#that way i just got nothing except knowing Zolf would be back one day

[quantifierrasing]

17 + 18? :)

17. Make a meme!

18. Why did you first start listening to the show?

Last april, when i had finished magnus. I wanted more rusty quill content and thought the gaming show could be nice. First thing i ever listened to was the first half of 192, got confused and started at the beginning. I love it even more that tma and it helped my mental health a lot to get lost in this fictional world!

[commander-diomika]

(Click to Read From the Beginning) Part 4 - Fandom: Rusty Quill Gaming Pairing: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde Rating: Teen and Up Word Count: ~1900 Additional Tags: Slow Burn, 18-Month Time Gap (Rusty Quill Gaming), Rating Will Change to Explicit in Later Parts, Opposites Attract, Hurt/Comfort, but zolf's not doing a great job of it, canon typical poor bedside manner zolf, Holding Hands, Massage

Summary: “A pair of eccentric foreigners building a dungeon? My, I hesitate to think what pictures they’re painting of us.” When Zolf looked up, Wilde’s mouth was seeking a path to his old smirk around the new routes of his face. He detoured through a wince and raised a hand as if to touch his cheek.

“Is it still botherin’ you?” Zolf’s said softly.

“It’s fine,” he said, dropping the hand.

“Wilde.” Zolf tilted his head in slight exasperation. “Let me have another look at it.”

JAPAN, One Month Later

Wilde was sitting at his desk staring blankly when Zolf came in. He blinked at the papers without looking up.

“How’s it all looking?” Zolf asked when it became clear Wilde either hadn’t noticed Zolf, or wasn’t going to acknowledge him. The faint sounds of construction work mingled with the steady fall of rain on a wooden roof, and the combination of sounds seemed to have a lulling effect on the man.

Wilde cleared his throat and moved one stack of papers to another fruitlessly; gave his head a little shake as though to clear the fog. He’d been doing that a lot lately.

Before Wilde was due to emerge from his self-imposed quarantine, Zolf had been stewing over how he might provide comfort to the man. He was sure that Wilde wouldn’t have coped at all, and Zolf would be forced to make it better somehow. How would he find words to help someone for whom polished words came so easy?

But he’d been surprised by Wilde’s immediate and steely practicality. He had come out of the room looking drawn and harrowed, but perfectly himself. “There absolutely has to be a better way of doing that,” he had announced, and headed straight for the bath. He’d done his best to wipe off the blood that had covered his face and neck, but there was still a little crusted into the cracks. Especially around the weal that now marred his face from temple to lips.

Instead of falling to pieces as Zolf half-expected from the fussy bard, Wilde had thrown himself into the work of finding, acquiring, and modifying a building fit-to-purpose at their next destination. If Wilde was in motion, he was fine. If he was busy and distracted, everything was fine. But as soon as he stopped… Zolf could see it for what it was, but he didn’t know how to change that. For two people who communicated either through business or bickering, letting Wilde stick to practicality was the easier path for Zolf.

“Wilde?” Zolf prompted again in the office. “How’s things?”

“Hm?” Wilde acknowledged, raising tired eyes. “Actually-” he paused, gathering his thoughts, “-it’s not looking too bad. The works on the isolation cell should be finished by the time Barnes and Carter are scheduled to return. As much as I am loath to send someone like Barnes on what is essentially a heist, our funds have been almost utterly drained.”

Zolf nodded. He’d shed his outer rain layer in the slush room, but his hair and beard were still slightly damp as he moved over to dry off by the warmth of the brazier. He didn’t look at Wilde as he spoke. “Aye, but Barnes is the one we can trust to come back with the funds. I’m still not so sure about Carter.”

Wilde just shrugged. “Howard simply cannot abide boredom, and I daresay what’s coming will hold enough novelty to entertain him awhile.”

Except for the seven days we’re going to jam him into a cell for, Zolf thought, but he didn’t speak the thought aloud.

The seven days in Damascus hadn’t exactly been easy for Zolf, either. Wilde had extracted Zolf’s promise not to open the door regardless of Wilde’s behavior, and Zolf was a man of his word. But for the whole week, the imprisoned man didn’t cry, or scream, or even talk most of the time. He was silent, leaving Zolf to stew in his own fears of being infected with whatever had turned the amiable Douglas into an attempted murderer.

