(no subject)
6/30/2007
Early spring sunshine is weak yet, but it shines through windows regardless. The pale bars of light slant over the scuffed floor toward the bare mattress and its tangle of blankets. Bahir sleeps with one arm draped loosely around Sabitha's middle, his palm pressed flat to her stomach. Morning marches on.
Sabitha is awake, but still. She lies silently in bed, eyes fixed distantly on the image of the pair of them, reflected in a mirror on the far wall. Her breath is quiet and soft as she remains in the drape of Bahir's arm. One hand tucks up under her head in a lazy curl. The other rises to rest gently atop Bahir's on her stomach.
Bahir does not wake until the room lights. Sunlight warms pale walls and dark wood, and brightens the room. He stirs, drawing closer in a half-awake doze, and noses at Sabitha's neck as he pulls slowly to wakefulness. He mutters something grumpy sounding. Morning person, he is not!
Sabitha turns at that, shifting her weight so she can peer at him over her shoulder before she rolls over onto her back and slides a hand up to press flat against his shoulderblade. "Are you awake?" she wonders quietly.
"Yeah." Bahir's hand slides off, gliding over her ribs before lifting to rub at his eyes. "Ngh. Yeah, I'm awake," he says in a cranky tone.
Sabitha makes some soft sound at the back of her throat as she drops her hand to fold up on her stomach. She remains there for a moment before rolling entirely from bed and padding on quiet feet to sweep up a robe from a hook on the back of their door.
Bahir rolls over onto his stomach and buries his face in the pillow. "Nngh."
Sabitha disappears through the door, shrugging her robe on as she goes. There are faint sounds of movement in the apartment they share - a cupboard opening and then closing. Dishes clanking. Eventually she reappears in the doorway, one mug lifted to her lips for a swallow and another braced carefully in her hand.
By this time, Bahir has managed to roll again, onto his side. He has yet to stand, or even sit up. He considers the edge of the bed, and then sniffs at the air when Sabitha returns. He gives her a hopeful, if bleary, look.
The scent of coffee is strong in the air. It's not fancy or particularly gourmet, but it is caffienated and fresh-brewed. Sabby crosses to extend the extra mug toward Bahir as she lowers herself to sit carefully on the side of the bed.
"Angel," is an endearment in Arabic, but oft-repeated so as to make it easily understood -- even if Bahir speaks as if through a mouthful of sleepy cotton. He sips at the coffee, sitting up slowly. He doesn't even complain about the quality. Caffeinated!
"Mmm," comes Sabby's reply, carried with the small wisp of a fleeting smile before it fades again and she lifts her mug for a slow sip.
Hunched forward, Bahir attends to the serious business of drinking his coffee before he even begins to think about getting out of bed. Once the mug is half-drained, he slowly stands and goes to find a pair of pants to slip on. "So what's your plan for today?" he asks, setting the mug briefly to the side as he dresses.
Sabitha shifts slightly, gaze drifting to wander after Bahir as he dresses. She watches him in silence for a moment before she looks away again and lifts her mug anew. "I had not really thought about it."
"What is today?" Bahir asks, squinting out the window as he takes another long sip of coffee. "Fuck, I'm cold. Aren't you?" He opens his arm to her in invitation of warmth.
"Tuesday," Sabby replies, and for a moment she looks amused before she rises, mug abandoned to the bedside table, to step into his arms. "You're always cold," she murmurs, tucking an arm about his waist to absorb his warmth despite her words.
"It's always cold," Bahir banters, finishing coffee and wrapping his arm around her. "That's why /I'm/ always cold." After a second, he goes, "--Tuesday? Oh." And then he says nothing else. He picks up his coffee again as if he'd drink more, but the empty mug thwarts that.
"Tuesday," Sabby repeats, tone dropped quieter on her echo. She remains where she is for a moment and then pulls herself away, turned toward a drawer in search of her own clothes. "There's at least another cup's worth in the kitchen," she tells a selection of long-sleeved shirts.
"Mmph." Bahir frowns at his mug, and looks out the window again. "I'll finish it, if you don't want it."
"I'm fine," Sabby dismisses. One hand scrubs back through the length of grown hair before she straightens to shake the folds from clothes and shrug off her robe so she can pull them on.
A scratch of Bahir's hand through his own hair finds strands ... short. And off he goes to get coffee. He calls back to her from elsewhere in the apartment: "Do you want to ... go? Today? I mean, go back?"
Sabitha stills for a moment. Her motions are stiff and a bit violent as she tugs on socks, and she does not reply until she has left the bedroom, coffee mug in hand, to lean against the doorway and study Bahir. "Do you?"
Bahir turns back to Sabitha, lazily dipping in with telepathy to pull along her thoughts and troll for reaction. He offers her his hand, too. "Up to you."
