(Well, here's the next chapter. Sorry it took so long, I hit rough spots;
hope they don't show. The lyrics are from Sarah McLachlan's song, "Dirty
Little Secret." The perspective in this chapter changes, but I sprung that
on ya'll before, and ya'll had no troubles. Remember, from flashback to
present. Oh, for all you easily squicked people, this is chock full of heavy
innuendo.)

Coming home always sucks, Aladdin mused as he obediently sat, trying his
best to look ashamed. The palace cushion was overstuffed and absolutely
uncomfortable, but he would bear it if it were one step closer to dear
Jasmine. The morning had been lukewarm and nerve-racking after Aladdin had
finally decided against running to Jasmine, but just to slink back to his
hovel. Now he was supposed to wait, wait until her highness was informed he
was here.
Like a pup who knew he had done wrong.
His teeth seemed to clench of their own accord. He shouldn't have to feel so
guilty. It was an innocent mistake; she knew he wasn't good with time.
But as soon as she entered the room, all his resentment melted away till all
that was left was as sleepy smile he offered to her. She smiled too, and for
a moment he was sure he had her back, until he smile vanished and she
frowned that worrying frown that only he seemed to elicit.
"Where have you been? Where were you?" Her question was tired, almost
pleading for the right answer, and her posture waned, like she was fighting
the urge to just run to him.
Please give the right answer.
His stomach twisted when he saw her in his mind, staring out at an empty
sky, waiting and waiting.
"Jasmine, I'm sorry. Really, I am. I didn't mean to, you know I wouldn't,
and I just lost track of time, and…Please forgive me?"
He cupped her hands, and he was relieved she let him.
"I do," she sighed, "but…Aladdin, what are you trying to hide?"
His expression was struck, and almost grimly, she knew she had touched
something.
She ran a hand through her hair, prying it loose from his, and gave him an
exasperated look. "I love you, but is this starting again? You know, where
you keep things from me. " She looked like she wanted to stamp her foot in
frustration." We can't do that again, the secrets almost killed us, and you
know that."
Aladdin chewed his lip, a torrent inside. He was realizing, and it
unbalanced him, that he was trying to hide Mozenrath. But why? What had he
done so wrong…
"Jasmine," he conceded, "I'll tell where I've been. I've been with
Mozenrath" He watched her jaw fall open. "But listen Jas, I don't think he's
as bad as we think, really. I spent a lot of time here, and well, I'm still
alive aren't I?" He laughed a bit, a nervous, grating sound, and looked at
Jasmine.
She frowned, her brow furrowed, yet prettily. Aladdin sighed inwardly,
everything about her was.
"Aladdin, I really don't think him not killing you is any basis for…"
She had to stop as Genie made his usual, loud entrance, Abu following with
the Sultan, as Iago had abandoned him to be with Thundra for a while.
"Hello you two crazy love-birds, glad to see you reunited!" He scooped up
Aladdin his big, blue arms and Aladdin suddenly found himself in a battle to
breathe.
"Genie, this isn't really a good time" Jasmine apologized.
Genie's smile died, and he set them down, looking at them in concern.
So Aladdin was persuaded to recount for them all his doings, comings, and
goings, like a good boy would. But somehow, the pressure knotting in his
chest trickled away, puddling at his feet for their inspection, and who
cares he didn't tell them Mozenrath's wounds were self inflicted, and who
cares he didn't specify exactly what of the sorcerer's memories he saw, and
who cares he didn't really say how well they connected. That's just privacy,
right? Nothing personal, right?
He got dizzy watching their expressions change and meld, so just looked at
the floor hopefully when he finished with his tales. He felt a small hand
petting his hair, and reached up to take Abu down, absent-mindedly returning
the favor.
"Well, my boy, you certainly never stop to surprise me." Sultan said to
break the silence that only comes with gaping and thinking.
"So, you-"
Aladdin withheld his sigh, be it of relief or boredom, as their one-sided
conversation slipped from questions, admonitions that he should look out for
his safety, to the inspection of his hands, which were befuddlingly
unremarkable for the moment, but cured by Genie nonetheless, to Sultan's
observation that Mozenrath and Aladdin being un-hostile would be beneficiary
to the city. No more attacks, that's right. And that's a good thing. Aladdin
tried to make the point that he didn't really think Mozenrath and him
weren't exactly going to be exchanging friendship bracelets any time soon.
Well, then keep trying, if you don't mind. You don't mind, do you? Of course
not, that's my boy.
So somehow, it had resulted that Jasmine wouldn't worry on his behalf if he
was gone Moze-bonding, because she could see it was a good thing, and could
somehow result in a tamer Mozenrath.
Aladdin nodded when he had to, and commented when it was necessary, but his
mind was still mulling over something he had said himself.
Mozenrath isn't really a bad person. Really.
So why would bad things happen to him? Why did he act like it?
What made that crucial change happen? Who?