Around day five Zolf had given up calling through the door to check on Wilde, only to be met with silence. He could have been dead for all Zolf had known.

But he wasn’t dead, or monstrous. He was right here. Needing action and movement to fill every moment of his waking hours so he could stay sane, but at least he was alive. “How are things on your end?” Wilde asked.

“Not too bad. Like you said, the locals are an alright bunch, and they’ve mostly got no idea what’s goin’ on in the wider world. I found a local carpenter who was able to tweak your designs for the trap door, and I reckon he thinks it’s all a bit of a laugh. Everyone seems to just think we’re a pair of odd foreigners, and they’re happy enough for the coin we’re spendin’.”

“A pair of eccentric foreigners building a dungeon? My, I hesitate to think what pictures they’re painting of us.” When Zolf looked up, Wilde’s mouth was seeking a path to his old smirk around the new routes of his face. He detoured through a wince and raised a hand as if to touch his cheek.

“Is it still botherin’ you?” Zolf’s said softly.

“It’s fine,” he said, dropping the hand.

“Wilde.” Zolf tilted his head in slight exasperation. “Let me have another look at it.” He moved to step behind the desk.

“I’m fine, Zolf. We both know that once a scar is healed up, there’s no point pouring more magic into it.” Wilde’s mouth was a hard line and he straightened up as he spoke. He’d been stooping a lot. He was quite frankly too tall for everything here and unused to Japanese style furniture. The agitation from his words flowed into his body, and as he straightened up, he started tilting his chin from one side to another to work out the kinks.

Zolf had paused. He was right, of course. There was nothing more that Zolf could do to fix the scar, and Wilde had bristled like an angry cat every time it was brought up. It hurt Zolf in a place he couldn’t quite reach nor name. Yes, Wilde had been a different, more focused man since they’d regrouped to work together, but before Douglas, Wilde still laughed at his own lewd jokes and sang sometimes just for the joy of it. That man was gone. And Zolf couldn’t reach back in time to bring him back, and he was powerless to heal the scar that dragged on Wilde’s mouth, so maybe he should just drop it.

I can’t fix the big things. I wouldn’t even know where to start, Zolf thought. But maybe I can do somethin’. Zolf found his momentum again and moved behind where Wilde sat.

“Here, le’ me.” Zolf laid his hands on Wilde’s shoulders. A beat passed, and Zolf was sure he would be shrugged off. But Wilde simply stilled.

When he wasn’t pushed away, Zolf squeezed his hands into the tight knots of Wilde’s shoulders, concentrating on the act. Wilde sighed, head relaxing forward slightly as steady fingers worked into bunched muscle, the light fabric of his shirt allowing Zolf to feel the warmth of skin beneath his fingers.

Wilde had put back on most of the weight he’d lost in Damascus. His hair’s gettin’ so long, Zolf thought, mildly disapproving. If he don’t cut it soon, he’ll have to start tyin’ it back. He idly brushed the hair to one side to reach under and cup the nape of Wilde’s neck, working thumb and index finger into the base of his skull. Zolf had half expected Wilde to tease him, or make some smart-ass comments, but for all his prickliness, he’d gone remarkably quiet and limp under Zolf’s hands.

Sometimes it’s easier to like him when he’s not talkin’, Zolf thought. Definitely easier to touch him.

Zolf’s mind drifted through the sounds of construction drifting up from the basement. Buying an entire inn had stretched the funds thin, and the island wasn’t flush with resources, so what they’d ended up with wasn’t exactly The Ritz. He’d wanted to make it a little nicer, not for him but for the inevitable time Wilde had to do it all again.

Zolf silently swore to Wilde that he could stay at the inn, stay safe, and Zolf would do the quarantines, so Wilde didn’t have to. Even as he promised it, he knew it was an oath he would break. Needs must, at the end of the world, after all.

Zolf continued to massage, and for a little while, there was nothing but the sound of rain.

Zolf was brought out of his reverie by the touch of Wilde’s hand covering his own. Wilde had raised a hand from the desk, reached to his opposite shoulder, and hesitantly laid it over Zolf’s. With a small start, he realised that he’d stopped massaging some time ago. He had come to stillness with hands sitting comfortably, one on Wilde’s shoulder, the other resting on the warm skin of the nape of his neck.