Sabitha's mind is conflicted, a rolling mass of emotion that boils just beneath the conscious surface. Loss and anger and a subtly-twined thread of loneliness. For the moment, she resists his hand and focuses her attention on the lift of her nearly-empty mug. When she lowers it, it is with a small shake of her head. "What good can it do?"
"Not much, or maybe a lot," Bahir says. "We don't have to. I just thought you might want to."
Sabitha stirs to cross to the long windows that line the spacious living room. For a long moment she directs her gaze outward, across the expanse of a gray March sky, and remains silent. Her mind is not nearly so settled. A mental timeline stretches backward, tracing a year of struggle and loss until it hits on the sound of a gunshot and snags there, replaying it on endless loop. One hand lifts for an idle brush across the crooked line of her nose, and an old regret curls tight in her stomach as she recalls burning the body of a friend never again seen after the explosive spate of violence.
Bahir finishes his coffee and then crosses to wrap his arms around her from behind. "We should put in some time at the greenhouse, anyway, otherwise things won't be ready to plant. How about we do that? We can stop by that noodle place, maybe, after."
Sabitha sinks backwards into Bahir's grip with a clear sense of relief that floods the forefront of her mind. The thin thread of loneliness pulls tight and snaps with a mental pop as she leans her head back next to his and lowers one hand to settle atop his arm. "Do you think it would do any good?" she murmurs in quiet query. She is not asking after greenhouse or noodles.
"I don't know." Bahir looks over his shoulder out towards buildings, not the sky. Buildings are in repair, here, even if they aren't glamorous. "Would it do any good for you?"
"I don't know," Sabby replies honestly, and after a moment she turns to face him, face set with indecision. There is a moment of silence as she studies him before reminding quietly, "I'm not the only one who lost someone there."
"Different." Bahir holds her gaze steadily, but his jaw is set stubbornly. "/Rather/ different."
Sabitha breaks his gaze first, outwardly allowing a nod even as her mind rebels in violent disagreement before fading into something closer to resigned acceptance. She sidesteps him, moving once more toward the kitchen with mug in hand. Eventually her voice lifts to request, "Let's go."
"All right." Bahir follows after her, leaving the mug on the counter to redirect toward the bedroom to fetch warmer things. His coat, long and with a certain /flare/, once belonged to Adel.
Sabitha follows quickly after, and with the same purpose. Her coat is not nearly so striking, but it is warm, as are the gloves she tugs on against early March weather. What would have once been a relatively short subway or cab ride promises to be quite a long walk.
AU, March 2007: Anniversaries are hard to take.
Early spring sunshine is weak yet, but it shines through windows regardless. The pale bars of light slant over the scuffed floor toward the bare mattress and its tangle of blankets. Bahir sleeps with one arm draped loosely around Sabitha's middle, his palm pressed flat to her stomach. Morning marches on.
Sabitha is awake, but still. She lies silently in bed, eyes fixed distantly on the image of the pair of them, reflected in a mirror on the far wall. Her breath is quiet and soft as she remains in the drape of Bahir's arm. One hand tucks up under her head in a lazy curl. The other rises to rest gently atop Bahir's on her stomach.
Bahir does not wake until the room lights. Sunlight warms pale walls and dark wood, and brightens the room. He stirs, drawing closer in a half-awake doze, and noses at Sabitha's neck as he pulls slowly to wakefulness. He mutters something grumpy sounding. Morning person, he is not!
Sabitha turns at that, shifting her weight so she can peer at him over her shoulder before she rolls over onto her back and slides a hand up to press flat against his shoulderblade. "Are you awake?" she wonders quietly.
"Yeah." Bahir's hand slides off, gliding over her ribs before lifting to rub at his eyes. "Ngh. Yeah, I'm awake," he says in a cranky tone.
Sabitha makes some soft sound at the back of her throat as she drops her hand to fold up on her stomach. She remains there for a moment before rolling entirely from bed and padding on quiet feet to sweep up a robe from a hook on the back of their door.
Bahir rolls over onto his stomach and buries his face in the pillow. "Nngh."
Sabitha disappears through the door, shrugging her robe on as she goes. There are faint sounds of movement in the apartment they share - a cupboard opening and then closing. Dishes clanking. Eventually she reappears in the doorway, one mug lifted to her lips for a swallow and another braced carefully in her hand.
By this time, Bahir has managed to roll again, onto his side. He has yet to stand, or even sit up. He considers the edge of the bed, and then sniffs at the air when Sabitha returns. He gives her a hopeful, if bleary, look.
The scent of coffee is strong in the air. It's not fancy or particularly gourmet, but it is caffienated and fresh-brewed. Sabby crosses to extend the extra mug toward Bahir as she lowers herself to sit carefully on the side of the bed.
"Angel," is an endearment in Arabic, but oft-repeated so as to make it easily understood -- even if Bahir speaks as if through a mouthful of sleepy cotton. He sips at the coffee, sitting up slowly. He doesn't even complain about the quality. Caffeinated!
