Warning!

This time, this warning isn't about slash (though there is that). This chapter, in some parts, delves into self mutilation, or cutting. Now, if this grosses you out, please, do not be offended. But my main concern is this: I am not promoting cutting! Please, don't do it, especially not because of what I say here. I'd feel horrible, and worse yet, responsible. Thank you for your time, and this is it folks. I think, after this, I'll leave this story behind and continue it under a different title. Don't get me wrong, I'm not done, but I don't think the title "More Than Meets The Eye" applies so much anymore, and after this chapter, the story takes so many turns that you can consider this has a starting and ending. But if you all think it should remain still adding on chapters...

"And I'd give up forever to touch you
'Cause I know that you feel me somehow"

This was a wasteland, broken remains and littered dunes. Rubble, bits and pieces of once whole buildings jutted out from the sand and growing weeds like hands reaching for rescue. Those skeletal frames that did not sink below the Earth as the sands of time rushed up to bury them in history were few and lonely on the horizon, wind whistling through their creaking foundations, shuddering and sighing. There was a small amount of paving peeking up, a glimpse of white, telling of a fairly well off city that had once been able to walk on a cool surface, at least in its better parts. To the south borders of this desolate wreck, the leftovers of a proud city, a gnarled, bent tree twisted painfully this way and that, black around the edges in a physical sign of it's slow rot.

The largest landmark was a huge, black and ivory, gold and silver palace capping the tallest dune. But this, this too was subjected to the inevitability of disaster and time, and it was riddled with holes in it's roofing, gaping wounds in its sides. It stood there, exposed in its shame at the state it was reduced to.

Mozenrath lie on his back, staring up at the cloudless sky, in the middle of all this. It was as if he was in a state of mental disarray, and his body sprawled out numb and uncaring to heat or the curious scorpion skittering across his dirty pant leg.

He remembered what the carriage driver had said as he paid his tip, and got down with his sling, back once more in his old, blue and black outfit, wrinkled with disuse.

"You sure you want to get off here, buddy?"

Of course he knew the source of the kindly concerned man's skepticism. This was the unspeakable city, the site of a massive genocide and explosion many years ago. Nothing was left here but ghosts and buried corpses. This was Morbia, city of angels. After the events of that fateful day when Morbia was reduced to rubble and dead bodies, Mirage left it and rebuilt her a new kingdom, dubbing it Morbia as well, in a somewhat futile attempt to hold on to her heritage. It had to be understood Mirage was every bit the last woman of her kind, and with the pride to match. She was a dedicated woman when it came to preserving who she and her people were, and sometimes was crippled with regret for how things turned out.

Mozenrath lazily held up his skeletal, bared hand up in front of his eyes, noting that the flesh decay had carried up to his elbow by now. He knew, that to some extent, that with the gauntlet's help, he could live forever. Not perfectly, of course. The deterioration effects of the gauntlet's curse would eat away all of his skin and muscles eventually, but it would also keep him in a state of living. He would be... a skeleton sorcerer. What a life to look forward to. But what else could he do? He needed the gauntlet, without it, the untapped magical energy inside of him, the unstable potential, would consume him, rending his body to shreds. It was a very messy way to die. So, he was stuck either way.

Still, when Mozenrath was with Aladdin, he was often struck with an idea. He felt a need to take off his gauntlet and...feel the touch of Aladdin's skin without all the precautions, second guesses, and insecurities. Perhaps, to feel the warm thrum of human life beneath fingers long ravaged by a curse set upon him, to perhaps feel the understanding of a loved one running through youthful veins. It was a dangerous, flirting idea, and he knew it. He'd have to expose a very physical representation of something raw about him, a part he rarely showed to anyone. But no matter how many times he tried to instill shame in himself for his scares, the notion stayed. Aladdin wouldn't be critical or horrified, he was sure of that fact.

He sighed heavily, bringing himself back to the present with an unpleasant bump.

But what did it matter? He and Aladdin were no more. Their series of clashes, fights and offenses were just symptoms of a bigger problem, a problem that made Mozenrath sick to admit it to himself. He and Aladdin...could never work. It was definite this time, an unavoidable truth that Mozenrath had forced himself to be blinded too. He had hoped, so painfully hoped he could overcome, with his own efforts, the unlikelihood of their relationship. It was too good to be true, plain and simple. Things like a man of Aladdin's quality and kind finding it in his heart to love someone like him just didn't happen in real life. It was stupid to ever believe it could somehow be made to work, stupid and naive and Mozenrath thought he knew better. He thought somehow, after learning the hard way about the cruel truths when it came to love, that he had learned his lesson. Before Aladdin had slid into his life, he was a smarter, cooler, and more precautious man, with enough safeguards to keep his heart untouched for the rest of his life. And how Aladdin could rip those gates to his heart to pieces...

How could Aladdin just get him? It was almost surreal how Aladdin knew more about Mozenrath than Mozenrath sometimes knew about himself. Or choose to address; but that wasn't the point. Aladdin had a careful knowledge of Mozenrath and who he was, really, under all the masking and dodging. Mozenrath couldn't fool Aladdin. Perhaps, if he didn't believe it came out of care and dedicated observations, he'd be annoyed by how stubbornly committed Aladdin was to unraveling him, to getting back down to the basics. To getting him back down to the person he had left behind when life got out of his control. It often made him feel...special.

