Sorry for the delay. Morning unexpected became hijacked by my family. Sigh.
———————————————- Part 18G ———————————————-
(Yusuf)
Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century
The city was burning.
Women wept. Children cried. Men died. The sand ran red. The fires burned hot. And sand and stone and wood could not hold them back.
The walls did not hold. They did not—
Yusuf gasped, his body jerking. He tasted sand on his lips. He tasted blood on his tongue.
The arrow in him burned, burrowing and grinding with each weakening thump of his heart. He reached up and snapped off the half protruding the front of his chest. He felt the blood in his lungs receding, the froth no longer filling his throat.
It was dark. Yet there were flares of light.
Fire.
The village. The village was burn—
Nicolo.
Yusuf clenched his teeth. His fists dug into mud and he tried to push himself up. He could not. The front half of the arrow was still trapped in his back, between his shoulders, scraping noisily against his spine. It numbed him from the waist down. His left arm lost most its strength.
But the village was burning. And he was in the village.
“H-hobi,” Yusuf rasped. Why will his knees not work?
Something clamped over the back of Yusuf’s tunic, above the arrow. Without warning, Yusuf was yanked up to his feet. The arrowhead shifted, sliding out a fraction and what was numb suddenly ignited.
A scream cut off in Yusuf’s throat as he slammed into...his horse?
The horse blew out sharply into Yusuf's face.
Yusuf grimaced as the remaining arrow half in his back wiggled, trying to push through. He gasped wetly, his knees refusing to lock.
The horse nickered. It sidestepped closer to Yusuf.
Yusuf stared blankly at the five bodies around them on the ground. Four had no heads. He rested his forehead on the long neck. He grunted as the arrow at last pushed through and fell to the dirt. But he still can not feel his legs.
The horse snorted. It stamped a blood splattered hoof.
Yusuf blearily stared at the bright round eyes and the narrow muzzle.
“You have your uses,” Yusuf croaked. He clung to its mane with his right hand. His left hand barely held on to his scimitar. But it did not matter.
“Take me to Nicolo,” Yusuf rasped. His reflection gazed back at him. “Take me to Nicolo.”
The horse’s head lowered, nearly to the ground, its long body quivering under the strain as Yusuf shakily climbed up.
Yusuf slumped forward over the horse’s neck, wheezing. He almost fell over to the other side. He gripped the mane instead of the reins with his right hand, his scimitar clutched in his left with a grip Yusuf worried he will not be able to loosen.
The horse started, stopped and neighed. It turned to stare unblinking at Yusuf.
“Go,” Yusuf groaned. He could gradually feel his feet. He wiggled his toes in his boots. “Before I trade you for that goat over there."
The horse snorted once, delicately stepped over the bodies and headed for where the fires burned the brightest.
The market was on fire.
Yusuf spotted Izem guarding the path to the mill. A hut burned behind them. The boy stood alone, holding a bloodied sword Yusuf did not give him.
“By the weaver!” Izem shouted the moment he spotted Yusuf on his horse. He waved Yusuf off.
“I’m fine!” Izem declared and proved it by executing the move Yusuf taught him and knocked a bandit completely off his feet. Others spilled out from hiding places behind Izem. They pounced the moment the man fell.
Yusuf gave Izem one last look, blinking in shock before he clicked his tongue and the horse turned away.
There was no more weaver’s stall. It’s blackened wooden frame stood as the only survivor of the market. There were villagers fighting around the market. There were villagers battling bandits among the burning homes past the market. There were ones who were not fighting any more.
And there was Nicolo, his sword held to his eyes, steady in his double grip, his bloodied form surrounded by five men in an arc in from of him, his back to a broken cart smoldering to ask.
The men all stayed back, eyes and feet shifting from left to right. They did not approach.
Two men lay by Nicolo’s feet. One’s legs lay by his comrades. The other's...Yusuf could not tell where they were.
Yusuf shouted, or tried but the horse was louder and rudely drowned him out with a high-pitched squeal. Nicolo did not turn to look. He held his sword high, drawn back so his sword was a gleaming sharp line that tracked his narrowed eyes back to the bandits.
“Go find Izem.” It was agony, but Yusuf slid off the horse. He clung to the horse until his boots at last sensed the ground beneath him. He staggered to Nicolo’s side. The stench of blood on Nicolo made him nearly gag. But he held up his scimitar in front of him.
