(no subject)

[kayip]

It was a nice room.

It was done up like a hotel room – bottles of water on the dresser (simple t-shirts and jeans inside, though he was fairly sure they were a couple sizes too big), a television that he didn't try to turn on. All Behrooz did when he walked in the room was collapse on the bed, falling asleep almost immediately.

Someone – a man, not his handler – comes in later, and Behrooz wakes up with the smell of fear, realizing the man was frightened by the sight of him fallen to the floor. The man tries to help him up when he sees Behrooz wake, but Behrooz moves away from his hand, standing on his own and straightening the sling that he didn't need.

That day, and the one after it, were full of talking – mostly another person asking him questions, detailing everything that had happened from the store to the parking lot. He'd done all of this before – and like before, he answered every question in an empty voice, explained his actions, the killing – they didn't ask too many questions about that, and he didn't ask if they'd found out who that man really was, or at least, had been. Instead, he asked about Sareh.

"Who cares about one girl at a time like this?" was the response, and Behrooz didn't answer.


*


They let him walk back to his room by himself. He walked awkwardly through the halls, guiding himself by dragging his hand along the wall, not moving even as he bumped against doorframes, switchplates. But he stops against a door, hearing something that seems to make his insides freeze, even if he can't understand the words.

And somehow he blinks, and he's staring at the ceiling of the medical room again. He sits up too quickly, realizing he's breathing heavily, and it dimly registers there's someone familiar next to him.

"They said you collapsed." It takes a long moment for Behrooz to blink over, not sure he really believes this is waking, that he won't look over and wake up again. So he stares emptily at the door for another, until the voice asks, tentatively, "Orhan?" And he has to look over.

There's no waking up again, the imam's expression is only concerned. Behrooz still isn't really sure he believes the other man's really there, and keeps staring before finally stuttering, "I – I don't know, I don't know where I – "

The man reaches out, probably to touch his shoulder, but seems to think better of it and stops. Behrooz just keeps staring at him, even after he's broken off, now seeing the circles under the other man's eyes, the simple white shirt he was wearing, the darkened spots on his forearm. He realizes his eyes have been wandering, that he still hasn't said anything, and finally asks, "This – where were you, Brother Khalil?"

"I was hoping I wouldn't be seeing you here," is the only answer, and it's not much of one, though Behrooz responds he's probably supposed to – not asking anything further, but immediately defending himself.

"I didn't do anything." It's distant, and it's a lie, but it doesn't seem as if the other man really needed the assurance – he shakes his head.

"They wouldn't have let us talk like this if they thought you did." He looks up as he says it though, glancing around the empty room, and Behrooz is abruptly aware of someone standing at the door.

"You shouldn't be here," Behrooz says, almost absently, looking toward the door like he's more saying it to whoever's standing there. "If they believe you, why do they still have you here?"

The man shrugs, but it's a stiff one, as Behrooz notices when he looks back. "No one wants to be the one who released a terrorist at a time like this."

And now Behrooz knows there's nothing more he can say – any more reasons, explanations would involve too much truth. He blinks at the floor, then moves to get out of the bed. The imam looks up, like he's going to stop him at first, but relents on this too, instead standing to meet him

"What're we supposed to do?" He doesn't think much before asking it – maybe it's the only question that can be asked at a time like this. The question makes the imam – not smile, none of them can seem to do that – but at least look something like reassured.

"It's a good time to be thinking about that, brother," he answers, abruptly seeming as calm as he had before. "You'll probably have a lot of time for that in here, during Ramadan."

It takes a moment for Behrooz to remember, think back to Mid-Shaban, to Sareh telling a story of how Farid almost chocked on a date once during Iftar, to remember the days, how close they were to the beginning of Ramadan. He finally looks to the clock on the wall, and then decides not to ask how long he'd been there.

The imam seems to pick up on this, and says quietly, "It's almost noon ... I think we can pray together, outside."

Behrooz nods dimly, and waits for the other man to lead the way out of the room, where the guard at the door starts to follow them, but silently, and the imam doesn't seem to notice as he leads the way.