Zolf froze, gaze transfixed on their hands. They were like a miniature portrait of their statures; Wilde’s lanky and long, Zolf’s broad and sturdy. Zolf didn’t think as held his breath, flexing his hand, allowing each of Wilde’s fingers to slip in-between the gaps in his.

Wilde cleared his throat, finally. “Do you… do you think we’ll be safe here?”

When Zolf went to reply, he found his throat completely dry and unable to give voice to the roil of emotions inside him.

He wanted to lie. Yes, of course, completely.

He wanted to say I don’t know but I’ll keep you safe,

He wanted to tell the truth and say Of course we’re not safe. We were bloody safe in Damascus before you ignored me and acted the fool, and as that still-present anger bubbled to the surface he slipped his fingers out from between Wilde’s and stepped back.

“I don’t think anywhere is safe anymore,” he said to the back of Wilde’s head. Whatever anger he felt wasn’t worth voicing. There was nothing he could say that would punish Wilde more than he already had been. “But you’re more… focused now.”

Wilde’s shoulders immediately knotted back up. “More focused,” he repeated. “That’s one way of putting it.” He half-turned his head and ran a thumb down the scar, not in a way that seemed consciously pointed but in a gesture that hit Zolf like a missile to the chest.

Zolf clenched his still-warm hands for a moment, steeling himself, and placed his hand back where it had rested. “I’m sorry, Wilde. We’ll make it as safe as we can. I’m not- I’m not going anywhere.”

Wilde gave a grim little chuckle and shrugged Zolf’s hand off.

Zolf knew he was awful at this. He tried to say the right things, but Wilde was the one adept with nimble words and emotions. Zolf was out of his depth, and he hated that something about this eloquent, frustrating mess of a man made him feel like he was out past the shelf and floundering.

“Anyway. I’m going to bed.” Zolf stepped out from behind the desk and went straight for the door. Maybe if he could leave without looking at Wilde he could escape that clumsy feeling. But something, his good intentions perhaps, had him stop in the door and try one last time.

“G’night, Wilde. Try and get some sleep, aye?”

Wilde cocked his head, obviously debating whether to bite. Instead, he half smiled, eyes inscrutable. “I will try.” Was it nostalgia on his face? Regret? Before Zolf could figure it out, Wilde nodded a gentle dismissal and picked up a pen. “Goodnight, Zolf.”

[currycurrie]

Next RQG fic prompt fill! AO3 link. Based on the prompt asking for Zolf & Azu talking about Sasha. Mild spoilers for episode 155!

---

"I think you have killed it."

Azu had walked into the inn's kitchen to find Zolf beating a section of dough into such submission that it would likely not come out as anything but flatbread at this point.

At hearing Azu's words Zolf stopped his merciless bludgeoning of the dough and turned around to face her, arms crossed, breathing heavily, and covered head to toe in a light dusting of flour. He did not say anything, but tilted his head to signal he was waiting for her to continue speaking.

"I am… Hmm…" Azu paused to consider her words, "You are a hypocrite."

"Oh. Right. Excellent." Zolf threw his arms in the air in frustration releasing a cloud of flour with them. "That's exactly what I needed to hear in this exact moment. Thought you Aphrodite lot were all about compassion and empathy, yeah? You are bad at your job."

Zolf huffed, and made a move to exit the kitchen. Azu for her part anticipated this and used her large frame to block the entirety of the doorway. She looked down at Zolf who had stopped directly in front of her and he raised his head to meet her gaze.

"I will not take that personally, Zolf. I just wanted to return the favor for the conversation we had on the way back from Shoin's. You told me not to hide my emotions, that it would destroy me, and here you are hiding from all of us. I want to talk about this. Maybe you have not destroyed yourself yet, but I do not think that the bread you are making deserves this."

"Now is not a good time, Azu." Zolf replied not breaking eye contact and demeanor dripping with malice, "Please move."

Azu widened her stance like she was readying for a fight, and squinted down at Zolf, "It will never be a good time. Did you put yeast in that dough?"

Zolf just blinked at her, dumbfounded by the oddness of the question. "...No?"

"Good. You may not be ready to talk, but I will not let you sacrifice our dinner for the sake of your anger." Azu relaxed her stance and walked past Zolf over to the counter and the abandoned, sad lump of dough. "I am going to teach you how to make chapati. It is a bread we made in my village and very good with stews."