He laughed bitterly. He lost it. He left behind the one person in this world who knew that sometimes what he wanted to do and to say just didn't turn out the way he wanted. He wasn't the best romantic when it came to expressing affection. But by Allah, Aladdin interpreted it! He read all of Mozenrath's hesitant whispers, coaxed-out touches, and clumsy attempts to be useful as what they were, a feat wasted on anyone else. Anyone else would see him as cold, as antisocial. And yes, sometimes he could be, but the times he wanted to be as warm as anyone else, he just didn't do it the way most people did. He couldn't do what Jasmine could, to just sidle up, bat his eyes, and demand love. He doubted anyone had the confidence to do that with all sincerity.

But Aladdin, Aladdin got him. Mozenrath never had to explain himself to Aladdin, never had to compromise who he was to get things across. Aladdin knew Mozenrath loved him.

He paused, frowning.

Or did he? He never actually said it; why didn't he say it? He had to say it once; he had to. But the more he thought about it the more he came to realize; He never once said 'I love you'. Why? Was it that hard? He could hardly see himself sayings those three, powerful little words. They would be tangled up inside of him forever, trapped by some mixture of pride, hesitation, and fear. He never even said it to Ahhmal, not even before (Mozenrath squeezed his eyes shut hard) he died.

But then again, Aladdin had never said it to him, did he? So all in all, it was just further proof of their failures as partners in a relationship that just didn't have enough cooperation to get off the ground.

But Aladdin was real, so much more real than anything in Mozenrath's life. He was living, tangible, breathing proof that there was good left in this world, and it was closer to Mozenrath than he ever thought to believe. Aladdin was all that was dying in the age they lived in: honor, morality, innocence and compassion. It made Mozenrath want to be...somehow different.

But it was over, he thought as he let his hand fall. They both said things you couldn't possibly take back. A knot formed in Mozenrath's throat as he replayed everything in his mind. It was a bad habit, but an unavoidable one. He tortured himself sometimes with the memories of things gone wrong, and could vividly hear Aladdin's last words to him...

"Oh Fuck You "

Why couldn't Aladdin see, Aladdin who could read everything else about him, see that his concerns about Jasmine were just out of a fear, a fear about loosing Aladdin? A real fear; A realized fear.

"You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be
And I don't want to go home right now"

Mozenrath once again wondered why he came here of all places. Morbia held nothing for him, but then again, neither did his Citadel, nor Agrabah. Where could he go? He had made it impossible for himself to live just about everywhere. All that was left here, in this dead city, were painful, overwhelming memories and the whisper of what could have been. This was no place to live, but he never really thought about living here.

He felt a stab of nervous anxiety, and quelled that thought, for now at least.

What was his life now, now that he had to abandon Agrabah, beat Aladdin to the punch of delivering that final blow to his heart? Agrabah? No, he could never go back there. He didn't think he had the strength in him to face Aladdin and operate without him. In any case, he was a dead man were he to return there. Could he fight with a broken heart? He sincerely doubted it.

He idly wondered what was worse: now, or when after he killed Ahhmal...

But as void as Agrabah and Morbia were of reasons for him to be there, his Citadel, well, he just didn't think he could go back there, back to the desperate hole of unavoidable seclusion. He just didn't think he could muster the will or spirit to back to that life, not now.

Or ever, he reminded himself unenthusiastically. He once more could picture the razor he brought, old but trustworthy, with a sure edge. So far he had been careful in his cutting, missing that essential vein. But it would be easy, to rend it open, to just...bleed out, to just bleed out of existence. He shuddered. Planning to kill yourself was one thing, but it would take time to get up the nerve. There was no shame in that.

Strangely enough, he found a basically random memory filtering in. He recalled a page out of book, a book detailing religions of the world. The motive for reading it in the first place? It was after he lifted the cross necklace off that thief, just casual interest. He found that, in some denominations of Christianity, suicide was an unforgivable sin. So, he thought deprecatingly, bound in life, and bound in death. But that wasn't true! Who said he was Christian! He never...gave it effort, or time. Hell, he didn't even know where to begin.

But, he was intrigued with the Christian version of the afterlife, for the good at least. Their heaven wasn't filled with a thousand virgins, velvet cushions, and sweet meats and wine. It was gold, it was light, it was...goodness. And clichés be damned, but did he find that replicated in how he felt around Aladdin. There was nothing dark, dirty or secret, sinful or ugly when Aladdin came to play his part. He had his faults, but when it came right down to it, he genuinely wanted to do the right thing. And more amazing still? It was making an impression on who Mozenrath was as a person. He was being changed! Never before in his life, before Aladdin insistently made his way into it, he would have never let someone stop him from getting retribution, especially not someone who evoked passion from him like Jasmine did.

A Christian heaven, good, light and happiness. He knew it was naive and wishful and all of those things he should by all rights despise, but he felt that Aladdin was a little piece of that. What was it Mozenrath found out Aladdin's name meant? Ah yes, Nobility of Faith. Appropriate. His name's meaning? He doubted, no, was sure Mirage wasn't thinking about the meaning at all when she choose his name, or if she did, she had a weird sense of humor. His name was a variation on the Catalan name Montserrat, meaning jagged mountain. He felt that it was foolish to try and deny that his name was somehow appropriate as well, and so let it fall into place among all the other intricacies that proved to him he was a cataclysm of a person.

