The Small Print's Limitations

Chapter Ten

Jasmine frowned in frustration the following morning, despite the clear, summer's day around her. Quietly, she leaned against a column in the shade, just out of view of the two people sitting at the fountain's edge.

For once, the sound of her daughter's laughter, which usually brought warmth to her heart, made Jasmine want to shake Aziza to her senses.

Aladdin and Aziza sat side-by-side, their backs to her. Aladdin seemed to nearly be doubled-over, clutching something to his chest, but neither seemed bothered by his strange position, and whatever Aladdin was telling her, Aziza found it amusing.

Overly amusing, Jasmine thought, placing a finger to her lips. Only as funny as a love-sick teenager would find her crush.

She wanted to be happy for her daughter, she truly did. And if it had only been any other man, then Jasmine could've given her blessings to Aziza, quite comfortably, pleased that she had been able to be with someone out of her own accord, that she could choose who she wanted to love. For that, Jasmine would be thrilled for her daughter, and would hope that nothing could stand in her way.

Unlike herself.

Despite the love she held for her husband, it was one of the few dark horses that Jasmine held towards Jafar within their relationship, something that she never dared discuss; the other being the first few weeks of their marriage, which she couldn't remember clearly no matter how hard she tried. Just watching the pair now, she could easily visualise it to be herself and Aladdin, and couldn't help but wonder how things might've gone, if she hadn't practically proposed to Jafar (because clearly, it wouldn't have made the slightest bit of difference anyway).

In the end, it wasn't completely important – Jasmine knew that if she remained living in her past, she would just become depressed, and besides, she knew she loved the man; the time that they had been forced to spend apart had proven that to her. But it didn't stop her from wishing that the beginning had been different, though she knew it was something she couldn't change.

But she could change it for someone else.

Jasmine looked up at she heard footsteps, and spotted Aziza walking towards her, the sunlight bouncing off her smooth skin. There were no words between them as her daughter slipped into the cool palace, but she held Aziza's stare for a moment, before the princess' gaze flicked back down to the pale floor, unsure of herself, and unsure of her mother. Sighing, Jasmine pushed herself off the column and walked towards the lone figure of Aladdin, and coughed lightly.

Aladdin's gaze, which had been focused on the injured hand held against his chest, looked up as Jasmine's shadow fell across him, and he raised his other hand up to his eyes, to shield the sun from the goddess above him. "Hey," he greeted her, smiling at her despite the pain in his face.

"Hi," came her quiet reply, not meeting his smile as she took in his injuries, and sighing inwardly as she realised who had attacked him. "What happened to you?" she asked, studying the broken finger, which was slowly beginning to heal awkwardly.

Aladdin coloured, and swallowed nervously. "It was just an accident."

"What did you say to him?"

"I didn't say anything!" Aladdin heard himself snap, unable to control himself against her accusations. "Your sadist of a bastard husband attacked – "

"I don't want to hear it," she sighed in frustration, pressing an elegant hand to her face.

There was a moment of silence as both pulled themselves together, before Jasmine sighed and sat down beside him, resting her chin in her hand, studying his face quietly. "I've missed you," she finally said, her words simple and true.

He reached out to catch a length of hair that had fallen out of its low ponytail, and tucked it behind her ear. "I've missed you too, Jas," he replied in a gentler voice, not noticing that as he moved towards her, she leaned back slightly.

"I've noticed you've been spending time with Aziza."

"She's a sweet girl."

"I want you to leave her alone."

Aladdin looked at her in surprise at her blunt comment, and winced inwardly at the cold, honest glare in her eyes. "Jas, she's followed me."

"She doesn't know what she wants, she's just a teenager," Jasmine snapped, her voice higher than she hoped, and silently wished for Jafar's talent of keeping his voice under control. "She's my daughter – are you wanting to give Jafar a reason to kill you?"

Aladdin felt the blood drain out of his face at her question, and for quite a different reason than what Jasmine meant. The knowledge that Jafar was expecting him to tell her the truth had been something that lurked in the back of his mind, but to be honest with himself, he wasn't sure what was supposed to be accomplished by it – the truth would only depress Jasmine for certain; the sadist only ever had his best interests at heart. Where was the point in telling her?

Maybe it would just be easier for Jafar to tell her, he was just as fault as himself. There was no point in getting it out in the open, everyone had moved on by now.

"Besides," Jasmine continued, unaware of Aladdin's internal questions, "I can only assume you see Aziza as a replacement for me."

Aladdin looked at her in surprise, as she stood up, at her accusations. "Jas... I don't..."

"Prove it," she replied, simply, and walked away, not looking back at him.

Several silent minutes went by, leaving Aladdin sitting uncomfortably with his thoughts, until he felt an uncontrollable urge to look behind him. He tried to fight it for some time, watching the hazy red atmosphere surround him, knowing who was behind it, but eventually, it was too painful to avoid.

Turning and looking up, he spotted Jafar at his tower window, almost directly above the courtyard. The men studied each other for a moment, both of their expressions guarded against their quiet thoughts, until slowly, Aladdin shook his head.