"Mmm," comes Sabby's reply, carried with the small wisp of a fleeting smile before it fades again and she lifts her mug for a slow sip.
Hunched forward, Bahir attends to the serious business of drinking his coffee before he even begins to think about getting out of bed. Once the mug is half-drained, he slowly stands and goes to find a pair of pants to slip on. "So what's your plan for today?" he asks, setting the mug briefly to the side as he dresses.
Sabitha shifts slightly, gaze drifting to wander after Bahir as he dresses. She watches him in silence for a moment before she looks away again and lifts her mug anew. "I had not really thought about it."
"What is today?" Bahir asks, squinting out the window as he takes another long sip of coffee. "Fuck, I'm cold. Aren't you?" He opens his arm to her in invitation of warmth.
"Tuesday," Sabby replies, and for a moment she looks amused before she rises, mug abandoned to the bedside table, to step into his arms. "You're always cold," she murmurs, tucking an arm about his waist to absorb his warmth despite her words.
"It's always cold," Bahir banters, finishing coffee and wrapping his arm around her. "That's why /I'm/ always cold." After a second, he goes, "--Tuesday? Oh." And then he says nothing else. He picks up his coffee again as if he'd drink more, but the empty mug thwarts that.
"Tuesday," Sabby repeats, tone dropped quieter on her echo. She remains where she is for a moment and then pulls herself away, turned toward a drawer in search of her own clothes. "There's at least another cup's worth in the kitchen," she tells a selection of long-sleeved shirts.
"Mmph." Bahir frowns at his mug, and looks out the window again. "I'll finish it, if you don't want it."
"I'm fine," Sabby dismisses. One hand scrubs back through the length of grown hair before she straightens to shake the folds from clothes and shrug off her robe so she can pull them on.
A scratch of Bahir's hand through his own hair finds strands ... short. And off he goes to get coffee. He calls back to her from elsewhere in the apartment: "Do you want to ... go? Today? I mean, go back?"
Sabitha stills for a moment. Her motions are stiff and a bit violent as she tugs on socks, and she does not reply until she has left the bedroom, coffee mug in hand, to lean against the doorway and study Bahir. "Do you?"
Bahir turns back to Sabitha, lazily dipping in with telepathy to pull along her thoughts and troll for reaction. He offers her his hand, too. "Up to you."
Sabitha's mind is conflicted, a rolling mass of emotion that boils just beneath the conscious surface. Loss and anger and a subtly-twined thread of loneliness. For the moment, she resists his hand and focuses her attention on the lift of her nearly-empty mug. When she lowers it, it is with a small shake of her head. "What good can it do?"
"Not much, or maybe a lot," Bahir says. "We don't have to. I just thought you might want to."
Sabitha stirs to cross to the long windows that line the spacious living room. For a long moment she directs her gaze outward, across the expanse of a gray March sky, and remains silent. Her mind is not nearly so settled. A mental timeline stretches backward, tracing a year of struggle and loss until it hits on the sound of a gunshot and snags there, replaying it on endless loop. One hand lifts for an idle brush across the crooked line of her nose, and an old regret curls tight in her stomach as she recalls burning the body of a friend never again seen after the explosive spate of violence.
Bahir finishes his coffee and then crosses to wrap his arms around her from behind. "We should put in some time at the greenhouse, anyway, otherwise things won't be ready to plant. How about we do that? We can stop by that noodle place, maybe, after."
Sabitha sinks backwards into Bahir's grip with a clear sense of relief that floods the forefront of her mind. The thin thread of loneliness pulls tight and snaps with a mental pop as she leans her head back next to his and lowers one hand to settle atop his arm. "Do you think it would do any good?" she murmurs in quiet query. She is not asking after greenhouse or noodles.
"I don't know." Bahir looks over his shoulder out towards buildings, not the sky. Buildings are in repair, here, even if they aren't glamorous. "Would it do any good for you?"
"I don't know," Sabby replies honestly, and after a moment she turns to face him, face set with indecision. There is a moment of silence as she studies him before reminding quietly, "I'm not the only one who lost someone there."
"Different." Bahir holds her gaze steadily, but his jaw is set stubbornly. "/Rather/ different."
Sabitha breaks his gaze first, outwardly allowing a nod even as her mind rebels in violent disagreement before fading into something closer to resigned acceptance. She sidesteps him, moving once more toward the kitchen with mug in hand. Eventually her voice lifts to request, "Let's go."
"All right." Bahir follows after her, leaving the mug on the counter to redirect toward the bedroom to fetch warmer things. His coat, long and with a certain /flare/, once belonged to Adel.
Sabitha follows quickly after, and with the same purpose. Her coat is not nearly so striking, but it is warm, as are the gloves she tugs on against early March weather. What would have once been a relatively short subway or cab ride promises to be quite a long walk.
AU, March 2007: Anniversaries are hard to take.