Everything in Aladdin was so damnable hopeful, delicate entwined to make a reality better than most people had to live with. And everything in Mozenrath's life was based by some means on the darker side of what life had to offer: witchcraft and sorcerery, necromancy, the dead, self-harm and drinking. Aladdin was the closest he ever got to be so safely, fully away from that. Aladdin was a respite from the difficulties in his life. Aladdin was the closest thing to...heaven he'd ever dare to experience.

"And all I can taste is this moment
And all I can breathe is your life"

Mozenrath didn't think he could stand being away from Aladdin for the rest of his life. He just couldn't, no matter how much his mind bitterly whispered that it didn't matter, what was done was done and he couldn't crawl back this time.

Aladdin had everything. Aladdin had his love, and it wasn't easy giving it to that frustrating man. He did so much to get to that point, to trust Aladdin with unguarded affection, nothing held back. He trusted Aladdin with his love, living off the hope of its reciprocation. And dammit that was enough! It was enough for him to stay there, at the edge of Aladdin's time and effort, waiting for some piece of the hero, a word, a touch, a kiss...

But no, he had realized in a big way that it wasn't good enough, it wasn't right to be good enough. He'd never be sated in that matter, waiting with a burning itch for the hero while he spent his time with the princess. It was torture, absolute torture, and it split large, bloody gashes in his heart to think someone would do that sort of thing to another. He had to bail out; he had to. It was either run to a pain he'd yet to experience, the pain of living with Aladdin, or continue on in some sick interpretation of what love should be, and be killed slowly by it.

He had cried, had cried hot, troublesome tears that sizzled in his eyes, his hands as he struggled to wrestle them back down within himself. He hated his weakness. He hated the conflict between that and the strength of his pride. The two couldn't co-exist, and his self as a whole was being compromised by it. But he had gotten to this state, the state of placid contemplation. He had stopped crying, and started walking.

Aimlessly, he had wandered away from where the carriage had dropped him off, his mind clouded with thoughts and images that were jumbled, disjointed, and yet were of all the same thing, the same troubling individual. Time passed, but the sorcerer was hardly aware of it; he could not focus on anything other than the turbulent emotions roiling around inside of him. They were too strong, and the images too enticing, and yet… and yet as he continued to walk further and further away, they had begun to lessen.

Yes… they had actually started to wane. The ache of need that suffused his entire being slowly melted into the background of his mind, as a strange feeling of cold, of numbness, pushed its way through to the forefront to take its place. It was a thick darkness, an inability to feel the pain inside, in his head that had spread down through his body into every molecule, soothing the ache, easing the tension, giving him a most welcome feeling of peace and blessed relief.

But it wasn't a pure relief; Mozenrath realized that now with his back in the sand. It was a false sanctuary, and Mozenrath realized it was akin to the feeling he got when he cut his wrists, except no physical wounds were on him. It was step to prove he was indeed dying inside, that his body knew what he needed to escape the world, and automatically provided whether he picked up that sharpened edge or not.

But he was alive at some point; he knew he was truly alive in those moments he remembered, those times when Aladdin's lips were on his own. His body set afire, his insides molten, and he crashed, burned, and built up with a grandeur he never felt before. He was reborn each time the hero languidly explored his mouth with the gentle procession of a questing tongue. His heart expanded, almost to the point of pain, but he relished that pain as pleasure. His skin crackled with electric, frantic need, and his body craved to jump into Aladdin's, to meld with selfish desire with Aladdin's own identity, and give all he could.

Aladdin had his breath, his air, each individual beat of his heart, and each progression of his mind. Aladdin had the part of Mozenrath he left behind.

He sighed, and placed a wistful hand on his heart.

Meanwhile, Aladdin was hard on Mozenrath's track, speeding with an inhuman speed via Carpet to Morbia. Aladdin did not understand why, if they were indeed on track to Morbia, he didn't recognize the route they usually took to fight Mirage, a non-physical one. But he trusted Carpet, and there was no doubt in his mind Carpet knew where he was going and why.

Aladdin ran a dry tongue over the roof of his mouth, and his hands clenched. He was falling to pieces, really, and couldn't get to Mozenrath fast enough. He once again wondered how in the world did this happen; how did he get to love a man, love a man above everything and anyone else, a man who he had so recently ago was prepared to kill? He hated him before, did he not? It was...mind-boggling.

It had not been this easy to admit his love for the sorcerer, at least not in the beginning. Now, Aladdin was readying himself for screaming his love to the sky, to stopping every man, woman and child and professing that urge to tell his heart till it was sated. He denied it when he first suspected he might be falling for Mozenrath, he denied it until every moment of every day, every iota of his energy and time was spent denying it, fighting the truth. It couldn't be, his reality could not be that easily cast aside by one frustrating, imperfect man, definitely not this one.

But something out of his control happened, and he was thrown head first into just who Mozenrath was, forced to learn that there is more than meets the eye when it comes to others and assumptions. He learned more about a person in such a shorter amount of time than he had every experienced in his entire life. He was fumbling, feeling the invader in a life not his own. Mozenrath was inexorably inviting him into his life.

And it scared him. It scared him and it alarmed him. And he made the worst mistake he could possibly make; he turned to the woman he was loosing feelings for in his hour of indecision. He remembered exactly what happened that night he slept with her, just like Mozenrath knew he would, had begged with his voice not to do. (But then again, Mozenrath had an uncanny way of knowing him better than anyone else)

It was that night; when expectantly, she had invited him up to her house. Oh, Allah… it was not what he wanted. She was not what he wanted. But he was frantic to fight that, the more the thought played in his mind. He was fighting his desires, and loosing, until he let his body take over. And he had promised himself and Mozenrath that it would not happen again. His feet, however, seemed to have a far different plan along with a few other heated parts of his anatomy, as soon as a frantic Aladdin let his body take over to block out the alarming thoughts he was having of Mozenrath, as Jasmine led him unquestioningly up the long staircase. He had shackled and locked the truth his mind had finally realized, because he was afraid of what it implied, afraid of what it whispered nastily in his ear,

What are you doing here, Aladdin? You love Mozenrath, don't you?