Nicolo’s eyes flicked to Yusuf and back front. His sword lifted slightly higher.
“You are late,” Nicolo said in Arabic.
Yusuf barked a laugh, a gurgling and alarming one if he was to judge the way Nicolo’s eyes flew back to him.
“Not fair,” Yusuf rasped in Arabic. “I was about to say the same to you.” His legs regained footing after his horse prodded his lower back from behind.
“Stupid beast,” Yusuf muttered. “I told you to go.” He grunted when the horse’s nose smacked him on his ass when he staggered back.
“Are you helping me or them? Do you wish to be a workhorse again? Go!”
The bandits glanced at each other nervously. Ah, they do not speak Arabic. Very well.
"Is that your blood, dear friend?" Yusuf greeted Nicolo in very loud Greek.
Nicolo smiled thinly.
"Not all of this blood is mine," Nicolo replied in Greek as well. "Are the blood on your clothes yours?"
Yusuf shrugged. He suppressed the grimace. "Some. Most from their friends, I am afraid. To be fair, the beast behind me has some of their blood as well." To the bandits, Yusuf said, "I hope you were not expecting more men. They have been detained."
The horse snorted.
One of the bandits muttered under his breath. Another lifted his blade higher.
“Can you fight?” Nicolo said under his breath. He returned to Arabic
“Bah.” Yusuf gestured at the remaining men. They edged back, their shoulders tensing as he lazily pointed at them with his blade.
“Fight them? If you wish.” Yusuf bit back the grimace as he shrugged. A bone popped back in place and at last, Yusuf’s legs obeyed him once again. "Or I could sit back and let you fight them."
"I was trying to be polite," Nicolo said, still in Arabic, "I saved some for you."
"Ah." It hurt less to laugh now. Yusuf's scimitar wobbled as he pointed to the men. He was amused to see the bandits twitch.
"How kind. Which ones have you left me?"
Nicolo smirked. A trail of blood seeped out of a corner of his mouth. "The ugly one."
"Eh? Which one?" Yusuf raised an eyebrow at the bandits. He received a scowl in return.
"They are all ugly when I am standing next to you. And you only saved me one? Must you be so greedy?"
Nicolo scoffed. His eyes lingered on Yusuf a moment longer before turning back to their shared enemy.
“Can you fight?” Nicolo asked in Arabic. He echoed that day on Dirar's ship, his eyes this time an echo of many years before.
“If you still want to with me,” Yusuf murmured and he saw Nicolo made the connection, his eyes widening even as his lips curled subtly in a smile he only gave Yusuf.
“Always,” Nicolo replied.
Yusuf turned back towards the bandits.
Without saying a word, Yusuf and Nicolo stepped forward, together, in stride and charged.
His sword was an extension to himself.
Nicolo was the shield to his blade. As he is to Nicolo.
It was like striking swords again at twilight, in the back of their home. Yusuf moved left as Nicolo moved right. When Nicolo swung the first blow, Yusuf then surged forward to mete the second.
Their battle drew the ire of others, who found themselves at a stand off against villagers armed with iron bars, dull axes and barbed nets. Yusuf and Nicolo fell three, five more joined in.
Suddenly the ashes of the market became a battlefield as villagers swarmed the grounds. Carts rammed into bandits. Axes found the skulls of greedy men. As Yusuf and Nicolo fought, back to back, sword to sword, they found themselves surrounded by villagers, men and women alike, dozens of fists striking one. Sticks hammering another like a lump of dough.
The more Yusuf fought, the more his blood sang. He was not a violent man, not by choice, but oh, how his limbs moved without thought as his scimitar cut his enemy down. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Izem, a boy but now a man, rushing forth without hesitation. The sword was not his, but it moved with the young man like they were together since birth.
And Nicolo, Nicolo was always at the edge of his awareness, silent but loud in his movements as he turned into one swing to the next.
"Behind you," Nicolo called and Yusuf ducked. He felt Nicolo's dagger sail over him, striking the coward who would try to attack him from behind.
Yusuf's eyes stayed on Nicolo's as he reached behind, yanked the dagger out of the bandit's throat to throw it into the heart of the bandit charging towards Nicolo.
"Here is your blade back," Yusuf shouted as he punched one and shoved him forward.
"You missed!" Nicolo returned as his longsword skewered through the attacker.
