[Abu Simbel] You were wild where are you now? (Mulder)

Pop

Zi appeared in a lightweight black frock coat, silently cursing himself for not being able to apparate quieter. Still, hopefully no one had heard - he had chosen the spot to arrive in on his visit to the museum earlier that day in the hopes that some of the carpets and soft furnishings would absorb the sound.

The potioneer was in Abu Simbel to meet a contact and retrieve some background information about a high profile pureblood with ties to some Sudanese family or other. While here he'd also picked up some ingredients that only grew on the banks of Lake Nasser the finest of which always made their way to the coffers of Egyptian alchemists and only dregs reached Europe. Trying to make the most of his trip, he had decided to take in some of the sights by visiting the local temples and museums too. The ancient Egyptians and Nubians had been some very skilled magic users and whilst scholars had studied the remains of their buildings extensively, Zi liked to think that seeing things with his own eyes might give him an unique insight and reveal some ancient and hitherto lost magic.  Unfortunately even if his grandiose sense of self worth might have been proved right forty years earlier, the muggle relocation of the temples had obscured too many of the carvings and wards for him to be able to unpick them in the small about of time he'd had in Egypt.

The gallery and museum that he'd visited though - that was more worthwhile.  While he hadn't made any profound discoveries on his visit earlier in the day, he'd spotted a couple of pieces that he just simply had to have. There was a spectacular sarcophagus some markings on which suggested it was cursed. Exactly how he would have to work out once he had appropriated it, but the symbols made it clear that the curse focused inside the box so it was safe to touch. Additionally there was a fresco that Morrison would love, so that had to come home with him too. All he had to do was get them out of the museum and to a safe place and he could organise for haulage once he was safely back home.

And so now he was busying himself with various potions and enchantments to overcome the (rather pitiful) muggle security measures. Before arriving he'd taken a draught that rendered him invisible to the security cameras (though despite his best efforts, he still had not managed to come up with one that would extend this effect to any people that might be loitering about) and now he downed a small a vial that allowed him to see where any laser detectors were around the sarcophagus.

There were more than he had expected, and it was going to be fiddly work getting through them. So he removed his jacket, collar and cravat lest they flapped about and triggered the alarm. These were folded carefully over a chair (it wouldn't do for them to be creased now, would it?) and disillusioned, leaving Zi wearing tight knee-breeches, black stockings and a sort of long-sleeved t-shirt made of lycra that was imbued with a potion that helped him to support him as contort his gangling and scrawny body into awkward and unnatural shapes. 

He cast a muggle repelling charm in order to keep the nightwatchmen away before starting to pick his way through the lattice of lasers, wand in hand incase it was needed. He was about halfway through when he heard the approaching footsteps. He froze so as not to make a noise and occasion enough curiousity in the guard to overcome his rather weak repelling charm, but the footsteps carried on coming.  His eyes flicked to his wand arm, but it was in such a position he wouldn't be able to target anything in the direction whence whoever it was came. Well, he thought, we'll see how this plays out. If all else fails I can always apparate out.

It was a cool night in Abu Simbel with a temperature of 12°C which was accentuated by a low breeze in the air. As it was after hours the lighting of the museum was rather dark the only source being candles which were hung against the wall giving the place an eerie and ominous vibe. This was Mulder’s favourite time to be on guard duty, there was something about the old fashioned lighting that he found comforting and with the place being so empty he was able to freely roam through the gallery and appreciate the art on display without listening to the nauseating commentary of tourists. He honestly did not know why half of them bothered to come when they could barely tell the difference between a sketch and a painting. 

With that amusing thought in mind the body guard’s focus turned to the first conscious memory he possessed. It was from a little under three years ago when he’d woken up in a local hospital, he had apparently been discovered lying unconscious in the middle of the Abu Simbel temple with a pained look on his face. It had been a frustrating time for the then teenager as he tried every method available to him including counselling and the more bogus (from a muggle point of view) hypnosis to encourage his memories to return. None of it had worked and thus he had become resigned to the fact that he would need to start his life afresh.