"If I had the chance love
I would not hesitate
To tell you all the things I never said before"

The days were painfully slow and smooth, sliding one into the other in
Morbia.
Mama Shima walked out to the doorway, stirring in the bowl she cradled with
one arm as she went, until she stood braced, gazing out on a red and brown
dirt street, a tide of homely little settlements and squats.
"Ahhmal" she called out
There was a scramble above her head and the ladder creaked as he made his
way down to her.
"Yes Mama Shima?" he asked.
"What were you doing up there?"
"Just watchin' the stars," he answered with a smile; so hollow it hurt Mama
Shima to be offered it. She knew what he did p there every night without
fail, lay up there and think about the prince.
She sighed, and cupped Ahhmal's cheek with her warm hand.
"Ahhmal babe, maybe you should hang out with your friends, huh?"
"They miss you" she offered to persuade further.
Ahhmal ran a hand behind his head, dragging it back around to brace his lips
on it. His eyes were thinking, flitting momentarily to the ground for
answers.
"Yeah, I guess I have been neglecting them." He shoved his hands in his
pockets, giving his mother another insufficient smile.
"I guess I'll just have to find them and apologize, won't I?"
Mama Shima smiled in a sad fondness for Ahhmal.
"You're a good boy, good as any mother ever could hope to have." She said
with a flame of protectiveness and pride in her tired eyes.
"Thanks Mama, I'll be back, so don't worry!"
She watched him walk down the street a bit, and then it struck her.
"Ahhmal!" she yelled after him, "There are no stars out tonight!"
"I'm waiting for them Mama!" he called back with a wave of his hand, "I'm
waiting for them!"

"Don't tell me it's too late.
'Cause I relied on my illusion
To keep me warm at night"

