrooz blinks, and checks his watch.

"Oh – crap –"

She watches him interestedly as he quickly gets his things together. "What're you in such a hurry for? Sleeping again?"

"Yeah," he mumbles, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

"Well, you should. I know you're always an insomniac or whatever, but you've seemed worse lately."

He turns back to her. "I'm fine, Sareh. You can call me if you need anything?"

She rolls her eyes, settling in behind the counter and distractedly fingering the red fabric of her scarf. "Yeah, because I've never done this before."

Deciding that's good enough, Behrooz heads out. But he certainly doesn't head home.






*




"Hello, brother."

Behrooz forces himself to smile, and he's found that these fake smiles seem to be more convincing than any real one. He takes the Styrofoam box of rice that Yasir offers, sitting on the armrest of the sofa.

The Caucasian man – they call him Malik, but Behrooz figures he must have some different real name – isn't there, and Firuz had just made some dim comment that he was "studying." Ahmed was sitting silently in the corner, wearing earphones and seeming to ignore all of them. Behrooz had grown used enough to this room to know what to expect, and look for what was different – and nothing much was. There's certainly nothing that smelled like explosives or ammunition, but there's also a door Firuz always seemed to keep locked when he was around.

"What did brother Khalil talk about in sermon this week?" Firuz asks abruptly, twisting the word 'brother' like it was a joke. Behrooz is startled by the question, and his response is a bit stammered.

"Just – more of what he always says. Respecting your neighbors and peaceful solutions and stuff. I didn't pay attention."

"You go there for a reason, Orhan," Firuz snaps, and Behrooz flinches appropriately. "Have something to say next time."

Behrooz's eyes go down, and murmurs, "Yes, sir." And it takes almost everything to not really flinch at that.

He at least expects the hand that goes on his shoulder, and the softer tone. "This is important for us, Orhan. We need to know what he's trying to tell our people. It's hard to find ones like you, you know?"

Firuz steps away, and Behrooz closely follows the man – in his early thirties, at the oldest, no beard, wearing a nice white shirt black pants. He walks over to the desktop computer settled on a worn down desk, and Behrooz looks down and pokes at the rice with the plastic fork.

But he hears Firuz mutter it to himself - "Peaceful. How can it be peaceful when they take away your dignity?"





*





Behrooz is kind of glad that at least it's summer – going to inconspicuous places at night would probably be worse if it was cold, as well.

This isn't really the most important thing on his mind right now, though. "Look, I've told you everything, why don't you just arrest them?"

The man made a somewhat scoffing sound, which Behrooz wasn't really surprised about – it was the woman he was focused on, but she shook her head, as well. "You haven't found anything conclusive –"

He bites back something like 'since when would that matter' for "I know these people, all right? I've seen a lot of them."

And maybe he wouldn't be pushing so hard if Chris hadn't mentioned that "increased chatter." But he can tell easily enough that it isn't working.

"It's – not that we don't believe you," the woman says quietly, and slowly, as though explaining it to a child, "But if there is something – it's more likely they'd tell you."

"They don't tell me things."

"Because they don't trust you?" the man snaps. This time, Behrooz almost scoffs.

"Because they don't have to. I'm just the dumb kid who'll do whatever they want."

He really wishes he didn't see that in the eyes of these two people, as well. The man turns away again, and the woman just folds her arms, like she's dealing with an insolent child.

"Look, it'll only be a little longer –"

"Yeah, it might only be a little longer." The man sharply turns back at that, and Behrooz regrets saying it when he looks at both of them.

"You said you told us everything," the man says as sharply as he can without raising his voice. This time, Behrooz doesn't flinch.

"I don't know," Behrooz repeats. "It just – this is real, ok? And it means there's probably others. I'm trying to help you but you won't listen to me."

"Behrooz," the woman says his name quietly, like it's something she can't imagine he likes being called, "If you want to help us, just stay with this a little longer. If it looks like this could get you in trouble, we'll bring them in, all right?"

Behrooz doesn't nod. But, it's not like he really needs to answer.




[OOC: One line stolen shamelessly, but lovingly, from Children of Men]