I'm really worried now. I don't know what worries me more - that he called me over like that, drinking, no questions, or that he won't talk about it at all. I mean, he's never been really talkative when it comes to Percy but-- this feels different. I can't parse what he seems to be thinking at all. What he owes him, what makes him happy. And the whole while Bahir just looks so /miserable/ and-- shit. I just wish I knew what to do, you know? Something more than getting him drunk and trying to keep his mind on other things. Something else. Something more. What's the use of friends if you can't /do/ anything to make it better?

It tears me up a little that the best thing he can think of is a home he's not even in anymore. How long has he been this unhappy? How long have I not noticed? Does /Percy/ notice? How the hell does he not see this? I really think they need some time-- some time not together. I don't know, maybe Percy is perfectly happy in this, and Bahir has his moments, you know, like the way they looked at each other at the fashion show, but lately-- I just hate to see him look like that. Like last night.

Fuck, my head hurts. I'm going back to bed.


There is pho and conversation, light and meaningless. They play at ease and normalcy, and roll things up between bites at Percy's apartment. Bahir occasionally cheats be reaching out to nudge Percy, or tug the controller away from him. It's happy! SO FUCKING HAPPY, OKAY? Then he goes home, with a kiss at the door. He grabs his cat, he grabs some water, and he retreats to his room, barely glancing at Adel's door. He calls Natalie. Ring, ring.

Natalie is not exactly waiting /by/ her phone. Strictly speaking, the phone is waiting by her. It's mobile. It's taken up residence atop books on the shelf that overhangs her desk while she works. She has, at least, left off worrying some hours ago in favor of strict concentration at hand - work is good for distraction - by the time the phone rings. When it does, she swipes it up halfway through the second trill. "Hey," she greets.

"Hi," Bahir says quietly, fatigue in his voice all out of proportion to the hour. It's late, but not /that/ late. He curls onto his bed, rolled on his side. Duha sits a moment, waiting for him to settle, and then slides up to curl into a ball low against his abdomen.

Natalie is silent for a moment, letting the tired word ring between them as her fingers curl into her palm atop her lap. "You sound worn out," she observes in a quiet voice, worry touching light on the tips of syllables. "What happened?"

"Mmph," Bahir says after a moment. "You want to come over? Can you bring something to drink? We don't have much here, what with, you know. But I'll pay you back for it. Can you come over and drink with me and not ask questions?"

"That bad, huh?" It's a question despite herself, and Natalie hesitates for a brief moment before she leans forward to save the work she'd been doing and push her chair back to rise to her feet. "Drink. No questions. Coming up. You want shots or something for mixing?"

Bahir turns his head into the pillow, mushing out a sigh, and then answers, "Shots are fine," as his head turns. "Easier. Whiskey? I usually drink that. You can do mixes if you'd rather. I've got lemons, lemonjuice and stuff."

Natalie wrinkles her nose as she wanders through her apartment, finding shoes and jacket and bag. "If we're doing shots, we're at least getting some girly flavored vodka. I am /not/ doing whiskey," she informs him firmly. After a moment's quiet her voice drops into muted sympathy as she steps through the door and into the hall, keys rattling behind her. "Give me fifteen minutes. Twenty, tops. I'll be over," she promises.

"I'm sneering at you right now." A hint of play in his voice, Bahir is actually smiling -- just a /little/. "Fine. Girly vodka. I'll suffer through it for the cause. See you then."

"Yeah, yeah, what else is new?" Natalie wonders, lips turning upward in a similar expression before she flips the phone off and sets out down the hall. She makes it to Bahir's in 18 minutes. It ought to be some sort of record, what with the crowd in the liquor store. She has, in fact, purchased two separate bottles of alcohol, and their necks peek out of a little brown bag tucked under her arm as she rattles the buzzer.

Adel buzzes Natalie in, because Bahir has dozed off next to Duha. He wakes his brother with a light mental touch, and meanders to the kitchen to get down glasses for the two before disappearing to his room again.

Sleepy-eyed and rumple-haired, Bahir unlocks the door and waits for Natalie with Duha snoozing on his arm.

What a pretty domestic picture. Natalie appears at the door in short time and nudges it open without bothering with such things as knocks. Once there, her eyes find Bahir, and for a long moment she hesitates as she studies him, clearly holding back the questions that dance at the front of her mind. Eventually she shakes her head and moves, lips curling into a smile, to brush past him on her way to the kitchen. "You'd better love me," she demands, voice pitched light, and she draws out a bottle of whiskey - and not the cheap stuff, either, although it nestles firmly middle of the line - and lifts it to wave at him in indication.