While the hospital had initially referred to him as John Doe, prompted by the X Files repeats which used to play on the hospitals dusty old cathode ray tube television the amnesiac patient had insisted on going by Mulder. While he knew neither could be his true name Mulder at least was distinctive and therefore beat something as plebeian as ‘John Doe’.  Within a few months he was released from hospital and worked a series of minimum wage jobs until he had ultimately earned his current job after demonstrating above average knowledge of the pieces on display. It seemed while his personal memories had been wiped general knowledge and intellectual anecdotes had survived his mind wipe.

Pop, the night guard frowned as he heard the unexpected sound along with what sounded like footsteps instantly jumping into an alert state gun in hand. It may have seemed like an extreme reaction but Mulder had been working here long enough to know what he heard was out of place. With a frown on his handsome features the presumably twenty one year old quickly made his way in the direction of the sound without realising it effortlessly making it through the muggle repelling charms. After all the air elemental was no muggle, even if that was what he believed himself to be while in his amnesic state.

The sight that greeted him was a startling one, there before him crouched in a position between laser lights in a position that Mulder would have considered impossible was one of the most handsome men he’d ever seen. ‘Stop such unnatural thoughts’ he chastised himself having unfortunately picked up the homophobic beliefs of those he’d been surrounded with the last few years. It also wasn’t a coincidence that every time he thought such thoughts about other men the following evening would be spent with a new female ‘conquest’. “Keep your hands where I can see them, I’m armed! I don’t know how you made it as far as you did through the lasers, but since I’m here now slowly straighten yourself and put your hands behind your head! NOW MOVE”, the last order given with the authority of one used to giving orders.

As Mulder stood there regarding Zachary with a gun in hand he was clearly willing to use his eyes were cold, unsurprisingly displaying no recognition that he knew the would be burglar and shared a profound relationship with him all these years ago.

((Bah this sucks, but hopefully I’ve given you and Zi something to work with. If not let me know and I’ll try to think of something else to add in))

As fortune would have it, despite the unnatural contortion that he body currently carried, Zi was able to turn his head in order to see the guard.  He knew that the wise course of action would just be to apparate himself to behind the man and then blast him with a curse of some description, but the burglar's curiosity got the better of him. First of all, the man had made it through defences that only a person of magical blood should be able to (it didn't even cross Zi's mind that he may have cast the spell incorrectly or ineffectively) and besides that, although the words that came from behind him were entirely foreign to him (he made a mental note to learn arabic sometime soon) there was something familiar in the inflection and tone of voice.

Unfortunately, the man was standing behind a couple of candles that, given the nightvision potion that Zachary had taken as part of his prepation for this heist, were blinding him to anything in their aura, which stretched almost across the corridor. 

The risk taking and weaseling one's way out of trouble was all part of the fun of being a gentleman thief. And so, without moving from his contorted pose, he allowed himself to channel all of his upperclass breeding and called out in a British accent even more over the top than his own manner of speech was usually: "Oh, I'm awfully sorry old chap, but I have no idea what you just said.  Never did understand arabic. Always seemed rather a barbaric language to me". He delivered this speech in a matter-of-fact tone that denied any possibililty that the speaker thought his words could be construed as offensive, and moreover did not acknowledge that he did not have every right to be exactly where he was.

The figure was still pointing a gun at him, and didn't seem the least bit entertained by his show of the British tourist attitude. If that was the case, he was even less entertained by having to translate into (heavily accented) English. Curiously though, it was very definitely accented with french rather than an arabic twang.  The familiarity that Zachary felt grew even more intensely on hearing this but incredibly frustratingly he just could not place it.  Not only did he have an intellectual stirring as his mind tried to work out whence he knew that voice, but there was a rushing feeling in his chest as though he had taken some tainted alertness potion.  It occasioned a combination of contradictory feelings - loss, excitement, vulnerability, hope.  It was quite disarming, and Zi immediately began to suspect that the figure (who he realised now must be a wizard if he had swanned through the muggle repelling charm without so much as a stubbed toe) had cursed him.