Azu began to busy herself with gathering ingredients as Zolf stared. She did not say anything or so much as glance over at him, just busied herself with the task of cooking.

Despite himself, Zolf was hungry, and maybe if he went through the motions of whatever this was he could get it over with as quickly as possible. So they began to work together in silence, Azu fussing over the bread and Zolf largely forgoing that task in favor of getting a stew going. While it was incredibly awkward at first, they did eventually settle into a rhythm.

Some time into their tasks, Zolf found that there was nothing else to do with the stew except let it sit and cook, and he became frustratingly idle. He looked at Azu who was still kneading and folding a much more cohesive looking lump of dough than what he had originally made.

"So…" Zolf spoke, but Azu still did not look up at him, seemingly engrossed in her task. "What is chapati?"

"It is a many layered bread with no yeast that is usually used for dipping. Sometimes you can put honey on it to have it with breakfast instead. You fry it instead of baking it. It was very common in my village and I miss it. The bread...and my village."

Zolf watched Azu attempt this very intricate spiraling coil with the dough. It looked very messy, but seemed to be working regardless. He took a few steps forward to get a better view.

Azu began to flatten out the spiral into a thin layer, and began speaking again. "My brother, Emeka, used to say the spirals looked like snails. I never liked that because you have to flatten out the spirals so much, and I did not like thinking about doing that to an actual snail."

Azu finished her current spiral, and began rolling it out flat. Zolf took a few more steps forward, finding himself standing next to Azu at the counter. He gingerly reached for a lump of dough and tried to copy what he had watched Azu do. It was clumsy and even messier looking than hers. Azu made no comment as she picked up a new lump of dough to begin the process again.

"I will be honest, I was never very good at making these." Azu wiped a hand across her forehead leaving behind a large streak of flour. "It will not be as good as what I had at home. I also do not think we are using the right flour."

"I'm sure it'll be fine." Zolf responded quietly.

There was another long stretch of silence as they worked together. Azu demonstrated her technique wordlessly as Zolf followed along. There was, blessedly, no awkwardness to this silence, just two people working in tandem.

"This seems like a lot of effort for some bread." Zolf muttered this to himself as he worked, not really aware he had said it out loud.

Azu looked at him this time as she responded, "Sometimes the things that are worth doing are harder to do. Sometimes they are worth doing simply because they are harder to do. Also the texture would be all wrong unless you fold it like this."

"Right." Another few moments of silence passed as they returned to their work. "Hey, Azu?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think there's a chance? That we win? The last time I tried to save the world it ended with blood in the streets of Paris. Among other not so great things."

"Well you are the one that has dedicated yourself to believing in a better world. You tell me."

"If I had an answer I wouldn't be asking."

"That is fair." Azu stopped her current work and turned to fully face Zolf, and seemed to be looking for something in his expression.

"I just, I've already lost so much and things are so bad and I don't even know what winning would look like anymore." Zolf also stopped his work, and leaned against the counter. "Times like this I really miss Sasha."

"I miss her too. She had a certain way of being very practical. Her insight would be very useful right now, I think."

"Yeah, you get it." Zolf suddenly became aware of himself to an uncomfortable degree,  and quickly got back to busying himself. "No messy god stuff, no magic, just a girl and no problem a good knife can't solve."

Azu chuckled at this. "I think she would be very pleased with what we've done."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. We have made things better. The storms have stopped. We are alive and safe for now. We are moving forward. That counts for something."

"Moving forward. Right. Think Sasha would probably kill me if she saw me moping around again. This is a pattern, if you don't know."

"Oh shush." Azu flicked her hand over Zolf's head making flour fall into his hair. "We are moving forward. Change is hard. People are difficult. You do not just decide to completely change who you are overnight and have it stick. You have to work at it."

"Yeah I'm living proof of that."

More work. More comfortable silence.

"Hey Azu, have you finished reading that one Campbell novel I was talking about the other day?"

[asleeg]

no man is rich enough to buy back his past (2/2)

{ao3) 

cc: @roswyrm

This was supposed to be a business meeting.

That was the lie Zolf had told the Americans when he'd left, anyway. They had been suspicious, when he'd packed his things and flitted back to England within a week of showing up. For good reason, too; Zolf wouldn't have trusted himself, if he had been in their position. It hadn't been part of the plan, when Zolf had sought the Separatists out. He'd only wanted to know about his family, and puzzle out what exactly it was that they were doing against the Meritocracy. 