"I love you," Bahir tells the whiskey bottle as he reaches out to snag it in hand. "Come on, my wallet's in the kitchen. I think I have enough cash to cover." Duha wriggles awake in his arms, her open door sensor dinging. "And shut the door," he adds, turning to drift thataway.

"Don't worry about it," Natalie dismisses, nudging at the door with a kick of her foot as she draws out the second bottle - vodka, watermelon, for her. "Good grief, that cat must have radar or something."

"She's got /something/." Bahir drops her when the door is closed, and after a glance toward it, she turns around to follow after him and rub against his leg. "So you don't want to mix with anything?" he asks, taking a seat on one of the stools and pulling over a low glass.

"What, you want to get wasted and have me sitting over here sipping vodka and sprite, watching you all sober," Natalie replies, brows lifting archly. "Need someone to hold your hair back when you start puking?"

Bahir looks prim. "I don't puke." He liiies. Opening the whiskey, he splashes out a healthy measure and then lifts the glass in Natalie's direction. "Come on, hurry up and sit and pour. Cheers." He waits for the glass-clink.

Natalie's brows edge up just a touch, and there's a pause as she looks at him before she recalls what she's meant to be doing and measures out a drink. "Yeah, well, I might," she admits, and lifts her glass to clink it lightly against Bahir's. "Cheers."

"Then I will hold your hair back." Clink. Bahir lifts his glass just a touch higher, and then downs it. It takes two swallows, but then, it was a big splash. His breath afterwards is a bit of a gasp, and he snorts. "Tch. Been a while since I've done any heavy drinking."

"Why do you think I ponytail?" Natalie retorts. She watches Bahir swallow, lips twitching, before she tips her head back to swallow hers. It was somewhat smaller - she manages it in one gulp, but the aftermath is a mess of coughing and she lifts a hand to wave it in front of her face. "Shit," she says. "Me too."

"Hah," Bahir laughs at her coughing, although he has to clear his own throat, as well. He pours more. "I used to drink a lot more, as an undergraduate and in the first year or so of grad school. Practically an alcoholic, really."

"Really?" Natalie's brows rise slightly at the second pour, but there's a certain steadfastness in her reach for her own bottle. "Why's that?" Apparently 'no questions' only applies, in her mind, to the subject of the evening. She lifts her glass again, tipping it toward Bahir.

"Mmm. No good reasons, lots of bad ones." Bahir shakes his head slightly, and lifts his glass for another clink against Natalie's. He sips more slowly this time. "It's been a while."

"And now you've sobered up," Natalie observes in quiet amusement. She, to the contrary, takes her second in a gulped shot as well - easier that way - and then leaves her glass untouched as she watches him sipped. She leans forward, elbows bracing against the flat surface and chin coming down to rest in the cup of her hands. "I never was much of a drinker," she admits, sharing rather than querying. "I grew up on wine at dinner and cocktails at parties, and it never really appealed to me. I /tried/, mind, for a bit when I was going out with Bree, but it was just never my thing."

"Didn't grow up on it. At all. There's not much alcohol in Bahrain. It's outlawed, you know, in places." Bahir takes another sip, leaning back and stretching his foot out to rub at Duha's neck as she wanders by to curl in the corner. "Corrupting western infidels."

"What, seriously?" Natalie looks clearly startled as she lifts her chin just a touch and then settles it down again. "I didn't know that. So what, you got here and went a little wild, huh?" she teases lightly.

Bahir flashes a sidelong grin at Natalie, drawing fingers back through his hair and scuffing the side of his hand down his jaw. "Something like that, I guess. Anyway."

"I really prefer the pot," Natalie shares, wrinkling her nose. "Mellower."

"Mm, me too. Less hangover," Bahir says. He finishes his glass and pours another. Whee!

"We should get some water," Natalie observes, stirring enough to lift her head and tip her bottle for another drink. "You've eaten, right?"

"Pho," Bahir says. He slides from his seat after being certain he won't step on the cat. He meanders towards the kitchen without a wobble yet. "Cold water or tap?"

"Pho," Natalie echoes, shaping her lips around the word with a slight pop. "Um. Doesn't matter, really. Hydration!" Her declaration is enthusiastic, her smile brilliant as she turns to watch Bahir.

"Cold water." A plastic filtered pitcher is retrieved, and Bahir goes to get two more glasses. "Do you want to crash on the couch tonight? Or you can take my bed, too, and I'll take the couch, if you don't want to go stumbling back drunkenly."