He gave his body control to stifle it, in a display of his own cowardice. Aladdin fervently welcomed the her touch, her eager lips, feasting desperately upon her mouth and throat, licking and sucking, attempting to horde the taste and scent of something that, frustratingly, was not there. That chafing fact only made Aladdin more frenzied in his need, and he set himself to pleasing Jasmine in a way he had never dared, to using her as a vessel for his darker, more carnal desires.

He would sweat that stupid, beautiful bastard right out of his system.

And he failed.

"Cause sooner or later it's over
I just don't want to miss you tonight"

In Morbia, Mozenrath was just beginning to scratch the surface on how utterly useless his gauntlet was. His magic was his unanimated passion, his hobby, his pursuit. It was his oldest way to prove himself; the first way he occupied and made himself proud. But...what was it when it hardened his heart and killed the ones he loved? What was it when it made those he sought to forge relationships with not trust him? It was a gifted ability, and a curse.

He'd die without the gauntlet and suffer a horrible future of pain and disfigurement with it. But what was the flesh being eaten entirely from his bones than living a life knowing how he and Aladdin ended?

His throat tightened, and he sat up, drawing his knees slowly up to his chest. The numbness he was granted when he arrived here at Morbia off that carriage was being stolen from him, and he felt the raw, throbbing hurt once more, and if could, would run from it. He felt the wild despair as he realized that if he didn't end his own life, he would spend tonight, and many nights after it, without Aladdin.

His laugh was a sob, and his sob a laugh when he remembered the manner Aladdin slept in, the same manner that made him endear to Aladdin so much. Aladdin slept, in all honesty, like a thirteen year old. He was curled into himself, whether on his side, or sleeping sitting up, head bowed, breaths soft. He looked...so heartbreakingly young when he slept. Mozenrath sobered when he realized the way Aladdin slept was a reflection of his childhood, the hardships and poverty. How many nights did a younger Aladdin half to spend in a position ready to defend himself, or most likely, flee? It was a protective measure; that much Mozenrath was sure of.

But while the technical manner in which Aladdin slept spoke of trials, his...behavior and facial expressions were a glimpse into what Aladdin could have been if he was allowed to live out his childhood. He looked innocent, expressions softened and relaxed, intent on the varied dreams inside. Mozenrath was almost alarmed to note how vulnerable, how innocent and easily harmed Aladdin seemed when he slept unaware of the world and malice around him. When he was Aladdin's enemy, when he was just one of the many aggressors who sought to enact revenge on Aladdin, how easy would it have been for them to pick that time to act out violently? How simple would it have been to slay Aladdin as he slept?

Mozenrath would stay up, guarding, until he felt the world was safe for Aladdin to sleep on.

And he would never, never feel that special, that needed and protective. He could not care for Aladdin any longer, not when Aladdin resented that fact in particular as he so loudly gave off.

The notion twisted and thrashed in his chest, and Mozenrath bit his lip. He could not spend tonight without Aladdin's warmth and presence so close by. The world was too big, too empty.

Aladdin felt urgency in him as the sky lost its vim and vigor light wise. He had to get to Mozenrath before night, he had to intercept that great curtain he felt time's passing was becoming. Everything was too on the verge of being final. If he did not locate Mozenrath before morning, it would be too late, no matter how dramatic it sounded.

"And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am"

Mozenrath felt this was surreal, in all need it had to be. He couldn't be here; he couldn't be trapped in a situation so long out of his control.

Aladdin, why? Why when he did everything he could to keep you around? He did all he could, and although he had regrets, that fact remained. He could not overcome who he was. He knew it made him an outcast of sorts, different from the normal tendencies of everyone else. He did things different, and no matter how much he wanted to escape that, he could not be anything else. He tried time and time again to mimic, desperately, who others were. He knew it wasn't right to be this...conflicted, this...torn. He wasn't a whole person, he was all the makings of a person...mangled and shoved into a flimsy mold. He was unstable, and was all too aware of it. And somehow, when he looked from a stranger's face to the next, knew that it was clear to everyone else he didn't belong.

This was the inescapable law that everything Mozenrath tried failed. He tried to do it all, be happy when his heart felt otherwise, love when he felt anger at the way things had to be, but it was an effort in vain. But perhaps this was the nature of the world, failure, and mockery at fragile attempts to fly. This was the ugly world Mozenrath had so long ago noted and accepted and tried to convey so he would not be alone in knowing it. Everything was made to ruin; everything was made to be broken.

But why couldn't Aladdin understand? Mozenrath knew, and would continue to know him like nobody else. They had so much in common history wise. They both knew what it was like to grow up too fast, and to live without your fair share, whether it was food or dignity, they both suffered. They both knew what it was like to turn to blaming the world for your misfortunes, and trying to make it as black and white as aggressors and victims, a sense of overblown morality. And they both were familiar with turning to a false sense of strength, a hardened shell, to maintain who they were.

He'd give anything to let Aladdin know that, for the last time.