At this point it seemed most prudent to follow the instructions of the wizard that was pointing a gun at him. Presumably he also had a wand with it, but the target could not make one out. Nevertheless, Zi didn't want to take the chance that his adversary could curse him quicker than he could apparate out. So he gradually straightened up, a view that was rather unsettling as his enchanted support vest bent him in ways that no human with an intact skeleton should be able to manage. He raised his arms carefully over his head, having palmed his wand as soon as he started moving in the hopes that he'd be able to keep it hidden from the mysterious figure in the shadows.

Mulder was not impressed as he stared intently at his companion who had turned his head to face him. Not only had some bungling idiot decided to try and rob the museum while he was on duty (he didn’t particularly care what happened the rest of the time), but if he understood correctly said imbecile did not even have the decency to research the language of the place and pieces he was stealing from. “British! An uncultured British swine! Of course only their culture would produce a complete and utter dunderhead! Not even knowing Arabic, ha!” The angry tirade was delivered in perfect Italian as was Mulder’s habit when it came to insulting people. The reason for this being simple, while most of his co-workers knew Arabic and at the very least broken English none knew Italian and French making insulting others in them most convenient. The nights guard did not even stop to consider whether his companion could understand him having already written him off as too stupid to be bilingual.

“I said” this time the words delivered in heavily accented English which in no way matched his effortless Arabic and Italian “To stand up straight, put your hands behind your head and wait for further orders” the instructions were delivered in a slow condescending manner as though he was worried the would be burglar would be unable to understand him if he spoke any faster. Even without his memories those who knew him would quickly realise ‘Mulder’ had retained Alain’s contempt for those he considered to be less intelligent than himself.

Rather than displaying the disgust many would have in his situation Mulder watched with morbid fascination as Zachary contorted his body in several unsettling and frankly unnatural angles to straighten himself out. “He must belong to a circus of some sort… With flexibility like that he can only be one of those circus freaks I’ve heard about” the words mumbled to himself in Italian the twenty one year old having switched languages once more. Under normal circumstances he would have been intrigued to find out more but as it was he wanted nothing more than to get the ridiculously handsome man out of his sight.

It was then that Mulder stepped out of the light reflected by the candle and closer to Zachary with the natural light of the moon now the only thing to illuminate his handsome features. “I make you a deal….” The offer made in heavily accented English “How about I lead you to the nearest emergency exit, you leave and we discuss this no more?” Oh sure the museum had a company policy on what they were supposed to do in situation such as these, but that involved interviews with the police and filling out paperwork, neither of which Mulder could be particularly bothered with in all honesty.

Zi remained stock still with an impassive face whilst the mysterious figure berated him, for some reason having unknowingly generously switched into a language that Zachary was actually fluent in. He listened intently at the flawless italian that came out of the man's mouth, completely without hint of any arabic accent, and whilst he was irked by the content of what the man he was saying, a look of concentration mixed with confusion crept over his features.  The familiarity with the voice that he had picked up on when the man had first spoken was multiplied many times over with this transition into Italian, but still he could not place it and wracking his brain for whence he knew that voice consumed his mind.

By the time he had heard three languages, Zachary was more troubled by his inability to work out to whom the increasingly familiar voice was than by the increased heartbeat, difficulty breathing and lump in his throat that had presumably been caused by some middle-eastern curse hurled at him whilst the man had been speaking Arabic. Straightening up didn't even help to alleviate the curious sensations that his body was going through, although it did indirectly distract him by bringing on another tirade of put-downs in Italian. Still, he held his tongue and didn't let his understanding show to his adversary just yet.