Maybe, just maybe, if the explanations had made enough sense, he would have joined them. Zolf felt no real loyalty to the Meritocrats; He was still a mercenary at heart. Besides, he wasn't sure how much he had ever bought that "talent" bollocks as much as he just... didn't care who was running the place. A part of him wondered if his influence could protect Hamid and Sasha from their wrath.

If the Separatists had turned out to be as greedy and high-minded as the people they wanted so desperately to be free from, well. America had ships that needed crewmen.

However the plan would have unfolded, the Cult of Hades dashed it  upon the rocks. They showed up in America only a few days after Zolf did. Though the robed figures weren't exactly chatty, the ones captured had loosened their tongues enough once he had threatened to tear them out. Zolf had hopped on the next airship out, with the very simple excuse that he still had enough professional courtesy to see the rest of it through.

Of course, he left out the part where it was less professional courtesy and more the heart-shattering urge to never lose another family.

And also the part where one of said teammates was a descendant of one of the metiocrats, and also showing some very dragon-like traits lately, but. Well. They didn't need to know everything. 

Still, Zolf had never intended for this to become a big happy reunion, but Sasha had insisted that Hamid needed this so strongly that Zolf was forced to believe her. He wasn't sure how sitting here, smushed between Sasha and the shockingly pink half-orc was helping, but he still couldn't shake the memory of Hamid looking at Zolf like he was afraid one or both of them would disappear.

"So," the half-orc (what was her name? Azizi?) said. Her voice was deep and kind, ruthlessly polite in a way that made Zolf think of his mother and afternoon tea. He felt like a little kid again, being interviewed about his day at school and the banker's boy he'd once made the mistake of calling handsome. "How exactly did you and Hamid meet?"

"Ah." Zolf threw Sasha a harried look that she pointedly ignored. He regretted not being her boss so, so much. "Well, the same way I met Sasha, really. I was doing crowd control with Ber--" Zolf cleared his throat. "With Bertie, and, ah. Sasha had some old friends--"

"Acquaintances, really," Sasha said. Grizzop laughed for the first time all night, and Zolf didn't know what was weirder: That Sasha had finally found a soulmate, or that she'd had to go all the way to a judicious European goblin to find them.

"... Right, well, they were making a fuss, so Bertie and I stepped in, made a bigger fuss, and then Hamid..." Zolf sighed at the memory. Halfway through a fight, trying desperately to make sure his new heavy didn't murder someone in broad daylight, and then there's this extremely handsome man... sprouting fake blood from his wrists like a macabre street magician. "Hamid tried to talk the crowd into behaving."

"You hired him to talk?" Grizzop said, and Zolf could hear the disbelief. "Hamid?"

"He's good at it." Zolf wasn't about to broker any shit about Hamid, not from these strangers. Maybe especially from them. Didn't they know how lucky they were to be here without having to worry that their very presence was just... weighing Hamid and Sasha down? "Yeah, he can get a little emotional, but so do most civilians. A real mercenary group needs a face, someone to chat with the employers. Our employment with the government wasn't exactly in the business plans. The fact that he turned out to be an eerily capable 'wizard' was a bonus."

"Oh, do Sasha next," Azu said, excited.

Zolf snorted. "I was pretty sure if I let her go, she'd be dead before sunset."

"Oi!"

"No," Sasha interrupted Grizzop's protests, "he's right. I was stupid."

"We all were," Zolf agreed. "I hired fucking Bertie."

The table erupts into laughter.

It should feel a little mean, laughing about a dead man. Azu had never even met Bertie, and she was laughing as hard as the rest of them. At the end of the day, though, she'd heard the stories, and, well... It was Bertie. If anyone deserved to be disrespected at their grave, it was that prat. Even after everything between them, Zolf had trusted Bertie to take care of Hamid. Another stupid mistake, on Zolf's part.

(Zolf wasn't sure if Hamid had been able to forgive Bertie's spirit, yet, for what had happened to his sister.

Zolf hadn't.

He never would.)

"What's so funny?"

Zolf's mouth went dry.