"I'm already two shots down, and it doesn't look like we're stopping," Natalie points out with lifted brows and a short laugh. "I /hope/ I'm staying on your couch tonight. New York is fucking bad enough when I'm sober."

"Hah." Bahir nudges her shoulder with his own in passing before he takes his seat again, and pours a glass of water to slide toward her. The other is left empty for the moment. "Duha might wake you up at an ungodly hour -- or for that matter, we will. We get up pretty early. Why don't you take the bed? You can close the door."

Natalie takes up her glass with a laugh that scrunches up her nose and tips it back for a long swallow before she considers that third shot with a critical eye. "Bahir. If you're feeding me this much alcohol, I will be dead to the world in the morning. You could run a marching band through the living room - although please don't - and I'd still be asleep."

"All right. But don't blame me for Duha's loving nature!" Bahir carols with a hint of a sing-song, sipping at his third(?) glass.

Natalie pauses to actually drink her third, and she shakes her head hard in the gasp that follows before she wonders, "So when are you dancing with me? I'm pretty sure there was a promise about keeping me from looking like a fool at this Halloween thing."

"We could try now, but as soon as we do, the alcohol will hit and we'll stumble all over and it likely just wouldn't be a good idea at all." Bahir glances over his shoulder at the clear space available, and shakes his head. "Maybe we can dance in the lab. Then you can look like a fool in front of undergrads."

"Oh, hon," Natalie tells him, voice warmed with amused sympathy. "My alcohol is already hitting." She pauses, grin a bit goofy, and leans forward to agree, "Definitely. I think most of them have me pegged as something worse anyway. Can you seriously not feel it yet?"

Bahir wriggles his fingers. "Maybe a liiittle," he says in a drawn out, exaggerated fashion which indicates that he might be wrong about that.

"I'm a little fascinated," Natalie confesses, watching him with bright eyes. "I've never seen you drunk. High, but not drunk. Isn't that weird?"

"Hmm, that is a little weird," Bahir agrees. Fourth glass. He reaches out to pour with a more or less steady hand. "But at the rate you're going, I think you're going to pass out before I get very fun. Lightweight."

"You're bigger than I am," Natalie points out without hesitation. "More-- you know. Manly muscle and all that. /And/ you have all that alcoholic past to toughen up your tolerance." She leans back, holding a hand toward him flat-palmed. "Don't worry. I'll slow down, you can catch up." A squint and then she wonders with a wicked gleam, "Exactly when do you get /fun/?"

Bahir sniffs. "I'm never fun." He leans forward, slumping a little over the counter, and starts drinking again in slow, steady sips. "I am bigger. Manly. I don't know about history really toughening your tolerance, though. That might be one of those things that frat boys just say."

"I like you anyway," Natalie assures, stretching across the space awkwardly to pat Bahir's shoulder before she drops back down. "I dunno. I never dated a frat boy," she shares thoughtfully. She tips her head to one side, cupping her cheek in her palm, and considers, "Actually, huh. I wonder if Ben was a frat boy. He was prom king, you know."

"/Prom king/?" Bahir repeats incredulous. "You, a nerd, a female mathematician. He, a joke-- jock, sorry." He looks innocent. "And prom king. Oh, hey. By the way. Our schedules haven't meshed yet, but I'll talk to him when I can."

"I know, right?" Natalie answers, apparently finding the funny more striking than the insult. "He fell out of stuff after-- you know." She waves a hand, as if that explains everything, and she eyes her vodka bottle thoughtfully. "I'll have you know that I was a jock in high school. I played softball."

"Softball makes me think of lesbians," Bahir says contemplatively, taking another drink of his whiskey.

"Well," Natalie says, and laughs as she reaches for her bottle to tip another drink out.

"Did you have lesbian orgies in the showers?" Bahir asks with mock-masculine fascination.

"I have never had a lesbian orgy," Natalie answers firmly, scowling around another drink before she slides from her stool to stand. There is no wobble to her step, but she's grinning a bit sillily. "Or any orgy, for that matter. Do /you/ have gay man orgies in the shower?"

"Swim practice /is/ a gay man orgy." Bahir smiles with sleepy eyes. "A dozen men, lean and athletic and intent, all wearing the barest wisp of /anything/, sweaty and wet and writhing." He fans himself.

Natalie's brows shoot up and she circles round, the better to wiggle fingers at him in some unspoken request. "But would you /really/?" she wonders.

Bahir sniggers quietly at Natalie's response, scrubbing at his features. He takes another drink, and as he swallows, he's suddenly rather more subdued. He gives a slight shake of his head. "No," he says, smile falling away.