His friends were loyally in the same place they'd always be in this always
sort of place. The tree's leaves quivered as to announce his arrival, and
Ahhmal could see the old tree was glinting silver on its leaves.
He braced himself, prepared to be a good boy and do all the things he was
obligated to do as such.
Hasshim embraced him warmly.
"Hey Ahhmal, come back from the dead are we?"
"Yeah, something like that."
Shasta slunk up to him while Lana said her welcomes, a baby at the
auburn-haired girl's hip, the fate of everyone these days. Shasta wrapped
her arms around his neck, and the group was surprised to see him clutch her
suddenly, inhaling deep in her hair, eyes squeezed shut.
I should have told Mozenrath I loved him. If I ever did, it wasn't good
enough. I should have told him everything, maybe then he' be here.
Shasta smoothed the hair from his face, a coy smile on her lips.
"Welcome back babe."
"Come on you two," Lana called back from under Hasshim's arm,
"We're getting some drinks."
Ahhmal followed dutifully, his gratingly wonderfully group of
friends, and Shasta's hand slipped into his, and he found himself without
the will to pull away.
I wonder, if he comes back, is it too late?
Shasta was acting like the game was already tipped in her favor, so it must
be.
The pub was warm like it always would be, a hazelnuty glow about the place,
where gruff voices and broke glass rang like melodies. Their usual bench
gaped at the loss of once, or at least for Ahhmal it did, and Shasta took
the place.
Hasshim watched Ahhmal closely, his faded expression. It tore him up to see
him hanging on so tightly, that every doubt hurt him worse and worse.
Admittedly, he liked the kid. Mozenrath was a nice kid. But, well, after all
this time, it was safe to assume he wasn't coming back, be it will or
nature. And the sooner Ahhmal realized that, the sooner he could start to
recover from whatever damage the news would do. He'd have to wait, but the
Shasta intervention disturbed him. Was she trying to help? Everyone could
see her plastered on him.
He snorted into his tankard.
Maybe she was just being friendly.
Soon the talk lulled with the lamplight, cast lazily from oil holders on the
nearly busted walls. The proprietor of the place glared at the remaining
groups, theirs one of them, from under his heavy brow. He was tired, but it
seemed like they were almost through. Hell, where there was money to be
made, make it.
Lana, cheeks flushed, leaned across the table in a secretive way, a stray
hair dangling in her eyes. She inspected Ahhmal closely, and used a
fingertip to touch the space between his eyes.
"You're going to get wrinkles there if you keep frowning."
His face was blankly defensive.
"I'm not frowning." Before any more poignant observations could be made,
Hasshim decided now was as good a time as any. "Ahhmal, C'mon" He nodded
with his head as he stood, indicating Ahhmal follow.

"And I've denied in my capacity to love
but I am willing to give up this fight"

The wind was cold, and made Ahhmal wish he were back inside, tenderly
nursing his drink, although the sky tried to apologize in its soft, velvety
black hues, tinged with blue from nowhere.
"Ahhmal, what's the matter with you man?"
"Nothings wrong"
"C'mon, you know I know you better than this. Look, if it's about
Mozenrath…"
Ahhmal's eyes flashed.
"Who?"
Hasshim was put off by the sudden decision on indifference, but it turned to
frustration. "Look, I know its hard, but its been going on a two years now,
I doubt he's coming back from wherever he was sent."
"You're lying." Ahhmal shot back defensively. "What would you know? If he
said he was coming back-"
"Ahhmal, he didn't say anything to you at all!" Hasshim yelled.
The quiet that followed between the two was painful, and Hasshim knew he had
struck deep. He hadn't mean to. Really. He sighed.
"Look man, it's killing you to stay like this." His voice took on a pleading
edge to it.
Ahhmal shoved his hands viciously deep inside his pockets, his tone now
clipped." Like I said before, I'm fine." He turned away.
"Besides, if Mozenrath isn't coming back, what do I care?"
The door swung shut after him, and Hasshim followed after a quick
exhalation, a strained one.
Yeah, if Mozenrath didn't love me enough to come back, then who said I had
to?
He swooped down energetically, gathering Shasta up. "Shasta babe, you're
looking beautiful." He planted a kiss on her, not worrying if it was false.
He didn't know how to love, and couldn't be held liable for the pleasured
spark in her eye.

"Been up all night drinking to drown my sorrows down
But nothing seems to help me since you've gone away"