Grizzop and Azu both launched into some awkward, interlocked conversation, but the sudden ringing in Zolf's ears drowned it out. He'd known about Hamid's new knack for transformation, of course. There'd been mention in the letters, and Sasha had warned him beforehand that it could be a little shocking. Zolf wasn't sure what to expect, had been a little worried that he would look into Hamid's eyes and not be able to find humanity, but. Aphrodite be sweet, he hadn't expected this.

Hamid's eyes were liquid gold, the pupils a thin, calculating slit, even when he smiled. Scales were beginning to peek out over the bones around his eyes, the brass mimicking an odd makeup trend. His teeth were sharp but uniform, still sparkling clean and white. It spoke of hidden, unfathomable power, strictly controlled. The magic of dragons roiling around in a halfling's skin, the mask of a businessman hiding the feral flicker of fire. Hamid had always been handsome, but there was something about this was....

Beautiful, Zolf realised. Because being half in love with the man wasn't enough, Zolf had to find his dragon form attractive.

Poseidon preserve him.

"Ah," Zolf gritted out, throat scratching around the syllable.

"Life, generally," Sasha said, as if Zolf wasn't falling apart beside her. She stood, gesturing at Hamid to slid into her space in the booth. "Go on, then."

Hamid obliged, blushing at Zolf as he did. "Hi," he whispered, ignoring how Azu cooed from Zolf's other side. Zolf didn't answer, too busy trying to think of ways not to choke on his own tongue. "So," Hamid said, a louder. "Have we ordered yet?"

Blessedly, as the dinner and conversation went on, Hamid relaxed. The draconic features began to fade along with the lie in his smile, the conversation flowing from him as easily as the wine flowed into his glass. Less fortunately, Zolf couldn't manage to find himself less drawn to Hamid's eyes when they were brown than gold, the shape of them still as beautiful without the scales highlighting them. What's worse was his mouth; Without the points of teeth, there was only plushness, bruised from nervous chewing. Zolf was holding up his fifth of the conversation, somehow, but he couldn't tell you a word of what he said.

Halfway through the night, Hamid leaned his weight into Zolf's side. It was only then that Zolf realised how close they'd gotten over dinner. They'd cut themselves off from the rest of the world, carving out a little place at the table just for them, a space in the conversation where they could quietly talk about everything and nothing. Ridiculously, he felt the urge to blush, but he refused to give Sasha (or Grizzop, oh gods, that was a thing he had to worry about now, wasn't it?) that kind of ammo.

"Hello there," Zolf said. Shit, was he flirting? He didn't realise how fond he'd sounded until it had already come out of his mouth. Good lord, he sounded like Wilde. He was going to fling himself into the ocean and not come out ever, ever again.

Hamid giggled and burrowed further into Zolf's side. Too tipsy and tired, Hamid's blush could not be contained. It lent him a sort of innocence that was in stark contrast to the sheer power he'd been radiating when he stalked out of the bathroom. When he stared up at Zolf through those thick, dark lashes, still as beautiful, Zolf knew he was done for. "Hi."

Zolf waited, patient with tipsy shenanigans as a pirate could be, for the conversation to resume, but nothing ever came. Hamid continued to stare at him dreamily, smile ever present. Eventually, he had to ask. "What?" Zolf said, trying not to laugh. "Have I got something on my face?" He rubs his hand across his face haphazardly, pausing only when Hamid makes a small, hurt noise. "What?" Zolf says again, even as Hamid reaches up to tug his hand away.

"You're ruining it," Hamid whines.

"Ruining what?"

"I'm looking at you," Hamid says, very seriously, as if that makes any fucking sense.

"Sorry, what?"

"I--" Hamid laughs, a little hysterical. "I missed looking at you. I missed you. Let me look."

Zolf doesn't know how to respond to that. It's blunter than they usually are face to face-- In fact, Zolf doesn't know if either one of them have ever revealed that they care about each other anywhere other than the page. (Except, perhaps, if Paris counts. But Zolf tries not to think about Paris. How he almost ruined everything.) No one's even almost died, and here they are. Talking about feelings.

It's something of a new experience.

"Wow," Grizzop says, and that's how Zolf remembers that other people exist. Hamid pulls back, sobered by the presence of others. Zolf can feel himself grow colder without his supernatural warmth pressed into his skin. There's an awkward moment where Zolf watches Azu watch them like she's observing some wild animal, and then Sasha stands up once again.