Natalie's hand falls to her side and she steps next to him, leaning back against the counter to study him with worry. Promises mean little under the influence of alcohol, and she asks, "Was it that bad?"

"I dunno," Bahir mumbles, slumping further to fold his arm on the counter and rest his chin there, before tipping his head to the side to lie.

Natalie leans sideways, edging against his shoulder before she turns to lean forward into the counter, bending into similar posture with her shoulder brushing light against his. "Did you break up?"

Bahir shakes his head, which given the sideways tip, is more like a vertical motion -- but the feeling remains behind it. Nope. He turns his face downward, wedging his nose in the crook of his elbow. Hmph.

Natalie peers sideways at him for a moment, bafflement increased by the fuzzy haze of alcohol, and considers this.

"Thought he was gonna." Bahir's words are muffled and touched by a faint slur. "But he didn't. Every time he started to look hurt, I couldn't swallow my tongue fast enough. He talked about our sex life in a really weird way. I don't know what he was saying, or what he was trying to say. Then I hugged him, reassured him, comforted him -- and I told him it would be okay. I begged Adel to help -- to help me lie, I guess." His head is still wedged against his arm.

"Oh, Bahir." Natalie's voice breaks, and she raises her head enough to drape her nearest arm across his shoulders. "Why?"

"It's what he wanted."

"It's not what you wanted." The assumption is easy.

"I want him to be happy." Bahir's head tips, forehead to arm now, and face directly down.

"By making yourself miserable?"

"M'not."

"I have never seen you drunk," Natalie reminds, squeezing at his opposite shoulder. Her voice drops soft on his name. "Bahir."

"Then I'm not miserable, I'm drink!" Bahir says, lifting his head. His expression is bleary, what with having been mashed against his arm. He squints at Natalie. "I owe him this. I do. Whatever I can do for him, I will."

Natalie pulls back a touch, enough to look at Bahir. "You owe him /this/?" she wonders in disbelief, studying him. "Bahir, /why/?"

Bahir snorts quietly. "Can't explain. Complicated. But I do, okay? Just trust that?"

"I have a hard time believing that anything he could have done for you makes you deserve this," Natalie responds quietly, pulling her arm free and letting it swing by her side. "This isn't--" She breaks off and pauses, sorting through her thoughts before she speaks them anyway. "This isn't how relationships are supposed to go."

Bahir doesn't say anything. He just watches her with weary, bleary focus.

"I know they're not happy all the time," Natalie continues, words spilling over with a noticeable lack of inhibition. She laughs bitterly and turns, back resting against the counter again. "Hell, I /know/ that. But /oweing/ him-- God, Bahir." She glances at him, eyes darkly worried. "I just don't like to see you like this. Ready to throw it all in for some kind of fucked up idea of love because you feel like you owe it to him for some reason you can't even explain to me. Miserable."

Bahir turns forward again, and drinks his whiskey. He makes a mumbling noise of nothing that's a lot like, "--dunno."

Natalie watches him for a moment longer before she says abruptly, "Fuck," and then "Pour me another shot and then get up."

Bahir makes a whiny noise, and straightens before pouring her a shot. He rebels by doing it backwards!

"Finish your whiskey," Natalie orders, leaning forward to grab at her own shot and lift it. "You want another glass before I cut you off?"

"You're cutting me /off/?" Bahir asks, tone incredulous. He breaks off to gulp down what he has and reach for a refill. Noooo. "Yes, I want another glass."

"I'm not prepared to hold your hair back all night," Natalie informs him briskly. "Pour your glass, c'mon."

Bahir pours his glass with a sulk, and pulls it closer. "You're not gonna hold back my hair. It's not /long enough yet/," he says in a victory of logic.

"Too bad," Natalie observes, shuffling sideways to nudge him with her hip while she balances her shot glass in one hand. "I like it long. C'mon, get up."

"I sat up!" Bahir seems indignant that she demands he stand, and does so with a bare wobble to catch his balance. "What else do you want from me?"

"I want you to /stand/ up," Natalie explains patiently, and her lips twitch slightly at the wobble. She's quite steady, herself! What with the counter behind her and all. "Come on. Make a toast."

Bitch. Bahir straightens, looming a good few inches over her. He regards her with a hint of challenge. Look. He stood. He lifts his glass. "What am I toasting?"

Natalie really is. Her head tips back to look up at him, few inches exagerated by her faint slump, and says, "Whatever you want. Something good."

"Work," Bahir suggests, lifting his glass. LAME.