"On purpose!" Yusuf shot back as he darted by Nicolo. His scimitar cut the throat fast enough blood did not spill.
"Or by accident!" Nicolo scoffed. He jumped back from the bandit gurgling by his feet.
Hedi's men were bloodthirsty and greedy, but they were also cowards. When they realized the village was not as easy of a prize to snatch, they tried to retreat. Some made it. Some did not.
The moon was up high when the roar of battle was silenced. The remaining villagers stood about in a daze. Fires still burned.
"Find buckets," Yusuf told one wearily. The man's name escaped him. "Use the sea to put the flames out."
"Search the dead," Nicolo told another. "Check carefully. One may still breathe."
"Use the mill for the wounded." Izem's voice rang out. "If there are attackers who still live, put them in the storage shed for now.
"That is a good plan, Izem." Nicolo shot Yusuf an amused look.
Yusuf shrugged, but he could do nothing more than nod as Izem glanced their way.
Nicolo stared blankly after Izem when Yusuf shuffled next to him.
"Hobi," Yusuf murmured. He plucked a clean part of Nicolo's sleeve.
"Did you die?" Nicolo whispered. He turned to consider Yusuf, his eyes clouding when Yusuf nodded wearily.
"I promised to be there when you open your eyes." Nicolo exhaled. He slipped his longsword into his scabbard, his eyes downcast. "I am sorry."
"And I am sorry I was late," Yusuf replied. He turned his grip, cupping Nicolo's elbow. "We saved many lives, my heart." Yusuf shook his head sadly. He gazed around them. The villagers were quiet, in respect of their dead, or because of exhaustion. Perhaps both. They were calling out names as they checked bodies. There was someone weeping, but Yusuf could not see where.
Fires were extinguished one by one and the night regained dominance. The moon above their heads soon became the only light shining down on the ruins of the village market.
Yusuf spotted his horse, standing lost by a broken cart, the dead around its hooves. Its black tail was limp with mud and blood. The horse could be asleep if it were not the head moving, tracking the villagers moving around them. It whinnied as a body was lifted off the ground in front of it. It was the vendor who sold fruit. He often slipped Yusuf's horse the fruit he could not sell at the end of the day.
"How many have we lost tonight?" Yusuf murmured sadly.
"Do not think that," Nicolo said. "Think of how many were saved today."
Nicolo slipped his hand into Yusuf's left hand. There was a finger missing a nail in Nicolo's hand, but it was growing back as Nicolo stroked the curve of Yusuf's palm.
"We did good here." Nicolo sounded hesitant, though.
Yusuf curled his hand around Nicolo's, capturing it.
"Yes," Yusuf said. He gave Nicolo's fingers a brief squeeze. "We did, Nicolo."
Yusuf heaved a sigh. "However, I am weary. Can we go home soon? If not, I shall sleep where I stand. Do not wake me until tomorrow."
"But they might need our help..." His dear Nicolo hedged despite how heavy his voice sounded.
"You have done so much, Nicolo," Izem said as he approached. He stood disheveled and bloodied in front of them. He smiled broadly at Nicolo.
Yusuf frowned. He did not notice Izem was nearly as tall as Nicolo. And when did the boy started calling Nicolo by his given name?
"Nicolo," Yusuf groaned loudly to catch Nicolo's attention. "I am grievously filthy. Let us go home. I need a bath."
"It is late," Nicolo hesitated. "And we should see if they need help. There is much to do left."
"There is much to do," Izem agreed, "But you have done so much and should rest. I would be honored to offer you a place to sleep for the night."
"How kind," Yusuf could not help reply, his voice thinning, "to offer Nicolo and I a bed for the night."
Nicolo coughed. "Yes. Very kind." His fingers slipped out of Yusuf's grip. He shot Yusuf a look. Oh no. That was not a good look. "Let us help what we can and we will return to our own beds for rest. We do not mind."
Nicolo shot Yusuf another look.
"Do you agree, Yusuf?"
Yusuf straightened, his throat clearing.
"Of course. We would be most happy to help."
Inside, Yusuf sighed.
---------------- Whew. And that was the last part of 18. Chapter 19 and all the SEX to follow on Monday. Research time Sund--no, not for THIS, for my class! LOL.
I needed to organize these for it to be cleaned up for AO3 and found so many disasters. I am mortified and embarrassed. Thank you all for sticking with this fic despite how hard it has been to find it. Thank you for giving my fic a chance!
