Author's Note:

I am so sorry about the random nonsense that was displayed on this page. I have no clue what happened, and I would have fixed it earlier if I realized. My apologies. This is what was supposed to be on there. I am adding one OC character, maybe two...don't panic. I tried really hard to write it without, but I think it's pretty unrealistic to keep Nimr in a bubble. From what I understood in the movie he doesn't speak French, and the story wouldn't be realistic or interesting if Nimr just lived in his head.. Either way, they will only be minor characters, but let me know if they're turning into a Mary-Sue.

Nimir stared out at the dock until the sun was swallowed by the horizon. Some fraction of his brain still believed if he waited long enough Roy would magically appear in front of him. But that hope was fading fast. Roy shouldn't have had any trouble making it from Israel to France. He certainly had the money, and there shouldn't have been any obstacle stopping him from boarding a plane.

Every one of his nightmares started to assault his brain. He imagined Roy in a prison cell being interrogated by detectives, losing his job, his friends, his life...all because of Nimr. How was he supposed to live with that? Roy was all he had left. What was he supposed to do without him?

Nimr noticed a few dark figures walking his direction, so he grabbed his backpack and moved out out sight. He fumbled around inside his wallet to see if he felt any cash or spare coins. It didn't matter anyways. He highly doubted there was someplace to exchange currency.

"Fuck," he whispered.

The town seemed to be completely asleep except for one building, probably a restaurant, with all its' lights still on. Despite the fact the temperature was dropping, Nimr didn't dare step inside. The police weren't going to quit looking for him just because he left Israel, and he wasn't about to raise suspicions.

Instead, he settled for sleeping on the bus stop bench. It was moments away from collapsing, but there was a roof and some cover from the wind. His backpack substituted as a pillow, and he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

em Don't let anything happen to Roy./em

Roy felt his father, not so subtly, crush his foot. He snapped up to look at the prosecutor sitting across the table. She was a middle age woman with her hair tied back in a tight bun and not even a hint of warmth on her face. Roy missed most of the conversation between her and his father, but he hoped the fact his father wasn't flustered was a good sign.

"My client is willing to comply with the terms presented," his father said.

Roy was speaking before he even realized it. "No, no I'm not."

"Yes, he is."

"No," Roy growled, "I'm not. Nimr isn't a terrorist."

The woman placed her hands on the table and looked directly at his father like Roy didn't even exist.

"No one wants your son to be arrested. He's a bright young man with a great future ahead of him. We already suspect Nimr Marshrawi is in France, but we don't want to waste resources searching the entire coast."

"I don't know where he is," Roy lied.

That was the first time the woman made eye contact with him. "You aided his escape. Don't pretend you don't know where he is."

Roy shrugged and looked away. He tried not to let her see how nervous he was. What if Nimr hadn't gotten to France? What if the police found him? Roman had done much worse things than smuggling; Roy's firm had vindicated him on much worse charges, but Roy was never personally involved in his business. Every minute felt sickening.

"My client has already be thoroughly interrogated multiple times. I don't know what you expect to get out of him."

"He was at the location where police attempted to apprehend Nimr Marshrawi, and he ran when confronted. Plus, it was noted that they were...involved."

"That evidence is circumstantial at best."

Roy ignored whatever was said after that. He knew he should pay attention, but he was exhausted. The meeting with the prosecutor was running late into the night, and there was no coffee to keep him awake. He was used to working late, but sitting in a cell staring at the patterns in the wall drained any energy he had. emJust make it through this/em, he reminded himself.

His father talked for another twenty minutes before the woman decided there was another case that demanded her attention. She told them a guard would be in shortly to take Roy back to his cell. His father smiled and shook her hand, but didn't turn to Roy until the door closed.

"I hope you're grateful for all the help I'm giving you."

"I am," Roy said.

He knew his dad thought he was lying, but he wasn't. Sure, he and his dad never saw eye to eye, but his dad still gave him a job and was helping him out of jail.

"Then start acting like it. Don't mouth off or try to justify your actions. Keep telling them you don't know anything and let us do the rest."

Roy nodded just as the guard came in and motioned for Roy to follow him. Unsurprisingly, his father has no emotional goodbye for him as he was lead away in cuffs. Roy thought that was probably for the best.

Nimr woke up to someone gently poking his face. He quickly opened his eyes to see a small girl with blonde hair standing over him. She said something in French but all Nimr heard was gibberish.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. There was a group of people standing at the bus stop, but none of them seemed to take an interested in him. He smiled at the girl and tried to escape as quietly as possible. It was definitely morning, but the sun had yet to warm the air or cast more than a few rays of light on the town.

If the circumstances had been different, Nimr would have found it peaceful. But his stomach growled, and he needed to find a bathroom. The same restaurant that was open the night before seemed have an open sign on a window. Nimr put his hood over his head and slipped through the door. He went to the back of the room and avoided eye contact.

He tried to leave in under ten minutes, but once he was outside he realized he had nowhere to go. Without money his only options seemed to be walking or trying to convince a stranger, who did not share the same language, to give him a ride. He knew he couldn't stay in the town. It was on the coast, right where police would expect him to be.

After pacing down the sidewalk for five minutes, Nimr slumped against the wall and slid down. How was he going to survive alone? Did he just escape Israel only to die in France?

As Nimr contemplated his options, he saw an elderly woman cross the street and walk towards him. Everything in him said to run, but he refused to budge. He needed to remain stopped in front of him and gave him a sad smile. Then she pulled a bill from her purse and dropped it at his feet.