"Not work," Natalie disapproves, holding her glass down.

Bahir droops. "Whaaat?" he whines.

"Come on, Bahir," Natalie encourages, straightening slightly so she can draw up and /look/ at him. "Find something really good. Something that is not school or work or 'I'm really smart.' Those are lame."

Bahir holds her gaze, thinks, and lifts his glass again. "Home."

Natalie watches him for a moment, and there's a flicker of sadness in her eyes before she lifts her glass to meet his, clinking them lightly together. "Home," she agrees, and the shot disappears in a fast, determined swallow.

More than a shot in his glass, Bahir drinks only half in a hard swallow before setting it down. He leeeeans against the counter. "Water now, huh?"

"Water," Natalie agrees, and discards her glass to the counter as she tips her head at him. "And then we're doing something fun. Wanna try to swing dance?" she teases.

"Nooooo," Bahir groans, pouring out the water into his glass. His hand is only a little unsteady. "Let's just -- watch something. Or something." He sniggers quietly. "Porn. I bet we could find porn."

"That strikes me as a very bad idea," Natalie replies, although she's almost-laughing as she says it.

"I know!" Bahir's tone is brilliant and he lifts the glass to drink deeply of the water. "Really bad," he says after.

"Uh huh," Natalie agrees, and she leans far enough to grab her own glass of water before leaving Bahir firmly behind for a slow wander toward more comfortable locales, like his couch. "Unless," she observes after a thoughtful moment, "It involved Ron Jeremy."

Tragically, sadly, Bahir goes, "Who?"

"Oh," Natalie says, and then sputters helplessly. "Oh /no/, Bahir." She collapses onto his couch and wiggles her fingers upward. "Where's your laptop?"

"Bedroom." Bahir pulls the pitcher over the counter to carry water to the coffee table. He doesn't fall. "Just a sec," he says, setting his glass down and rising to head that way. His steps aren't straight, but he doesn't weave too terribly.

"Mmk," Natalie answers, leaning forward enough to grab the pitcher and top off her water glass before she sinks back into the couch again and concentrates on sipping, out of principle rather than thirst.

When he knocks into the hallway as he turns to walk down, Bahir reconsiders. He yells, "Adeeel," in a whiney tone, and then heads back to join Natalie on the couch.

A door opens. Feet pad over wood. A short time later, Adel comes carrying Bahir's laptop, and also comes with a martyred expression. "Are you kidding me? I'm not your slave. I can't believe you don't know," he adds, offering Bahir his laptop and then retreating with a quick smile at Natalie. "Hi." Then the ghost of Adel vanishes, leaving Bahir to boot up the computer with a hum.

"Me either!" Natalie calls toward Adel, chipper as she wiggles her fingers at him over the couch without turning, although she does spare the effort for Bahir as he approaches. "He's a porn star," she explains seriously.

"Am I googling him?" Bahir asks, opening up firefox and offering Natalie the computer as he reaches for the water glass.

"Well, I am," Natalie replies as she settles the laptop on her lap, glass banished to the coffee table. A few quick keystrokes - and a bit of backspacing to account for typos - and there he is. In wikipedia. Ron Jeremy. "Holy fuck," Natalie says, squinting at the page and lifting a finger to poke at a word: autofellatio. "Does that mean what I think it does?"

Bahir leans over. "Almost enough to make one wish one was a gymnast, rather than a swimmer." The vague 'one', of course, not himself.

"Damn," Natalie says, impressed.

"Uh huh," Bahir says. He looks vaguely uncomfortable. "Let's not watch porn," he decides. "How about a /documentary/?"

"How about something with explosions?" Natalie suggests instead, and shoves the laptop aside with some small amount of care before she slides off the couch in search of his DVD collection. "Let's see what you've got."

Bahir has no DVD collection. There are a few stray DVDs and a DVD player, but when she slides from the couch, he just reaches for his remote. He wiggles it at her. "Not there. Here." The power of the remote! "Explosions, huh?"

"Whoa," Natalie answers, clearly impressed as she notes the remote. /Powerful/. She's back on the couch in an instant, shifting to tuck up alongside him with a lazy nod. "Or whatever you want. As long as it's interesting."

"Explosions," Bahir says complacently, and turns on the TV, kicks alive the screen guide, and looks for something suitable. "Thanks for coming over."

"Of course," Natalie says, and her dismissive murmur is a touch pleased despite herself as she plants her head on his shoulder and slides down into a comfortable sprawl as she waits for Bahir to find something non-pornographic to fill their evening.
There's no puking in this log.