"Right," she says, using every once of the awkwardness left in her body to be as forceful as possible. "I saw something shiny next door when we came in. I'm going to steal it. Bye." She leaves like that, Hamid gaping in her wake.

"Sasha!" Grizzop yelps. "Sasha, we talked about this!" He skitters after her, and Azu stands to follow him.

"Apologies, friends," she says, but there is nothing but glee in her eyes. "But I believe they may need me."

Hamid and Zolf both watch her go for a moment, the air around them still as if the world itself is trying to process what just happened.

"Well," Zolf manages to say. "At least they seem close." Oddly, this makes Hamid's shock turn to something that looks vaguely like displeasure. A concerned hum vibrates up Zolf's throat before he can even think to stop it. "What's the matter?" he asks, gentler than he means to. 

"No, sorry." Hamid shakes himself and manages a small smile. "I'm glad they're friends. Grizzop... is wonderful for Sasha, really. There's nothing he wouldn't do for her, and Sasha really needed someone after Brock, and it was never going to be me or Bertie and... Well, Azu is a sweetheart, you know that. And she loves to protect people, and Sasha and Grizzop never just admit when they need help, plus there's the paladin thing and the woman thing, so of course they get on well."

"But?" Zolf prompts.

"It's lonely, sometimes," Hamid admits, softly. Zolf can feel his heart quake. He did this-- By not being there, by not protecting Bertie, by... Well, by being his disastrous self. "I'll never be able to be part of that."

"Sasha would never--"

"It's partly my own fault, Zolf." He's never going to be able to get over the way Hamid says his voice sometimes, like the name actually means something. More than that, it means something good, and pure, something that Hamid wants him to understand. If Zolf were more full of himself, he'd call it love. "I haven't exactly been making an effort to be part of the best friends club."

Zolf would be lying if he said that didn't make him a little worried. He had noticed the tension between Grizzop and Hamid, but it didn't seem all that bad. After all, it wasn't like the London Rangers had always gotten along. "Hamid, if something is... making you uncomfortable, no job is worth that."

Hamid laughs, pats Zolf's furry cheek. "Nothing like that, though it is darling of you to worry, Zolf. I mean, of course I won't always get on with them. They all grew up so differently than me."

"So did I," Zolf points out. "Never stopped us."

"Never stopped us from getting in our fair share of awful rows, either," Hamid says, and, well. Fair. The difference, Zolf thinks, and the reason protectiveness rises in his chest, is that there was always a fondness to it, between them. He only yelled at Hamid because he cared if Hamid lived to see another day, and because Hamid seemed determined that he wouldn't. Or, sometimes, because Hamid was forcing him to be a functioning man again when all Zolf wanted to do was lay down and die.

They never wanted to change each other, never looked at each other and wished someone else was there, instead.  

"So why the arm's length, then? It's not like you."

All the light in Hamid's eyes fades. His smile never wavers, but Zolf can feel the sadness in it anyway. "I thought I could protect myself, I suppose. Cairo was... horrible, and Grizzop was already pretty convinced that I'm a murderer and..." Hamid sighs. "Oh, I don't know, Zolf. It seemed easier to accept that I would never really be friends with them. It was a good excuse, anyway. It's hard enough, caring about Sasha. I don't-- I don't want to lose anyone else."

"Oh." Zolf can feel his heart twisting in his chest, unspoken words beating at his ribs. "That'd be my fault, then."

Hamid looks stricken. "Zolf, no!"

It's nice of him to protest on Zolf's behalf, but Zolf doesn't operate under denial when he can help it. Prague was a selfish decision. A necessary one, perhaps, but one that fucked over the people he loved the most. It will take some time to heal from that, no matter what Hamid says. Zolf doesn't say that, though. For all he knows their fights are rooted in love, the last thing Zolf wants to do tonight is argue.

"I am sorry," Zolf says, because he has to say something to make up for everything. "Maybe not for leaving, but for... leaving you."

Hamid doesn't look like he knows what to think about that, and Zolf can't blame him. There's an implication there, a fantasy that Zolf hasn't been able to shake. It's his favourite what-if. More than the Navy, more than London, just... What if he had asked Hamid to come with him? What if the three of them had sat down in that bar and Zolf had said, hey, guys, this whole Simulacrum thing has gone a bit above the call of duty, what if we left Bertie to answer to Wilde and fucked off to have real lives again? More than that, what if they had said yes? There's a place for Sasha in that dream, because there will always be a place for Sasha in Zolf's family now, but at the core its yet another wish built around Hamid. Zolf can't deny that.