Even once the figure had stepped out of the pool of brilliant light that had obscured him from Zi's view, the burglar still struggled to make out the man's features, having been straining too hard looking into the light and effectively blinding himself for a short period. He closed his eyes to give them a chance to rest and reset while he listened to his surroundings. The security guard was making a curiously generous offer, but that was of no importance to him right now. He was, quite frankly, trying to block out the man's troubling voice, and listening to his breathing, the rustle of his clothes, the echos from the walls. He was listening for a space, a break in his concentration.

"That is most kind of you," Zi effentually offered, allowing himself to relax slightly. "You know, I think I must have gotten a little bit lost. I was looking for the lavatory. Is this not the way to them? Ever so sorry to have..." As he spoke, Zachary had been releasing the tension in his body and making himself to look like less of a threat - making it appear as if he was complying with the guard's suggestion.  He let his hands leave his head very gradually and supplicatingly, but once there was enough clearance that he was sure not to take his own eye out, Zi flicked his wrist and grasped his wand well enough to apparate the twenty feet to a gap directly behind where the man was standing.

As soon as he rematerialised, he targeted the figure whose outline he could make out - he didn't need anything more detailed that that - and fired a couple of curses in quick succession: "Expelliarmus!" (the gun flew out of the security guards hand) "Petrificus Totalis" (he froze into position) "Levicorpus!" (and was yanked into the air by his ankle). Next he turned his wand on the candles in the niches which has been causing him so much trouble and snuffed them out.

"Much better" he started in his own fluent and native-sounding italian, in which he continued the rest of this encounter. "I don't know why everyone feels the need to put light everywhere. It's so harsh on the retinas. Accio Clothes" the frock coat and collar he had discard earlier flew over to him, and he put it on by gracefully swirling it over his head (managing to miss all exhibits) and letting the sleeves slide down his arms as gravity took hold of it. His demeanour had changed completely. No longer was he attempting stealth, acting the foolish Brit or pretending to acquiesce to the commands of the security guard. His voice was tinged with malice, indicating an intent and ability to exact revenge on this interloper for interrupting a nice night's cat burglary.

He stalked around the man as his eyes reacclimatised themselves. "You know, you really shouldn't underestimate people just because they're upper class. We have a lot of time on our hands. Now, I don't know who you are," (the man was laboriously revolving in the air and currently facing away from Zi, who walked the opposite direction to the revolutions, though keeping a good few feet between them) "but I do know you must be a wizard. What are you, some kind of hit wizard that has been tracking me since I left Italy?"

Finally, Zachary was brought face-to-face with his attacker, and he was dumbstruck.  The body was more solidly built and muscular, the hair longer and sunbleached, the skin considerably more tanned, but it was unmistakably his former lover, Alain St. Claire.  He stood open mouthed as the man rotated away from him, and then took a few steps closer, so as to be able to look into his icy blue eyes again.  Zachary wandered alongside the rotating man for a good minute or two, just staring in disbelief and unable to find anything to say.  His face betrayed his shock an unpreparedness but there was not even the faintest glimmer of recognition in the younger man's eyes.

Eventually he found his voice and continued in Italian. "Alain." It was not a question.  An unfamiliar part of him, the part that other people foolishly referred to as their heart, but Zi rather more accurately thought of as his limbic system, urged him to dismiss his curses and embrace his long lost friend and lover, but it was tempered by his rationality. "You pulled a gun on me. That's very crass and ... well, muggle of you."  He paused, still not knowing what to say. "What... where... Why did you pull a gun on me?"  Zi stopped walking and waited for a response for a good few seconds, and it wasn't until Alain's face was coming back round on another resolution, he realised the man was unable to speak. "Liberboca" a partial countercharm of his own invention released the hold that the earlier full-body bind had over the man's face, releasing just enough that the bound man could speak.