"And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming
Or the moment of truth in your lies"

It was windy out on her balcony, and the curtain heavy in Jasmine's fingertips as she pushed it back, the separation from the balcony and her room, so closed off for hours as Genie related everything to her. Perhaps in time, she would feel sympathy for Genie. It was obvious that every word for the dinjn was a battle and struggle to get up, caught up in fear, sadness, uncertainty, and yes, even pity. The pity aspect would hurt her for months to follow. Genie had sat her down and told a long, revealing account of just where Aladdin would be for the rest of their lives.

She had been, in her own time, searching the palace, though not without any large amount of panic. Granted, she had woke up to find Aladdin not occupying that space in the sheets beside her, but it didn't worry her as much as it would have done in the past. She had been convinced that all of her efforts, the talk that they had, her reassuring and pleading, logic and love, and finally, her physicality had been enough to ensure Aladdin would be there by her side forever this time. She had triumphed; she had overcome, and so went back to a contented slept-in morning, assured Aladdin had just gone to the bathroom, or for an early breakfast, and would come up to see to her later.

And now she knew she was as wrong as she possibly could be; something had occurred out on the palace walls that she still desperately thought, somewhere small inside, she could have averted. Aladdin had come to a conclusion without here, and without ceremony or goodbye, was out of her life and love. Genie had told her all, Aladdin's feeling about her and Mozenrath. She knew about his indecision and insecurities, and got a much larger look than she ever imagined into the nature of Mozenrath when Genie revealed what Aladdin revealed to he and Iago. She was told of Mozenrath's past, of Ahhmal, of Destane, or horror and sadness. It whirled in her head, even now that the storm was over, and she somehow doubted she would ever fully understand. But one thing was clear, she was certain that she had Mozenrath pegged as a sort of person, and was wrong as well as misinformed.

And she saw, as unwilling as she was, the depth and layering in Aladdin and Mozenrath's love for one another. Still, the pain was there, a sliver of wrenching discomfort twisting in her heart, under all of the guises and facades of strength. This wasn't real; it couldn't be. All of this unexpected twists and turns hit her like marble wall, and she was winded and still confused. How could all of this happen? How could she have not of known? One of her more immature emotions, (but there just the same), was of jealousy. It seemed to her everyone was involved in something big, an adventure in superiority and knowing, and she was left out all along. But would she have wanted to know; wanted to be let in?

She experienced more changes of the heart and passion those hours inside her room with Genie than she had ever experienced since her mother died. She had felt rage, disbelief, hurt, and sadness, great, great sadness. She felt rejected, lost, scorned and cast aside. She felt the aggressor and the victim, and felt concern and bitter apathy. She denied, refused, railed and wailed, quested and fought, and finally cried. She cried for a long time, hard and sincere. Aladdin was gone, he had literally chose Mozenrath over her, that she had lost her first love to someone else.

She held her head in a moment of desperation, clutching her hair. She didn't want to think about it! She didn't want that unpleasant overflow of doubts and thoughts in her head, making her long for peace, simplicity, and most of all, to be content. What was she supposed to do now?

But as disturbing as it was, she found some reason slipping into her grief, and it killed her inside, because it was like the final brick on a dead wound. All along, and in the most sacred parts of her heart, Jasmine knew she wanted a life of peace, of the stability and security that makes a family, one she always held in high regard. This was what left a gaping, suppurating hole in her childhood, a hole that left her sometimes feeling a bit undone, somehow behind everyone else in life. She pushed it back, yes, so much more fortified with the hope of starting her own family with Aladdin.

But why had she fooled herself? Why get herself in this deep? She had always known Aladdin could not provide stability, somewhere small inside of her. He attracted difficulties, problems, and confrontations. For instance, no one was saying he did not do a good job of protecting this city in a most admirable fashion, but it was also fair to point out that many more enemies were brought in by him as well, unconscious as that action may be. And somehow, she doubted he really would have his life any less active or dangerous to the both of them than it was now. He thrived off of confrontations, excitement, and the challenges instability itself brought. She just couldn't picture it any other way.

He couldn't provide her with what she basely needed, and that was a problem she guessed he realized recently, for their collaborative good.

She sighed, in a world-weary sort of way, the immediate, crippling sadness fading, if only for a moment. From what Aladdin had told her about his own early years, and what she saw with Cassim, she had a nagging feeling that the Ali Baba men (it took a sufficient amount of prodding and searching to find for Aladdin his last name) always had problems being rooted; it was contrary to their nature, and a fight to maintain.

Any lasting wistful to follow Aladdin, to throw her life away here and somehow, somehow bring him back to her, as fruitless as the idea may be, were quashed by responsibility. The public knew, and so she knew...

Jasmine had to stay in Agrabah. Bless her father, and though she did love him, but he was a representation of how people ruled in the older days, and it just wasn't the older days any longer. Things were changing. And she knew, as much as her modesty fought with it vainly, that she would be everything her mother and father hoped for her to be, what her people invested in. She would be a better, smarter, more effective and powerful ruler than her father ever could be.

A surprisingly warm, full wind, spicy, caring it the scent of things far off and foreign, curled up from the sands to brush across her gently, drying already dry tears. It was the wind of change.

She held her hands up to her face, feeling herself shake as something solid formed inside of her, something big for her body, but just right in a way too. Was she still breathing? Could she really do this?