Ahhmal stumbled from the bar, and listened to his friends laugh at something
one of them said. Wasn't it supposed to be funny to him too? But rare did
things seem like they should, and act like they knew too.
Ahhmal wasn't a drinking man. But something about how warm, how vague, he
felt when he left his problems to the mug, made him reconsider.
"Hey Ahhmal, why you still have the…?" Lana turned to look at him curiously,
arms tight about herself. It was colder now than it should be in the dessert
city of Morbia, so why was Ahhmal so flushed?
Was it hot?
Didn't he feel?
He smiled, and her heart melted. "No reason."
He waved to the rest of the group, who had turned to watch the exchange."
Hey, you guys go ahead, I think I left something."
Hasshim faltered a bit in his answer, but turned anyway.
"Ok man, just make sure you get back, Ok?"
"You know me, I never disappoint"
His friends watched him leave, pushing back through those swinging double
doors, and did not fail to miss his shaking head, a sign of
self-reprimanding.
The bartender looked up as Ahhmal shambled back in, a half dead man whose
eyes clearly weren't looking at the floor or the man as he made his
protests.
"Aww, C'mon Pashmir", Ahhmal coaxed in a way that made Pashmir shake his
head sadly.
He was trying to drown someone away. Oldest story in the book.
He handed him a not-so-frothing mug, and gave the kid a look that summed up
his pity for him, the boy who was valiantly holding it all back. Well, I'm
going to the back kid, so knock yourself out.
The seat had abandoned all warmth of its former occupants, and was worn like
a well-known lover, with creases and dips Ahhmal settled himself in.
And then he broke.
His body convulsed, and he held it, whatever eruption wanted from his
stomach and out his throat. He ran a hand through his hair, searching
desperately in the empty seat in front of him, for something to shimmer and
appear.
Like magic.

"I'm so tired of this town where every tongue is wagging
when every back is turned"

Shasta spun about, letting the sky swim in and out of focus, dark velvet
into dark velvet, and glitter into glitter. She stopped; letting her
overcoat hang off her loosely as she gazed down the dark street, and caught
sight of the pub she had left and was now making her way back too.
Certain people don't sleep in the city of Morbia.
As she strode briskly as the crow flies, her head swam with what she
overheard Hasshim and Lana say. Ahhmal's depressed, Ahhmal has to get out of
this funk, its not that easy, he's heartbroken…
Ahhmal had been the topic of many a conversation among the lower little
neighborhoods. It had been mysterious when the Queen of Morbia's song just
up and disappeared, the queen herself not batting an eye in the public's
point of view. Where had he gone? Why? Had she sent him away? The city was
abuzz, then fizzled out into its normal shuffled from day to day, until it
was slipped that Ahhmal had had affairs with the missing prince. A commoner?
With a prince? The focus wasn't so much on the boys having the same genders,
but that there was high talk from the neighboring kingdoms about the
scandal, a business Mirage was quickly trying to quell. She herself may have
come to talk to Ahhmal, or so it was rumored. And so he was subdued, and
quieter, stifled and so left to piddle on alone.
But Ahhmal still couldn't walk the streets without a finger pointing him
out. But hey, the city had to have something to talk about.
She put her palm flat to the pub door; a bit surprised a light still glowed
within, half expecting to be thrown out. She found her objective quickly, a
young, supposedly thriving man, with his back to her, half conflicted
between lying and sitting.
"Ahhmal?" she quested.
He moved slightly, but otherwise didn't stir. She was hurt, but quickly was
relieved when he turned. She put her hand, graceful and perfectly lacquered
in black on his back as she came to sit across from him.
"Hey Ahhmal, what are you doing here all by yourself?" she smiled, a coy
little half thing, her hair falling in her face in a moderately attractive
way.
He looked up, as if just noticing her. She was thrown for a loop by his
concentrated, suddenly quiet study of her.
"Shasta," he said, cupping her cheek with an intent delicateness, "You're
too pretty for this damn town".
She flushed prettily, rubbing his hand. She stood, offering hers.
"Lets get you out of here." He took her hand, eyes constantly thinking,
searching her for an answer even the bartender shoving on his travel coat
could tell he wasn't going to find. But he nodded approvingly as they couple
left the bar.
At least he had someone.

