A/N: Thank you saramagician, jadey, weaselle, manxcatmom, calmingbreeze, LadyKate, and everyone else who has reviewed and who is following this story despite it's unforgivably late updates. Your feedback means a lot to me.

Bound Home

Chapter 12

You who have come from my old country,
Tell me what has happened there ! -
Was the plum, when you passed my silken window,
Opening its first cold blossom?

-Wang Wei, Lines

"I do not know how to thank you."

Aalim waves a hand. "Think on it no more. I am only happy to help."

Guy, bewildered with gratitude, humbled by it, shakes his head. "You must let me repay your kindness. Had you not offered me the work, I would have been in sore straits indeed."

"You were already in sore straits, my friend." Aalim pours them both another round of tea. "I have no doubt that you will find a way to do some good for me. I can see it in your eyes. You are a man of determination."

"Some would call it stubbornness," he replies. Steam curls into the air from his cup. He stares at the drifting vapor and adds, "Or pride."

Aalim shrugs, and takes a long sip of tea. Guy follows suit, deciding it best to drop the subject, knowing that he will indeed do what honor demands of him. Once he has started work and is able to provide for himself, he will think of some way to show his friend how much his generosity means.

The inside of Aalim's house is pleasantly warm, despite the cold spring wind that blows, and for a long stretch of time the two men sit in silence, enjoying the fresh morning air and their black tea. But Guy eventually, reluctantly, abandons his reverie and leans forward. Something has been tugging lately at the back of his mind. He breaks the peaceful quiet with a question. "Do you happen to know a physician named Saffiya?"

Aalim nods. "Of course. She is the only woman in the city who actively treats patients. She is working under the guidance of a particularly knowledgeable physician named Kalid. Why do you ask?"

"I...came across her a few months ago. She helped save my life, as it turns out."

"Oh?"

He instantly regrets bringing up the matter – Aalim is now glowing with curiosity. He shifts in his seat, and says, "I got lost in the desert a few miles outside the city. It was in the middle of winter. I don't remember much of what happened, but somebody must have found me and carried me to her house."

"You do not know who brought you in from the desert?"

He lowers his gaze and grimaces. "No, and I have not tried to find out. How would I face such a man? I was in a pitiful state."

Aalim takes in a long, deep breath through his nose, and pins him with a dark stare. "You were drunk."

Guy glances down, instinctively trying to distance himself from the topic. "...Perhaps. Yes."

"And you...what, passed out, miles from home? I am not surprised you are ashamed. It is not, however, an excuse to avoid your obligation. Someone out there saved your life. You owe him your thanks."

It is exactly what he expected to hear. He had known ever since Saffiyah had come to his rooms, full of questions and something almost like desperation, that he would have to go to her again. The thought of it fills him with anxiety, as if he is going to face a priest rather than a physician.

Do you go to her often?

He pulls away from the memory of her tears and sharp words, and finds Aalim has been staring at him, obviously wondering where Guy's mind has wandered. "You're right," he says quickly. "I will go to her, and ask her to help me find the man who rescued me."

Aalim nods approvingly. No more is said about Saffiya or about a winter night's madness in the desert wasteland. Aalim knows when to press, and when to simply sit quietly and enjoy his morning tea.

Guy spends the next hour at his friend's table, thinking back on Saffiyah, and when it is time for him to depart, he leaves Aalim's home having reached the conclusion that there is something besides gratitude that is owed to her.

It is almost with relief that she greets him. She has been arguing with herself these three weeks, wondering if she is in her right mind to want to speak with Gisborne. But she is still burning with curiosity - and he is still in Acre.

He comes in through the side door, the entrance that leads directly to her examination room; his gaze immediately lands on the bed where he was brought back to consciousness some three months ago. She is not nervous. She is no longer wary. If he wanted to hurt her, he would have taken the other opportunities he's had. So she pulls out her desk chair for him, and he hesitates, but lowers himself into it. She leans against the bed, crosses her arms. She is almost ashamed of what she said to him the last time they spoke, and her stomach twists at the possibility that he has somehow found out about Will - that she, in a fit of anger, threw him the key to her innermost self and now this nightmare of a man will unlock those secrets; that he knows of her loss, and he will sneer at it as though it is nothing.

But when Gisborne speaks, it is not of her husband, and his words force her back into the reality that this is not the past, and he is not the man she remembers.

"When I was brought in..." He clears his throat, shifts in his seat - the very picture of discomfort. He mutters, "Can you tell me who found me? I was hoping I could reach this person, to thank him."

Surprised by the question, it takes her a moment to find her voice. "It was two men, actually. One of them is a soldier by the name of Jacques D'arcy. You will find him in the French enclave. I do not the know the name of the other man, but I am sure D'arcy will tell you."

"Thank you."

He lowers his gaze, and does not move to leave. She stares at the top of his head, bewildered. "Is that all you came for?"

He takes a breath, and then holds it, contemplating, struggling. She waits. After a moment, he blows out the breath, looks her in the eye, and says with soft determination, "I do not know how to explain myself to you. I have such stories as you would not believe." He shocks her with a smile – it is one sad, short lift of one side of his mouth – and then he throws his hands up in a gesture of defeat. "I will tell you, though, if you will listen."

She frowns. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you told me something of yourself the last time we met, and I was not...I wasn't kind. I mean to do better, if I may."

There is nothing he could have said that would have been more bewildering. She shakes her head, trying to make sense of this stranger sitting across from her, but she cannot comprehend him. At a complete loss, she answers him. "Speak, then."

He licks his lips and nods. "Very well. You asked about Nottingham. Well, I have some interesting news..."