Can't deny how bald-faced obvious it is, now.

"I don't know what I would have said," Hamid says. His voice is so soft and so raw, Zolf can't imagine it being anything but honest. The reality of it finally being addressed slices through the soft parts of Zolf like a warm scalpel. "But I wish you would have asked."

Zolf futilely tries to soothe his cracked lips with a dry tongue. "Then I'm sorry for not asking."

"There's nothing to be sorry about," Hamid insists. "I just missed you."

"I missed you, too," Zolf says.

There's a moment where neither of them know how to respond to this, the moment they've created between them. Zolf wonders if he should take Hamid in his arms, finally. Wonders if Hamid expects something, if there's a rule to this he doesn't quite know yet. Eventually, though, Hamid laughs-- genuine and bright, and lets himself collapse into Zolf's side.

"Well, now that we've gotten that out of the way," he says, dryly.

Zolf wraps his arm around Hamid's shoulders on instinct, pretends he doesn't notice that he's pulling Hamid closer. Now that the tension is gone out of Hamid, he's small and soft, tucked into Zolf's side. Sometimes, when Hamid is a ball of lies and diplomacy and sheer magical power, it's easy to forget that he's a full foot shorter than Zolf. Now, though, he fits so well under Zolf's arm that Zolf can swear he can feel his heart actually swell.

"You brought it on yourself, you absolute drama queen," Zolf says, the not bothering to control the mirth in his voice. "I cannot believe you started crying in the middle of the foyer. It was like we were in London again."

"Oh, well excuse me for making you admit to feeling a genuine emotion, Mr. Smith. Won't happen again." Hamid sticks a claw in Zolf's side just firmly enough to make Zolf squirm and swat at his scaled hands.

Hamid catches his free hand in between both of his own, the claws gentle against his skin, the scales warm and smooth. Neither of them mentions it, the conversation fading around them. They lean against each other as the cafe mills around them, basking in comfortable silence. Hamid tucks his head into the crook of Zolf's neck. His claws morph back into hands, his soft fingertips trace Zolf's callouses.

Zolf memorizes the depth of Hamid's perfume, the softness of his hair against Zolf's skin, the way their bodies shift together when they breathe. He doesn't know when he'll have this again, if they'll have time after tonight, if the Separatists will come after him if he tries to stay, if either of them will even survive the struggle. He doesn't know if Hamid will even want to, after the emotion fades from the night. But he'll always have this memory, at least. 

"You know," Hamid says drowsily, after dozing on Zolf's shoulder for an hour or two. "I don't think the rest of the team is coming back."

Zolf snorts. "You think we should be worried?"

"Mm, no. We can worry tomorrow." Hamid snuggles further into Zolf's side, humming against his shoulder when Zolf makes a soft noise of complaint. A moment passes, and Zolf can feel the thoughts vibrating around in Hamid's head when the halfling stiffens against him. "You will... be here tomorrow, right?"

Oh.

That hurts, for all Zolf deserves it.

It's the pain that helps him decide. He doesn't want to be this person, a man who Hamid can't even trust to be here when he wakes up. He doesn't want to be the team member who leaves his best friends to fight demigods and cultists alone. He doesn't want to live his life running anymore. Zolf wants to be here, for Hamid and Sasha and their new friends. Separatists and dragons and Oscar Wilde be damned.

Zolf presses a kiss to Hamid's gel-stiffened fringe. "Yeah, of course."

"Good." Hamid pulls back enough to dig his chin into the meat of Zolf's shoulder, so close their noses are brushing. "I've decided I'm keeping you."

"Hmm." Zolf pretends to think about it, all squinting eyes and furrowed brows. "Yeah, I think I can live with that." 

Tears are gathering in Hamid's eyes, unshed but still sparkling in the corners, when their lips brush for the first time. The second time, their grins are so wide that everything is awkward and perfect and Hamid pulls away laughing. Zolf has to reel him back in with firm hands and an admonishing mutter, and even then Hamid is still giggling as he melts into Zolf's chest.

Yeah.

Some things never change.