"When everything feels like the movies
Yeah you bleed just to know you're alive"

They were getting closer, they had to be, Aladdin thought urgently, but as strong as his intent was, his arms still shook with a weariness seeping from his bones and mind. All of this, all of this drama, this exercise in his patience and love and fortitude of the heart was exhausting him slowly. A man can only give so much, but then again, he thought to himself, so can a woman.

He was back to Jasmine again, reaching out without the burden of a physical being, and felt her there, back in Agrabah. Life there was...perfect. It was almost perfect to a fault. He would have grown soft there, unaware, and a part of him would have died, a part he just wasn't read to let go of.

And so it was enough for him, this total opposite of what he lived with in Jasmine's case. In a strange way, it served him a fulfilling purpose. It's what he ran on.

Mozenrath and everything about and with him compiled what his life was to be.

Mozenrath himself was holding up his wrist to his eyes, and viewed with some satisfaction the scars from his self-mutilation remained. They were pale, pink, and small, but still they were reminders that what he did to himself would always linger in some way. He touched them, a felt softer skin there, noting with morbid interest that there was only this, a thin veil of flimsy flesh between him and the veins of lifeblood. It was like he who crafted the human body in the first place did not give this little bit of information much thought, like he or she failed to realize how delicate the human body is at it's most crucial parts.

He shuddered and took his fingertips away from his skin.

It was just so...easy to do it. Take a meticulously sharp edge, a razor, a knife's glittering side and press. It wouldn't be immediate, at least not for him. The incision that drew blood would come after other things, like pressing gently and feeling the sharp bite of the first pain, withdrawing, breathing out, and doing it all over again. But the goal was to draw blood. That, for Mozenrath, was when all the tension in his chest and heart was let out, and he would sit back, dizzy even, and watch lazy dribbles of red slide down his arm. That was how he flung himself out of the crypt his life was. He...released.

And in more ways than one, it helped to keep him grounded and escape all at the same time. The pain, the cycle of clotting, scabbing and scarring, reminded him he was indeed alive and human and, and...there.

But...did he need to do it anymore? Aladdin, well Aladdin made him feel alive in a lot cleaner way than his cutting did. Cutting produced a false, dirty sense of vitality, like looking in the reflection of a reflection, straining through layers of grime and rust and mistruths. But then again, it had to be understood it was all he could manage for himself, and so he did the best he could, at least in his mind. But Aladdin, Aladdin was a ready source of vitality, vitality he readily gave.

"And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am"

Aladdin felt shame in him, felt an immense shame and sense of offense for what he had done to those he cared about around him? He sat, oblivious to the throw of sand and grit as Carpet skimmed lower over the dunes, concentrating only on the backwash of emotion building in him like an overflowing well, pushing at the back of his throat and eyes.

Firstly, he felt shame for what he knew he did to Jasmine. No matter his intent, he had to have hurt her. But how the hell did it get like this? Why weren't they capable to see the signs that they seemed to overlook, to stop it from getting this personal? But everything had a purpose, in Aladdin's eyes, and one day, this purpose would come to fruition. But someday, somehow, he had to make it up to Jasmine, he promised her and himself. He couldn't do it now, and probably not soon, but he would.

Could Mozenrath forgive him? Could he understand Aladdin never meant to screw up this bad? Mozenrath had to forgive; he'd just die if he didn't.

" Mozenrath, no one knows you like I do." Aladdin said softly, falling back on Carpet with his fingers in his hair, " And even I don't know if you'll be able to forgive me."

It was getting darker, it was getting later, but all of Aladdin's faith was in Carpet's speed and knowledge, and all of his love, well, it rested vulnerable in Mozenrath's discretion. He himself would combust if he couldn't be free to give it to the sorcerer. It was too big for his body, this overwhelming emotion, it pushed at his skin needily, but it was such a good pain, and only if you've ever been in love could you understand that.

His throat got caught up when he tried to swallow. This was it, then, wasn't it? He was in love with Mozenrath, and this time, he had to say it. There was no turning back; he was in this deep. Did he regret it?

No, he decided. It just scared him. It scared him to what extent he realized he loved Mozenrath; it scared him how much he was willing to give up; how much he gave up. But most of all, it scared him to know how much he was risking. And not just putting his heart on the line.

What would the world do with the pair of them, he and Mozenrath? He knew, in some way, they would never really be accepted the way that would make Aladdin feel comfortable. Their sexuality, their love, set them apart and put targets on their backs. The world just didn't understand...

.Aladdin didn't see Mozenrath as a male, and while he recognized the level of physical attraction he held for the sorcerer, it just wasn't high on his list for reasons for loving Mozenrath. He saw through gender. It just wasn't import to him, with Mozenrath or Jasmine, though Aladdin reminded himself with a bit of a giddy thrill, it might soon become important.

He shook his head and forced himself to become serious once more, at the task ahead as queer ruins came into focus in the horizon, as his nerves sped and his hands sweat and the sun fell.

Mozenrath had to understand this is the real Aladdin, and forgive all of his confusion on that matter.

"And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am"

Mozenrath could more feel the sun start to fall and night creep in than see it, though it was obviously coloring the sky above him as he had once again fallen on his back, lacking the will to do otherwise. He watched the sky slide lazily from one plethora of colors to another, pinks, blues, grays and oranges. From these dunes, with no candles and buildings to mar the horizon, it was easy to get a breathtaking view. Except for Mozenrath...well it left him cold.

