The first time Rahim sees Erik without his mask it is an accident. Rahim is in his own rooms when Erik stumbles in, arm pressed to his belly. "…attacked on my way…from the Shah," he breathes, before his eyes roll in his head and he crumples in a heap. He is bleeding heavily, the wound across his stomach long but not deep, and between them Darius and Rahim carry him to the sofa, lay him out. They strip him and wash the blood away, pack the wound and bind it, and only then Rahim truly notices the mask missing.
The sight of it takes his breath away.
Erik's face is gaunter than Rahim might ever have imagined it, cheeks hollow and eyes set deep, head nearly bald though he is only a young man. But it is the nose, the fact of no nose, that truly gives him the appearance of a skull. How can anyone living look like that? And Erik is very much living, his breathing coming in pained gasps from between parted lips, eyelids fluttering.
Bile burns Rahim's throat and he swallows it down, uncertain if it is due to the sight of the wound or the face.
Hardly does the thought cross Rahim's mind when Erik whimpers, brow furrowed. "Da…roga," his lips form the word more than speak it. "Daroga, I—"
The wave of hesitation that trembles through Rahim lasts a moment, only a moment, and later it will be that moment that torments him, but now he presses his finger to Erik's thin lips, surprised at how soft they are. Damn his face and how it looks! What does it matter when he's wounded? When he's lost so much blood and is so weak? What does it matter how he looks? He is the same Erik, surely, in spite of his face! "Don't try to speak, Erik." His voice is calm, so calm even though his heart is pounding so hard he can feel it in his throat. "Just rest."
(Of course he is the same Erik. Of course.)
"Daroga, I…my room…need…help me…back." His eyes flicker open, shining gold with pain and pleading and Rahim grasps his hand, squeezes it gently.
"You must not move, Erik. You must not waste your strength."
"Please. Need…need to…hide. They…I…killed them." He gasps, half-twists, a horrible choking noise coming from his throat and tears glistening on his sunken cheeks. Rahim wipes them away with trembling fingers, presses the wine that Darius gives him to Erik's lips. Erik shakes his head, slumping back, eyes rolling. "No. Pl…ease Da…roga. Pl…ease." His voice is fainter than it was a moment ago, and Rahim's heart lurches as he pushes the thought away, squeezes Erik's fingers tighter. He is tired, that is all. Just tired. That's why he's so weak, he's tired.
The thoughts tumble together in a mass, a jumble threatening to overwhelm him and Rahim shakes his head to clear it. "No, Erik. You would not make it there. Just rest here. Rest and get your strength and Darius and I will help you later, I promise. You'll be safe here."
Erik regards him warily from heavy-lidded eyes, his gaze piercing even now, looking as if he might protest, then sinks deeper into the sofa, eyes slipping closed as he nods faintly. "All right. All…right." He sighs, his fingers limp in Rahim's hand, and Rahim almost thinks him unconscious until he murmurs, lips barely moving, "Stay with…me, Ra…him. St…stay."
Rahim nods, though Erik cannot see him, and curls his fingers tighter around Erik's own. "I will," he murmurs. "I will. I promise."
Erik's lips twitch, just slightly at the corners, before his face slackens and his head lolls. For a moment, one awful fearful moment, Rahim fears he's died as simple as that, but then he hears the harsh breathing, sees the faint furrow of pain that lingers between his eyes, and knows that he is merely unconscious.
And it is only later, Erik settled more comfortably in Rahim's own bed, and his bandages changed, that Rahim realises that Erik did not call him Daroga.
It is a slow recovery. Erik drifts between wakefulness and fitful sleep for several days, refusing to take any opium for the pain because it will interfere with my mental faculties. Rahim barely leaves his side for fear that doing so will precipitate a worsening of his condition (so he tells himself, refusing to admit that he cannot bear to hear Erik wake and panic at being alone). When the Shah discovers that his magician/architect/executioner has been wounded in an ambush he goes on the warpath. A series of executions follow, and the best healers are sent to Rahim's rooms, and Erik, in one of his moments of lucidity and wearing a mask Darius has fetched at his request, sends them away. Only Rahim is permitted to touch him, to help him, and that level of trust twists something deep in Rahim's gut.