Mulder’s eyes narrowed as the would be burglar made up some cock and bull story that anyone above the age of five would find hard to believe. If there was one thing he hated and that was to be treated like an idiot, still he would go along with it for now. “Of course you did sir… I mean, the signs at the entrance of every room with an arrow pointing in the correct direction must be so hard for a man like yourself to pick up on” the insulting implications of that statement deliberate. Normally Mulder would have been politer and kept his contempt for a patron to himself, but considering the circumstance it was hardly as though his companion could complain to the owners now was it?

As they walked Mulder did a very stupid thing for a man in his position, he let his guard down, in his ignorance (mixed with arrogance) assuming the gun in his hand meant that he had the upper hand and that Zachary was at his mercy. Therefore it was unsurprising that the ‘muggle’ night guard did not notice until the gun he’d been holding flew out of his hand smacking into the nearest wall that his companion had somehow moved from walking beside him to a considerable distance behind him. “What the fu…” was all Mulder could get out in heavily accented English before he suddenly found himself frozen and levitating upside down staring at the shadowed figure of his companion with wide eyes.

‘This is impossible!’ Mulder thought with extreme panic unable to believe that the British thief had been able to do this to him by just waving a silly stick in his hand. Terror unlike anything Mulder had ever known surged through the night guard as the lights illuminating the room suddenly went out, the pale moon light that filtered through the windows to the museum floor adding more tension to the situation in his mind than had it been pitch black. Unable to speak, unable to move or even wiggle his nose of his own volition he had never felt so helpless in his entire life and the twenty one year old did not like it.

The night’s guards eyes would have widened even further had he control of his movements, figuring he was screwed now that he knew this demon or whatever the hell word best described this follower of Shayṭān had understood his earlier insults. Mulder would have begged, pleaded for his life (as disgusting as he found the notion) had he control of his vocal cord and limbs, but as it was all he could do was float there helplessly. His terror was renewed as the demon exhibited further his unnatural power by making previously unseen clothing fly towards him and effortlessly add themselves to his attire. Why him? Why of all the lying, cheating and backstabbing people in the world was he being the one targeted like this?

'A wizard?’ the title sparked something in the twenty one year old as he suddenly recalled incantations, meditation techniques that could be used to transform one into the wind that he had previously dismissed as the fiction of a fantasy novel he had presumably been working on before his memory loss at the Abu Simbel temple. Could he have been wrong? Could they like his fluent Italian and broken English been remaining remnants of his old life? Not that it really mattered now. So lost was Mulder in the musings sparked by the title that he completely missed the other implying that he was an assassin of some variety.

But then when he came truly face to face with the handsome man for the first time something changed, Mulder could see it in the gobsmacked expression on the other man’s face and slumped body language. The problem was Mulder did not know what caused this change. The night guard confusion build further as the name ‘Alain’ stirred something in him almost as strong as the word wizard had and what the hell was a muggle? As soon as the charm was released he gasped “Alain? Whose Alain?” the words belied with a genuine terror even the best of actors would struggle to imitate replying in Italian as that had been the others language of choice. “What’s a muggle?”  You can have the sarcophagus, you can have every item in this room, just please, please don’t hurt me” the plea made in a whimpering tone that more than anything else should make it clear to Zachary that something was not right about this situation.

Zi listened with interest to what Alain had to say - his explanation should have been interesting - or at least he started to listen. However it quickly became clear that he wasn't going to be getting any straight answers, and Zi's face soon became a picture of short-temperedness. He latched onto the frustration as it was an emotion he knew how to deal with.  He embraced the familiarity of displeasure and vexation at others that was his default setting as it was a more managable sensation than the effects of what he could only assume was nostalgia. Frustration was an emotion he was adept at corralling and sublimating it into something useful whereas if he let the other thing get a foothold he was worried he might lose him poise.