It had transgressed that now; the instrument he might perhaps take his own life with was sitting on his chest. It wasn't doing anything, just sitting there. Somehow, getting it that close was overcoming an obstacle in of itself, and so the more the ice flowed in him for he knew he was that much more accepting of suicide. It scared him, but it was a relief to, to know he was going to get somewhere soon.

He was feeling...warm now. It was strange, he noticed numbly, because the desert nights were polar opposites of desert days. It was if the day felt remorse for its totalitarianism, the scars and troubles it left in its over exuberance to heat the world, and so, in attempt to soothe, overcompensated in it's cold winds and storms. In any case, Mozenrath should, by all rights, should be feeling the cold. His clothes, the older, more tired clothes of blue, black and gold were sorry excuses of rags. It's just that, where was the motivation?

And the warmness spread... It was luke-warm actually, foreign and alien, and at first, he felt panic in him and tried to cast it out from his body, this unfeeling touch. But it passed, and if it was possible, he was more numb and unfeeling than ever before. There was just the warmth. He sat back, closed his eyes, and let it take him where it pleased. He felt...lifted. His breathing body was left behind, and suddenly he knew that this was how his mind gave in, it's way of telling him it had gave up the fight.

But he also knew something else. It occurred to him (and he gasped, momentarily slamming back into his body, if only for an instance) that what happened to Morbia, the deaths, the city, its legend, Destane and Ahhmal, it...

Wasn't his fault. It just wasn't. Good Lord he could admit it! His powers, they were bound to come out sooner or later, and from the blocking, the stress, the pain and the emotional bomb of finding out the man he loved, the man he trusted betrayed him, cheated on him even. He had to endure everything! He was the vessel abuse and injustice was poured into without any holding back, and so, who was to say that it would not spill over?

If he had been there, there in the foothold of his body and emotional being, he would have been so unbelievably relieved. However, this weight lifted, this chunk of how grief had shaped who he was as a man, only served to make him even more weightless, and he drifted out a rapidly closing window of return...

"And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am"

Could he see himself kneel, rising only to calmly, expertly handle the knife? No, probably not, and feeling the sand beneath his knees and the cold steel in his palm was beyond him as well. All he could feel was surrender, and to know that no matter how many deeds were struck from his liable record, the fact remained he was still

Alone.

"Mozenrath!"

Then things began to happen very fast. There was the knife, toying at an efficient angle, dipping into cloth and flesh, ripping cloth, and biting skin. The yells of someone, someone dropping down from the sky was out of his reach of acknowledgement, and he pushed just. A. Little. More. A strangled gasp ripped from his throat. A body hurtled into his, and he felt himself fall back with force this time into the sand. That same body was clamoring on his, wrestling and struggling to tear the knife away from his cold hands, shouting, always shouting. And then the knife was gone, that much he knew.

"Mozenrath!"

And suddenly he wanted to come back; he wanted to venture back into life. There was something there, there above his body that he so desperately wanted to get back to, and damned if it did not matter that he didn't know what it was then. He fought to return, and it was like trying to escape the woolen hands of leaden depths, of the coldest, deepest waters. Just when he would reach the surface, he would slip yet again back down, but the voice kept him going, kept him trying.

"Mozenrath, please!"

He jerked, waking like a man from the dead, breathing sharply and hard too. He half rose off the sound, eyes wide and suddenly he could feel everything at once. He could feel the coolness of the sand, the gentle touch of the desert's breezes, and pain, hot pain in his chest, but a hand there too.

He looked up, wide eyed and not understanding, into Aladdin's face, and was shocked to find it streaked with tears, a river down his cheeks from each eye, and such desperation in his eyes. Aladdin hand was on his chest, and blood seeped from between his dirty fingers. He was over Mozenrath, and his other hand was occupied frantically cupping Mozenrath's face at it's side, thumb rubbing over and over again on Mozenrath's cheek.

When Mozenrath's startled eyes swiveled to Aladdin's and when he met them with full consciousness, it seemed as if Aladdin just broke down. Something like a sob and a sigh tore from Aladdin's throat, and words came from him like a mantra as he pulled Mozenrath to him, pressing fast kisses on his forehead and face, pressing his cheek to Mozenrath's, but still holding his hand firmly on Mozenrath's self inflicted chest wound, just one more layer of skin away from fatal.

" Oh I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry. Oh God. Please, please don't do that again. It's all my fault. I'm so sorry Mozenrath, I'm sorry."

Mozenrath reached up shaky fingers to touch Aladdin's arm muscle, and watched as nerves still frantically danced beneath the skin.

"What are you doing here?"

His voice, it sounded strange to him. He was a man back from the dead, or just as good as one, and he was still so very behind what had apparently happened.

Aladdin looked at him strangely, as if he couldn't believe the need to ask such a question. He tugged hard with the grip he still had on Mozenrath's face, and kissed him determinedly, and Mozenrath's breath was stolen.

"What do you mean? I came to find you, Mozenrath. My God, Mozenrath, why were you doing something like that to yourself? Allah, if I hadn't had been there, what would you have done?"

He spoke like a broken and fixed man, built on an unsteady foundation that was shaking in the breeze, but fortifying all the same at a pace too fast for comfort.

But Mozenrath...This couldn't be true, could it? He still wasn't satisfied.

"But we're through, aren't we? You said- I said-" he stumbled through his words, as if sheets of slate were slipping faster and faster still from beneath him.

Aladdin shook his head, and his hand reached back to rake Mozenrath's hair out of his eyes, keeping a close, constant, and yet nervous touch on the sorcerer. If Aladdin had been able to think about it then, he would have known it was an instinctual need to never let Mozenrath out of his sight again.