No. I won't tell her.

Aladdin found himself holding his breath, waiting to see the sorcerer's response, waiting for the pain... only to be left confused when the red light evaporated, and Jafar walked away and out of sight.

The other women had warned her that it was easier to play dead. That if she tried and fought him, then she would physically be ten times worse, with bruises and beatings to show for it. But if she just played dead, just lay on her back and let him have his fun, then it wouldn't be so bad.

In Leila's eyes, Razoul made Jafar look like a saint.

She had been frightened by Jafar's actions, once, when he had taken Jasmine on their honeymoon. It had been torturous and at times, sickening, to watch, and Jasmine had absolutely no memory of the entire two weeks, which was most likely all in all a good thing. But she had to give him a little credit – he'd never tried to hit or beat his new wife during it; Leila doubted that such a thought would've even entered his mind. Besides, she had been his lover also, and knew that while he could be brutal, he would never hurt either one of them with the intention of just causing pure pain.

Leila had known that such men were out there. There were women who came into the After Life, for whom, death was a relief.

She just wouldn't have guessed that she might be one of them.

Being dragged down the bed by her ankles, she tried to kick out at Razoul, but he simply sneered at her, the way he had when he'd realised how young Leila was. His other two wives had offered her a small smile, a collection of five children between them, all male. But she had been soon told that he'd taken her as a new bride to replace the last one. She'd given him a daughter, and neither were breathing now.

An ill-timed kick to Razoul's stomach ended with his fist connecting with her stomach, making Leila gasp for air, tears springing to her eyes, but she stubbornly refused to let them fall. She was afraid, but she would not cry.

Jafar. He would be worth this, this would be worth it in the end, Leila thought in mental anguish as she shut her eyes tightly, trying to ignore the feeling of Razoul's large hand pushing her legs apart, the rustling sounds as he positioned himself over her, the degrading words out of his mouth and his hot breath against her face.

And it was the blinding, horrendous pain of him taking her that caused Leila to scream, and send her over the edge into a mental escape.

She found her escaping the past, into the home that she had shared with Jafar. It was, as per usual, another hot day, but the slight wind made the sheer curtains in their bedroom flutter, allowing cool air to fall on her skin.

Slowly, Leila moved towards the balcony. The sound of the peoples' protest was beginning to increase, now that the army was beginning to stop them, and she placed her hand over her growing stomach protectively. She was four months into her pregnancy now; a small miracle, considering out of the three pregnancies she had had, this was the furthest to progress. Despite never showing it, she knew Jafar was as pleased as she was, and he promised to leave the army when the baby was born – she knew she could trust his word.

Quietly, Leila wondered if he'd been even more pleased if he knew that this was the third pregnancy; he firmly believed that this was the first, having no reason to doubt it, and Leila refused to give him a reason at all.

She had lost both babies within days of finding out the good news, both times before she had had the chance to tell him she'd been pregnant in the first place, and she had been horrified at the second time – she'd wondered if something was wrong with her, and for that one, she was ecstatic that this pregnancy had managed to make it into the fourth month. The death of her two young darlings was something she'd decided to keep to herself – Leila knew she should tell him, but after awhile, time was stopping her, for too much time had passed.

No, he needn't know; she just needed to keep this baby safe.

"Come away from there!"

Leila jumped, never having heard the door open or shut, and she spun to face her husband, stalking towards her, reaching out to close the shutters on the window, an attempt to block out the citizens of the city. He glared at her in the semi-darkness, not a glare of hate, but a glare of fear.

Studying the twenty-one year old Jafar, Leila knew that if Jasmine had passed him in the streets, when he was that age, the Queen would never have recognised him. He was clean-shaven, making him actually look his age rather than several years older, and his dark eyes burned into hers from underneath his thick, wavy black hair – genetics would eventually let him down there. Dressed in the green and white uniform of the army, this Jafar was nearly another person from the Jafar that Jasmine was married to, but the personality was still similar.

"Don't go out there," he warned, his voice frustrated from finding his wife so close to the brutal action outside. "I know you always want to see what's going on, but going out in the crowd is just suicidal."

"I wasn't going to go out," she replied, staring up at his face; he'd had always been so tall.

Jafar looked at her doubtfully. "I know you," he replied, his voice quiet. "You are the very definition of curiosity."

"As long as you're with me, I'll keep us safe," Leila promised, and stepped towards him, wrapping her arms around his waist, thankful for the fact that despite her stomach, he was so thin that she could still cuddle him. "I love you," she murmured into his chest, and smiled to herself at the lack of verbal response from him, and at the feeling of his slender fingers in her hair. He would always show what he was too uncomfortable to say.

But neither could know then that he wouldn't be able to stay home the next day, or that curiosity would be so overwhelming that despite her baby, Leila would step out into the crowds anyway.

TBC

A/N: Glad you all liked the last chapter, I re-wrote the scene between Jafar and Jasmine twice and definitely pleased with how it turned out. Hope you enjoyed this one, I think it may be the darkest chapter yet.