On Alain's next revolution, his captor waved his wand and halted the rotation so that they stayed facing one another. After the inverted man had finished pleading Zi just sneered and regarded him.  He was certainly committed to the charade, that was for sure.  "Snivelling doesn't become you, Monsieur St. Clare. And however much I might enjoy having you at my mercy and begging for..." he paused momentarily, and inflected the next word with a suggestive tone "release, I would really expect to have to do a little more to get you this worked up." Despite his protestations though, there was an undeniable swelling of enjoyment in Zi's body and he couldn't resist seeing how far the captured wizard would take his charade. The abject terror in the man's trembling voice pandered to Zi's lust for power and much as he wanted answers, wanted to know where Alain had been for the last three years, why he had left him without a word, he could wait a little while longer while he had some fun.

Zachary kicked his heel up to his rear and in a smooth motion withdrew an elegantly designed, but clearly incredibly fine-edged, dagger from a scabbard in his boot. The moonlight glinted off of its polished faces and edges as Zi turned it over in his hands, polishing it with a white silk handkerchief that he had taken from the breast pocket of his jacket. As he did so, a slither of silk was sundered from the rest and despite the low light it was clear as it drifted lazily to the ground that it was fringed with red. "Oh how careless of me." Zi said facilely. He stepped closer to the hanging figure, invading his personal space so that he was standing barely six inches from the man, whose head was about Zachary's chest height. "I seem to have nicked myself." He raised his hand to just above Alain's eyeline, allowed him to see the incredibly fine cut across the pad of his thumb - so thin it could be a papercut, but deep enough to sever a vessel. Zi allowed a couple of drops of blood fell onto the other man's cheek. "I really should be more careful."

Zi brought the flat of the blade into contact with the skin just behind Alain's ear, and slowly traced it down under his jaw then lackadasically snaked it down his neck as he spoke in a faraway manner. "You know, I'd really rather not have to force answers out of you, but since you've been away I've become rather good at it. It would just be a shame to marr that beauiful face of yours.  Although on seconds thoughts, perhaps you would look quite fetching with a scar." He quickly shifted the knife from where it had been tracing the blond man's collarbone back up to his face, grabbed the back of Alain's head with his free hand to steady it and pressing the knife into his cheek at an angle that didn't quite pierce the skin, but gave every impression that the slightest twitch might make it reconsider.

"Now, I don't like being out of the loop. It makes me rather tetchy." His voice was now no-nonsense. It was clear his playtime was over. "And a lover absconding does not for a happy Zachary make, even after three years. I have a long memory. So I want answers. Where have you been since last we met? What action are you part of, and how much are you currently inclined to cut me in for?" Zachary allowed the blade of the dagger to wobble just a tiny amount on asking that second question, but it was his voice that faltered ever so slightly on his third giving the query an undertone of sorrow. "And why didn't you even owl me?"

He rallied quickly, his tone back to confident and matter of fact but still short. "And I can tell if you're bullshitting me. So cut the crap Alain. What are you up to?"  He deftly eased the knife away without leaving a mark, and took a couple of steps back so he could look the man in the eye and focus as he gave his reply.

While not an expert in psychology, Mulder was at least competent enough to pick up on the angry aura radiated by his captor. The impossible to follow urge to squirm as he rotated in the air became stronger than ever before. What on earth could the other man want from him? It couldn’t be money; the wizard already had Mulder at his mercy and could easily leave with the priceless artefacts contained within the room. Was it simply to torture him? To punish him for the sins of his past? At that moment it was the not knowing more than anything that was making the night guards skin crawl.

And then Zachary spoke. The words elicited a wide range of emotions in the twenty one year old. There was the natural terror anyone would feel in Mulder’s position. There was indignation, the proud man mentally cringing in spite of himself at having his actions described as snivelling. Additionally the night guard felt uncomfortable with the suggestive tone he thought he had heard in the wizard’s words. Surely the other man couldn’t be getting off on this? Yet in spite of all that the ‘muggle’ felt a shudder through his body as his mind conjured up several rather suggestive images. What the hell was the matter with him? He was fricking suspended in mid-air at the mercy of another man. The terror he felt must have addled his mind that was it, it had to be!