"They're telling secrets that should never be revealed
there's nothing to be gained from this but disaster"

The night, or early morning, or whatever you call the time when only
desperate people roam, was balmy to Shasta, that special him, his arm about
her shoulder. It might have been for support, he stumbled, and inhaling the
smell of him, alcohol and Ahhmal, they fell to the ground.
She landed atop him; her face alit within seconds.
She looked down, her body seeming to collapse into his, and noticed he was
laughing, soft and sand soaked.
He was looking at the sky with his different perspective.
"Shasta, I loved him." He whispered like a child telling a secret.
He got no response, and so continued; the pressure to keep it to himself
somehow removed, magically, a puddle at the bottom of his heart.
" I mean, yeah, I know I've never said that before. No one should believe me
if I did. But, I don't know, something was different. Allah, I actually
cared for him, more, it felt, than anyone else."
That's when he realized he wasn't talking aloud, and damning his reflexes,
he kissed back to Shasta, head spinning, wondering when they had started.
Somehow, they got to running, this mass of female and male, laughing
inaccurately, and Ahhmal's head swam and so did the stars in a big, black
blur, to some drunk, bittersweet song.
They stumbled into a room.

"Here's a good one
Did you hear about my friend
He's embarrassed to be seen now
Cause we all know his sins"

Ahhmal wondered whose room it was, but she needed again, and she was pretty,
he mused. He body, was thin.
But his was catlike.
She had no angles, perfect soft as her shirt was shucked over her head.
He was sharp. Real.
He reached for her experimentally, and she easily, giddily, was drawn in,
and melded into a routine of kiss, embraced, and move ever so slowly.
"Ahhmal, You don't know…. How much."
He kissed her tenderly.
This was the way it was supposed to be.
No mistakes.
Two perfectly compatible people.
But he couldn't help but notice the differences, heavy differences.

Aladdin's feet were heavy upon the sand, and he turned, to gaze back up at
the gleaming, winking city. Carpet hovered near, ready to ride.
So what?
He was allowed to go now?
But as corrupt as it seemed, his chest didn't have a twisting, keening blade
in it, and he was sure he did the right thing, coming clean about some
imaginary sin.
At his silent urging, he was more or less fixed now, and didn't have to
worry about that magic thing.
Genie was intrigued, but nothing had happened nonetheless.
He had been startled by Mozenrath's memories, what if, what if he had seen
his friends?
He shuddered, repressing the thought.
Had learned lately that not everything can be swept under the rug.
The wind was sickly still as he alit onto Carpet, who was more than
obliging.
He was off to see Mozenrath.

" If I had the chance love,
I would not hesitate
To tell you all the things I've never said before
Don't tell me its too late."

Shasta's hair bedded under her like a pillow, her clipped, and black nails
deep in Ahhmal's hair as he tended to each of their needs, any boundaries in
a pile on the floor, discarded to the non-existent.
She was pretty, no doubt. But Ahhmal could not help but wonder, in this warm
fog between them, between pants and whispered notes of affection, what it
would be like if he had taken this step with Mozenrath.
Would it had been different?
More special?
Would they have waited, if there were to be anything to wait for at all?
Ahhmal was protectively sure that it would be far more surreal than this
cannibal fulfillment of need.

"Cause I've relied on my illusion
To keep me warm at night
And I've denied in my capacity to love
But I am willing to give up this fight"

They moaned each other's name, but Ahhmal had to fight another's name off
his swollen lips.
Mozenrath.
Why did you leave?
I am sure, more sure than this fading security in you never coming back,
that it would have been more special than this.
Your hair would have been a black curtain against these faded pillowcases,
spread and entangled with my fingers.
Hers is a cliché curtain of blonde and false highlights.
Your skin is pale from what I had been gifted to touch, and I'm sure it
would be glowing with that blush that seems to grace your face at my
slightest whim.
Her lips are parted and far too willing.
Allah, I need someone to persuade.

"Oh I am willing to give up this fight."

But this is all should haves, could haves, and would haves.
Nothing at all.

"So willing…
To give up this fight"

Aladdin sighed, running a hand through his hair as Carpet carried him lazily
to the large black dome in the distance.
Ahhmal must have given up.
Just as he is learning to…
To this feeling of attraction.