NEW HERE: Needs of the Other 18G/20
———————————————-
Part 18G
———————————————-
(Yusuf)
Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century
The city was burning.
Women wept. Children cried. Men died. The sand ran red. The fires burned hot. And sand and stone and wood could not hold them back.
The walls did not hold. They did not—
Yusuf gasped, his body jerking. He tasted sand on his lips. He tasted blood on his tongue.
The arrow in him burned, burrowing and grinding with each weakening thump of his heart. He reached up and snapped off the half protruding the front of his chest. He felt the blood in his lungs receding, the froth no longer filling his throat.
It was dark. Yet there were flares of light.
Fire.
The village. The village was burn—
Nicolo.
Yusuf clenched his teeth. His fists dug into mud and he tried to push himself up. He could not. The front half of the arrow was still trapped in his back, between his shoulders, scraping noisily against his spine. It numbed him from the waist down. His left arm lost most its strength.
But the village was burning. And he was in the village.
“H-hobi,” Yusuf rasped. Why will his knees not work?
Something clamped over the back of Yusuf’s tunic, above the arrow. Without warning, Yusuf was yanked up to his feet. The arrowhead shifted, sliding out a fraction and what was numb suddenly ignited.
A scream cut off in Yusuf’s throat as he slammed into...his horse?
The horse blew out sharply into Yusuf's face.
Yusuf grimaced as the remaining arrow half in his back wiggled, trying to push through. He gasped wetly, his knees refusing to lock.
The horse nickered. It sidestepped closer to Yusuf.
Yusuf stared blankly at the five bodies around them on the ground. Four had no heads. He rested his forehead on the long neck. He grunted as the arrow at last pushed through and fell to the dirt. But he still can not feel his legs.
The horse snorted. It stamped a blood splattered hoof.
Yusuf blearily stared at the bright round eyes and the narrow muzzle.
“You have your uses,” Yusuf croaked. He clung to its mane with his right hand. His left hand barely held on to his scimitar. But it did not matter.
“Take me to Nicolo,” Yusuf rasped. His reflection gazed back at him. “Take me to Nicolo.”
The horse’s head lowered, nearly to the ground, its long body quivering under the strain as Yusuf shakily climbed up.
Yusuf slumped forward over the horse’s neck, wheezing. He almost fell over to the other side. He gripped the mane instead of the reins with his right hand, his scimitar clutched in his left with a grip Yusuf worried he will not be able to loosen.
The horse started, stopped and neighed. It turned to stare unblinking at Yusuf.
“Go,” Yusuf groaned. He could gradually feel his feet. He wiggled his toes in his boots. “Before I trade you for that goat over there."
The horse snorted once, delicately stepped over the bodies and headed for where the fires burned the brightest.
The market was on fire.
Yusuf spotted Izem guarding the path to the mill. A hut burned behind them. The boy stood alone, holding a bloodied sword Yusuf did not give him.
“By the weaver!” Izem shouted the moment he spotted Yusuf on his horse. He waved Yusuf off.
“I’m fine!” Izem declared and proved it by executing the move Yusuf taught him and knocked a bandit completely off his feet. Others spilled out from hiding places behind Izem. They pounced the moment the man fell.
Yusuf gave Izem one last look, blinking in shock before he clicked his tongue and the horse turned away.
There was no more weaver’s stall. It’s blackened wooden frame stood as the only survivor of the market. There were villagers fighting around the market. There were villagers battling bandits among the burning homes past the market. There were ones who were not fighting any more.
And there was Nicolo, his sword held to his eyes, steady in his double grip, his bloodied form surrounded by five men in an arc in from of him, his back to a broken cart smoldering to ask.
The men all stayed back, eyes and feet shifting from left to right. They did not approach.
Two men lay by Nicolo’s feet. One’s legs lay by his comrades. The other's...Yusuf could not tell where they were.
Yusuf shouted, or tried but the horse was louder and rudely drowned him out with a high-pitched squeal. Nicolo did not turn to look. He held his sword high, drawn back so his sword was a gleaming sharp line that tracked his narrowed eyes back to the bandits.
“Go find Izem.” It was agony, but Yusuf slid off the horse. He clung to the horse until his boots at last sensed the ground beneath him. He staggered to Nicolo’s side. The stench of blood on Nicolo made him nearly gag. But he held up his scimitar in front of him.