Nimr realized she thought he was a beggar. He tried to explain to her that he didn't want the money, but she just smiled and walked away. Nimr looked at the bill at his feet. Less than two weeks ago, he was on track to graduate from a good school and find a career. Now, he was reduced to begging on the street. The idea sickened him, but at this point he begrudgingly accepted it. He only needed enough money to buy the bus ticket that would get him the farthest away from here.

So for the rest of the day he sat against the wall in silence. A young woman gave him what he thought was about 1 euro, and a group of kids shyly gave him 5 euros before running away. Nimr didn't expect anyone to be that generous, but it seemed that the entire town pitied him. By noon he thought he had about 15 euros, which he prayed would be enough for a bus ticket.

There was a small ticket counter just to the right of the bus stop. Inside there was a list of five stops, the coordinating prices, and the times (at least that's what Nimr they were). He couldn't tell which one was farthest away, but he inferred it was probably the most expensive. According to the sign that bus left at twelve thirty-five.

Nimr tried his best to pronounce the name of city and laid his bundle of cash on the counter. Thankfully the man seemed to understand what he meant and gave him one paper ticket and some change. He said something else, but Nimer didn't understand.

The blue bus pulled up to the station at twelve forty-five. Besides Nimr and the two other people at the bus stop, the bus was empty. Nimr sat on one of the worn seats and leaned his head against the window as the bus pulled away.

He watched as the dusty town gave way to rocky mountains and green grass. Eventually, all he could see was rolling green hills. Under normal circumstances, he would have found it relaxing. It was so much different than Israel.

In total, the drive took about two hours. Nimr thought it was wasteful to send a bus so far for such a small number of people, but once they arrived, there were at least a dozen people waiting at the bus stop.

This town was much nicer than the one he had been in. The bus stop was right in the middle of a colorful town square with a cobblestone street and several buildings. The whole town was nestled inbetween two green hills, and he could see houses scattered in the distance.

His stomach growled. He only had one flattened bagel left, and it did not look appetizing. Without being able to read the signs, he inferred the blue building with the muffin on the sign was a bakery. He prayed he had enough change for something to eat.

The bakery smelled like fruit; sickenly sweet fruit. It was a single room painted bright yellow from wall to wall. There were four small tables and a white counter that ran along the back of the room. Behind the counter was a variety of French words written on a chalkboard.

There were two people in front of him; a woman and a young boy. While the girl behind the counter was busy filling a cup of coffee, the boy reached out and snatched two candy bars off the rack.

Nimr couldn't explain what he did next. The boy turned to run out the door, but Nimr swiftly grabbed one of his arms; not enough to hurt him, but tight enough he couldn't escape.

The girl behind the counter immediately noticed and rushed over. Nimr didn't know what she said, but it involved a loud voice and finger pointing. The boy gave her back the candy bars, and she shoved him out of the store.

Then, she turned to Nimr. She started smiling and talking in rapid French. When she paused, Nimr realized he was supposed to say something. He tried to just nod his head and shrug, but that didn't work. She reached out to touch his shoulder like she wanted him to go somewhere.

"I'm sorry, I just don't understand what you're saying," Nimr finally said in Arabic.

The girl stopped talking. Nimr started looking for a quick escape, but she smiled again.

"You speak Arabic? I speak a little too," she said.

Her pronunciation was far from perfect, and her word order was definitely not correct. Plus, she missed a verb or two. But she spoke slowly, and Nimr was able to piece together enough words to create a sentence. He'd never been so happy to hear someone speak Arabic in his entire life.

"Thanks. He's been taking stuff for months," she said.

Nimr nodded.

"Are you the person who bought the Durand house?"

"No. I just got here. I...umm...escaped a bad home situation."

Nimr figured that wasn't exactly a lie. And it's not like he could tell her the truth anyways.

"There are no hotels here," she said.

It took Nimr a few moments to realize what she said, but once he did he just nodded. In the silence he took some time to actually look at the girl in front of him. She couldn't be older than twenty with plain brown hair, green eyes, and freckles. There was nothing remarkable about her, but Nimr still wanted to throw his arms around her and hug her.

"Are you just going to sleep on the street?"

She sounded angry, but she just looked more shocked. Nimr was embarrassed to admit that she'd probably see him sleeping in front of her store later that evening. He wanted to leave.

"Well," Nimr said, "I hope you have a good day."

He tried to leave, but she grabbed his arm.

"I'm not going to let you sleep on the street, especially not after you helped me catch the thief that's been stealing my expensive candy bars."

The last part of the sentence might have involved something about potatoes, but Nimr didn't correct her.

"That's okay, I'll be fine."

The girl frowned and crossed her arms. Nimr should have just left, but the cold gaze she was giving him made him freeze in his spot. He felt that if he moved, she was going to pounce on him.

"I don't own the bakery, I'm just running it for a retired couple. I need help organizing the bills and receipts, so it's not in shambles when they return."

Nimr felt happiness building in his chest; something he hadn't felt in days. Even if he didn't have a place to live, a job was the best thing he could ask for.

"There's also a spare room upstairs. If you don't turn on the lights or use the upstairs bathroom, I'll rent it to you in exchange for working half salary."

Nimr paused. emDid she just offer me a place to live? Does she know that's what she just offered?em

He repeated every word back to her in order to make sure he hadn't misheard. He even took a pen and wrote it out on a piece of paper to double check. She just raised her eyebrows and nodded.

"Thank you," Nimr finally said, unable to control the smile on his face.

"No problem. I need someone to boss around."

Nimr laughed. "What's your name?"

"Margot. You?"

"Nimr."