(He is certain were Erik fully lucid he would make some quip about Rahim being incompetent enough that he cannot hurt him, and it would almost be a comfort to hear such words. Instead, Erik issues faint instructions on how to care for his wound, and Rahim follows them to the letter, and receives a handful of pained smiles for his efforts.)
Eventually, though, Erik gets to the stage where he can sit up in bed without the wound threatening to re-open, and though convalescence is slow it is a little easier to bear. He idly plucks the strings of his violin, sketches plans and plays chess, and if the uncertain friendship that existed between he and Rahim before the attack steadies into a proper friendship after it, neither man comments on the fact. It simply is what it is, and that is that.
It is a peaceful time, in many ways, and though Rahim sometimes thinks of the men Erik killed in self-defence, sometimes stirs from sleep at the sound of Erik's nightmare-whimpers, he tries to push it all from his mind. It is not his place to worry about what Erik has done. It is not his place. His only duty is to tend to his friend (friend, the very word sends a thrill through his stomach) and try to keep him well.
It is different when Erik is able to work again the way the Shah wants him to. In between overseeing the construction of the new palace and providing regular entertainment with his music and magic tricks, he is commanded to design torture chambers, to invent ever more gruesome methods to kill people. And though Rahim is spared the details he cannot rest easy with the knowledge of what Erik has become involved in. It weighs heavy on his mind, the deaths and injuries Erik is responsible for, but there is nothing he can do to stop it, even on the nights Erik comes to his rooms tired and drawn and insists that he does not wish to spend the night alone with his servants.
"I do not wish to see them like that," he whispers, "I do not wish it." And Rahim stays up talking to him, to draw his mind down easier paths. And when their hands brush as Rahim passes Erik coffee, and warmth tingles in his fingertips, the very air whispering against his skin, he insists it does not mean anything, and pushes it from his mind.
(It comes back to him at night, alone, and it not so easily forgotten then, and he lies awake, staring at the stars outside his window and wonders if maybe, just maybe, Erik is lying awake thinking of him, too.)
He has no true memory of the end. There are only glimpses, flashes of flickers of moments. Erik, mask-less with a face that does not seem so very terrible, his eyes wide and lips thin. His own heart racing at the sight of him, at the need to get him away quick. Erik, his voice low, whispering softly, "Come with me, Rahim." His own heart, begging him to say yes, to mount up and ride away with him, but his head shaking, and the words that slip from his lips, "I would slow you down…need to cover for you here," followed by his vision blurring with tears and, "Make it look like you fought." "Ra-him." "No."
The darkness when it comes is swift, and sure.
Darius is hovering over him anxiously when he wakes, his head pounding painfully, and before he can speak he heaves the contents of his stomach onto the floor. Darius presses a glass of water to his lips, smooths back his hair, and the water makes him gag but he swallows it. "Er…rik." His tongue is thick, uncooperative, but Darius hears, and nods.
"It is done, Master. He is gone." And Rahim's mind is slow but he knows that look in Darius' eyes, knows the double meaning of his words, and he nods, his heart twisting painfully as the darkness rushes over him again.
He hears it in snatches over the following days, his own faint memories helping to fill in the gaps. He hears how Erick attacked him, stole his pocket watch and ran, hears how the Shah's men tracked him across the country but never so much as caught a glimpse of him, hears how they reached the sea, but did not find a horse, only a body dressed in Erik's clothes and mask. They took the mask, buried the body, and brought it back to present to the Shah as evidence of their success.
(He hears another story too, in fainter snatches, of Darius' cousin living near the sea helping to guide Erik away safe, and when he sees the mask and recognises it as the one Erik habitually wore to meet the Shah, and not the one he favours for travelling in, he knows which of the two stories is the truth, and keeps his own counsel on the matter, and Darius nods in his wise, silent way, and they are in agreement.)
Justice comes for Rahim later, two years later. There is an incident with dissidents, and the Shah is displeased with Rahim anyway after Erik's escape and supposed drowning, and the sentence of exile is passed swiftly. He takes his few treasured belongings, some necessities, and Darius and leaves with no clear picture of where he wants to go except a desire to follow the whispers that will surely lead him to Erik.