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Once, Aurens returned from Cairo with the title Major. Ali scoffed. "You are Aurens." My Aurens.
He'd already burned the man's uniform after he'd conquered the Nefud to help prove to him that he was better suited for Bedouin robes than English clothing. Aurens had even said they felt as natural as skin but skin he should be ashamed to believe he had any right to wear. Ali spent most of his time scoffing at such notions when he wasn't busy, like now, entreating him to sleep, to eat.
Ali sat cross-legged beside Aurens, who lay curled next to the fire as he had too often since Deraa, and moved Aurens' untouched dinner aside.
"I'm tired, Ali."
"You should rest."
"Should. Would. Could." He spat the words like filth suddenly found on his tongue. "Useless sentiments that request, that capitulate. They should be struck out of existence."
Ali recognized one of Aurens' moods in which the ordinary offended him and no argument could ease his angry mind. "You will rest. I will watch over you."
"Will is still of the future. Of promises easily broken."
Ali sighed. "A command, then. Close your eyes. Rest."
"You need rest as much as I, my friend."
"I'm content to find my rest in you."
Aurens shifted his watery blue gaze up at him, soot smeared dark beneath his eyes.
Ali stroked gentle fingers over his troubled brow. Did he really not understand? "You eat, my hunger subsides. You drink, I know no thirst. You rest, I am refreshed."
Aurens grasped his hand as if Ali could keep him from disappearing beneath shifting sands. He pressed Ali's palm to his burning cheek, to his dry lips, and breathed what might have been yes or Ali but felt against his skin like I'm so sorry.