Nicolo’s eyes flicked to Yusuf and back front. His sword lifted slightly higher.
“You are late,” Nicolo said in Arabic.
Yusuf barked a laugh, a gurgling and alarming one if he was to judge the way Nicolo’s eyes flew back to him.
“Not fair,” Yusuf rasped in Arabic. “I was about to say the same to you.” His legs regained footing after his horse prodded his lower back from behind.
“Stupid beast,” Yusuf muttered. “I told you to go.” He grunted when the horse’s nose smacked him on his ass when he staggered back.
“Are you helping me or them? Do you wish to be a workhorse again? Go!”
The bandits glanced at each other nervously. Ah, they do not speak Arabic. Very well.
"Is that your blood, dear friend?" Yusuf greeted Nicolo in very loud Greek.
Nicolo smiled thinly.
"Not all of this blood is mine," Nicolo replied in Greek as well. "Are the blood on your clothes yours?"
Yusuf shrugged. He suppressed the grimace. "Some. Most from their friends, I am afraid. To be fair, the beast behind me has some of their blood as well." To the bandits, Yusuf said, "I hope you were not expecting more men. They have been detained."
The horse snorted.
One of the bandits muttered under his breath. Another lifted his blade higher.
“Can you fight?” Nicolo said under his breath. He returned to Arabic
“Bah.” Yusuf gestured at the remaining men. They edged back, their shoulders tensing as he lazily pointed at them with his blade.
“Fight them? If you wish.” Yusuf bit back the grimace as he shrugged. A bone popped back in place and at last, Yusuf’s legs obeyed him once again. "Or I could sit back and let you fight them."
"I was trying to be polite," Nicolo said, still in Arabic, "I saved some for you."
"Ah." It hurt less to laugh now. Yusuf's scimitar wobbled as he pointed to the men. He was amused to see the bandits twitch.
"How kind. Which ones have you left me?"
Nicolo smirked. A trail of blood seeped out of a corner of his mouth. "The ugly one."
"Eh? Which one?" Yusuf raised an eyebrow at the bandits. He received a scowl in return.
"They are all ugly when I am standing next to you. And you only saved me one? Must you be so greedy?"
Nicolo scoffed. His eyes lingered on Yusuf a moment longer before turning back to their shared enemy.
“Can you fight?” Nicolo asked in Arabic. He echoed that day on Dirar's ship, his eyes this time an echo of many years before.
“If you still want to with me,” Yusuf murmured and he saw Nicolo made the connection, his eyes widening even as his lips curled subtly in a smile he only gave Yusuf.
“Always,” Nicolo replied.
Yusuf turned back towards the bandits.
Without saying a word, Yusuf and Nicolo stepped forward, together, in stride and charged.
His sword was an extension to himself.
Nicolo was the shield to his blade. As he is to Nicolo.
It was like striking swords again at twilight, in the back of their home. Yusuf moved left as Nicolo moved right. When Nicolo swung the first blow, Yusuf then surged forward to mete the second.
Their battle drew the ire of others, who found themselves at a stand off against villagers armed with iron bars, dull axes and barbed nets. Yusuf and Nicolo fell three, five more joined in.
Suddenly the ashes of the market became a battlefield as villagers swarmed the grounds. Carts rammed into bandits. Axes found the skulls of greedy men. As Yusuf and Nicolo fought, back to back, sword to sword, they found themselves surrounded by villagers, men and women alike, dozens of fists striking one. Sticks hammering another like a lump of dough.
The more Yusuf fought, the more his blood sang. He was not a violent man, not by choice, but oh, how his limbs moved without thought as his scimitar cut his enemy down. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Izem, a boy but now a man, rushing forth without hesitation. The sword was not his, but it moved with the young man like they were together since birth.
And Nicolo, Nicolo was always at the edge of his awareness, silent but loud in his movements as he turned into one swing to the next.
"Behind you," Nicolo called and Yusuf ducked. He felt Nicolo's dagger sail over him, striking the coward who would try to attack him from behind.
Yusuf's eyes stayed on Nicolo's as he reached behind, yanked the dagger out of the bandit's throat to throw it into the heart of the bandit charging towards Nicolo.
"Here is your blade back," Yusuf shouted as he punched one and shoved him forward.
"You missed!" Nicolo returned as his longsword skewered through the attacker.
"On purpose!" Yusuf shot back as he darted by Nicolo. His scimitar cut the throat fast enough blood did not spill.