"I just want you to know who I am"

Aladdin took a deep breath, and started by pushing back on Mozenrath's stomach gentle, and so, in that manner, Mozenrath was persuaded to prop himself up on his arms. Aladdin reached down on his own self, and brought out a water canteen and loosened his belt. He removed it and tore away the rest of Mozenrath's shirt. Mozenrath winced, and dizzily saw just what he had done. His skin around a wound right below his left pectoral muscle was disguised in a curtain of sticky, dark blood, the skin around the immediate wound jagged and torn. He bit his lip and breathed in as Aladdin bathed it with the water from the canteen, still cold, then started to wind his own belt around Mozenrath's torso. It hurt, Mozenrath could admit that, and his head fell back and his eyes watered, but it stopped the bleeding for then.

Aladdin looked up at him at a small sound Mozenrath made, in clear distress, as if perhaps snatching Mozenrath to him yet again. It was put aside, however in his eyes Mozenrath could see, and he decided instead to speak, to speak with more earnest intent than he ever managed before.

" Mozenrath, what I did, it was wrong. I never should have said those things to you." his face twisted in self-hate for a moment, and his fists clenched and shook. " I was so stupid!"

He composed himself, and continued.

" Please forgive me. I don't know if you can, but please, please forgive me. I want to put it behind us, okay?" he gave Mozenrath a weak, though valiant smile, but he could see the fragility there too, balanced precariously on Mozenrath. " I promise I'll never make those mistakes again. I was so very wrong toying with your emotions and making you wait for me to make a decision that I never should have had to make. If I could go back, I'd change it. You have to believe me I never meant to hurt you. I regret every one of our confrontations, because they just didn't have to happen."

Mozenrath watched him speak, heard him speak, felt his words as they rushed were false warmth and cold once been in his body, filling everything with an unsure, but growing joy. Was he breathing; he couldn't tell.

Aladdin continued, and his eyes shook with the so great impact of what it was for him to finally say this, to say it to him.

"I just want you to know who I am"

Aladdin laughed a little.

"You're everything to me, Mozenrath. I want nothing more than to be with you. My only regret is not seeing it sooner. I see it now. If I can't give you my heart, and can not share in your life and love, I swear I'll just die right here."

His body shook a little, as if his body's way of saying he indeed meant what he said.

" This is it Mozenrath; no more secrets. We've come too far to just let it die. What you did here tonight, how you left and how I know you hurt..."

His throat bobbed painfully thick, and he looked down, bangs momentarily hiding momentarily the once again welling in his eyes. His words, which had flowed so freely before, now fought through every emotional instinct Aladdin had to get free.

" Well I know I just can't treat you the way I was treating you before; it's clear to me now I've got to start living as the man I want to be for you; I've got be myself; for you was well as me. You have everything from me now Mozenrath, my hope and love that you can forgive me and let me mend my mistakes."

And then Mozenrath was sure he wasn't breathing. His lips were dry and he agitatedly re-wet them with his tongue. His breath was shallow and came in little gasps. He didn't believe, but he had to hear it; he had to live in this higher-than-reality. Now was the time to invest everything, leave common sense and doubt behind and dive right in to the trust and affection and partnership.

"What do you mean? Jasmine..?"

Aladdin laughed again, shaking his head once more like a man unhinged, but then again that's what love does for you.

"Mozenrath, I left Jasmine. I left Agrabah. It's all behind me; It's behind us. I left her for you. I left everything for you. I've nothing now, Mozenrath, except you, and God! that's enough for me. I love you."

And instantly he knew he was addicted to saying those three powerful little words he had never said before. He had said it! That what was missing; that was the thing unsaid! He knew he'd never get tired of saying it, and each time it would reverberate more through the both of them.

" I love you. I love you. I love you, Mozenrath, I love you."

Tears spilled openly now, the well re-opened, but Aladdin was a man in love and so, unabashed. He wept freely, the shock of almost seeing his lover die because of him culminating so that his body shook and he laughed as well. He clasped Mozenrath too him, and somehow in his frenzy his concern let him avoid further bothering Mozenrath's wound, and buried his face in his hair.

He had never felt so raw before in his entire life.

"I just want you to know who I am"

At first, they were hesitant movements, but Mozenrath's unsure touches on his back and arms soon turned into things of need, and he held Aladdin, pulled him onto him, held on to everything and anything that would get him closer. Nothing was enough; and yet it was all enough at the same time. This was the contradiction his wonderful life to come would be as.

And he whispered. He whispered frantically, fully, openly, lovingly and tenderly, growing stronger and blooming the more he repeated it so Aladdin could hear, and the words, saying them, was food, water, breath and blood to Mozenrath. He felt joy with each repetition.

" I love you Aladdin, I love you. I love you; I'll love you a million times more, I love you."

What was the past now, in comparison to this? What was their life before, with its troubles and cares, when competing with the feeding of each other's fires as in this? There was nothing but road behind them now, and while it had served its purpose in bringing them where they were now, it was to be left in the dust as they trekked out to prove to each other the mountain of love and greatness they had in each other's hearts. The obstacles to come would be in living the fairy tale, and in letting it die to something more fulfilling. They would find their way, for no two hearts had grown more stronger in their fight for each other.

Aladdin covered Mozenrath's mouth with his own, and a sob filled the both of them, unsure of who it had came from but it was a needless worry all the same.

"And I'd give up forever to touch you..."