"Or by accident!" Nicolo scoffed. He jumped back from the bandit gurgling by his feet.
Hedi's men were bloodthirsty and greedy, but they were also cowards. When they realized the village was not as easy of a prize to snatch, they tried to retreat. Some made it. Some did not.
The moon was up high when the roar of battle was silenced. The remaining villagers stood about in a daze. Fires still burned.
"Find buckets," Yusuf told one wearily. The man's name escaped him. "Use the sea to put the flames out."
"Search the dead," Nicolo told another. "Check carefully. One may still breathe."
"Use the mill for the wounded." Izem's voice rang out. "If there are attackers who still live, put them in the storage shed for now.
"That is a good plan, Izem." Nicolo shot Yusuf an amused look.
Yusuf shrugged, but he could do nothing more than nod as Izem glanced their way.
Nicolo stared blankly after Izem when Yusuf shuffled next to him.
"Hobi," Yusuf murmured. He plucked a clean part of Nicolo's sleeve.
"Did you die?" Nicolo whispered. He turned to consider Yusuf, his eyes clouding when Yusuf nodded wearily.
"I promised to be there when you open your eyes." Nicolo exhaled. He slipped his longsword into his scabbard, his eyes downcast. "I am sorry."
"And I am sorry I was late," Yusuf replied. He turned his grip, cupping Nicolo's elbow. "We saved many lives, my heart." Yusuf shook his head sadly. He gazed around them. The villagers were quiet, in respect of their dead, or because of exhaustion. Perhaps both. They were calling out names as they checked bodies. There was someone weeping, but Yusuf could not see where.
Fires were extinguished one by one and the night regained dominance. The moon above their heads soon became the only light shining down on the ruins of the village market.
Yusuf spotted his horse, standing lost by a broken cart, the dead around its hooves. Its black tail was limp with mud and blood. The horse could be asleep if it were not the head moving, tracking the villagers moving around them. It whinnied as a body was lifted off the ground in front of it. It was the vendor who sold fruit. He often slipped Yusuf's horse the fruit he could not sell at the end of the day.
"How many have we lost tonight?" Yusuf murmured sadly.
"Do not think that," Nicolo said. "Think of how many were saved today."
Nicolo slipped his hand into Yusuf's left hand. There was a finger missing a nail in Nicolo's hand, but it was growing back as Nicolo stroked the curve of Yusuf's palm.
"We did good here." Nicolo sounded hesitant, though.
Yusuf curled his hand around Nicolo's, capturing it.
"Yes," Yusuf said. He gave Nicolo's fingers a brief squeeze. "We did, Nicolo."
Yusuf heaved a sigh. "However, I am weary. Can we go home soon? If not, I shall sleep where I stand. Do not wake me until tomorrow."
"But they might need our help..." His dear Nicolo hedged despite how heavy his voice sounded.
"You have done so much, Nicolo," Izem said as he approached. He stood disheveled and bloodied in front of them. He smiled broadly at Nicolo.
Yusuf frowned. He did not notice Izem was nearly as tall as Nicolo. And when did the boy started calling Nicolo by his given name?
"Nicolo," Yusuf groaned loudly to catch Nicolo's attention. "I am grievously filthy. Let us go home. I need a bath."
"It is late," Nicolo hesitated. "And we should see if they need help. There is much to do left."
"There is much to do," Izem agreed, "But you have done so much and should rest. I would be honored to offer you a place to sleep for the night."
"How kind," Yusuf could not help reply, his voice thinning, "to offer Nicolo and I a bed for the night."
Nicolo coughed. "Yes. Very kind." His fingers slipped out of Yusuf's grip. He shot Yusuf a look. Oh no. That was not a good look. "Let us help what we can and we will return to our own beds for rest. We do not mind."
Nicolo shot Yusuf another look.
"Do you agree, Yusuf?"
Yusuf straightened, his throat clearing.
"Of course. We would be most happy to help."
Inside, Yusuf sighed.
----------------
Whew. And that was the last part of 18. Chapter 19 and all the SEX to follow on Monday. Research time Sund--no, not for THIS, for my class! LOL.
I needed to organize these for it to be cleaned up for AO3 and found so many disasters. I am mortified and embarrassed. Thank you all for sticking with this fic despite how hard it has been to find it. Thank you for giving my fic a chance!