His desperate thoughts were soon forgotten. Icy blue eyes widened, an actual whimper drawn from quivering lips as his wizard captor retrieved the decorative dagger from the scabbard of his boot. “Don’t, please don’t!” the plea delivered in a tone arguably even more pathetic than his previous appeal. ‘Why is he doing this?’ Mulder thought desperately still unable to figure out the motivation driving Zachary’s actions. The older man's psychological torture worked perfectly, the suspended elemental immediately focused on the self-inflicted cut on his captor’s hand. “Please, please just put the knife away! We can talk about this!” While Mulder tried to speak more calmly than before there was still a distinct quiver to the night guard’s words.

Mulder had no choice but to listen as Zachary drew the blade across his flesh. There was plenty he wanted to say in particular that he didn’t know what his captor meant when he talked about him ‘going away’.  The night guard had enough logic remaining to realise that the other man must have known him from before he lost his memories and had presumably come to get revenge for a slight against him. However, for as long as that blade was pressed against his flesh tight enough to stab him from the slightest movement there was no safe way for the night guard to share this.

'His lover!’ as soon as the twenty one year old processed those words the temperature in the room dropped dramatically until the conditions were practically artic. The accidental magic was a simple trick for most air elementals. The night guards mind flashed back to his earlier thoughts that night, to erotic dreams he had never been willing to consciously dwell on in the morning. He wasn’t, he couldn’t be gay. Mulder was not ready for this. The night guard was too caught up in his own doubt and self-flagellation to pick up on the sorrow that underlied the dark haired wizard’s second last query.

“I don’t know who you are and frankly I don’t want to know! I might not have my memories but I still know enough to know you are mistaken! I am not gay, I am not do you hear me?” While he spoke Mulder became more and more worked up his voice rising with every word the final query shouted loudly. Being forced to confront a part of himself he had suppressed for over two years created enough adrenaline to make the night guard forget or at least suppress his previous fear.  The moment the air elemental finished speaking a significant portion of the oxygen in the air surrounding the dark haired wizard across from him disappeared. The oxygen’s disappearance a result of more accidental magic from Mulder and had the effects of a weakened Typh Acies.

Not that Mulder knew that of course. All he knew was that suddenly he had fallen on to the floor in a most undignified heap and his captor was bent over gasping and struggling for breath. The night guard did not waste any time immediately jumping to his feet and using the dark haired wizard’s distraction to his advantage immediately making a leeway for the door. Being rather tall and in reasonable shape his movements were quick. It was just as he had reached the exit with a hand on the door knob that the blonde jumped as he felt someone grab him from behind.

((I have permission from Ty for my slight godmoding of Zi in this post. Ty, if you need anything changed just let me know and I’ll get straight to it! Sorry the post sucks but I hope I have given you enough to work with! You have my permission to use Alain as needed to finish up the Abu Simbel events in your next post)).

Whilst Zachary was concentrating on maintaining eye contact with the man that hung in front of him, a shudder ran down his back. It was an odd sensation that the legilimens might have put down to someone psychically resisting him, but he'd never experienced it from simple lie detection before. Even when his mentor was demonstrating how occlumency worked and what it felt like, he'd never felt as he did now - as if he'd been stripped down and left outside in midwinter. Zi gritted his teeth to stop them from chattering, but he coul not suppress the shivers that were plaguing him all over. Nevertheless, he managed to keep his focus and not break the eye contact he needed to assess the truth of whatever next came out of his quarry's mouth.

Maybe these chills were a manifestation of occlumensy after all.  As Alain protested not to know Zachary, which he clearly knew to be a lie, he was hit by the impression of honesty and openness. It was only once the man with whom he had shared a good deal of physical intimacy got to disavowwing his sexuality that the mental klaxon went off in his head to indicate lying. And it was a big lie, so big that it almost overwhelmed him. The lie was suffocating him, and he had to break the mental connection he had forged so that he could catch himself as he stumbled backwards. There was a very similar tightness in his chest to a few of minutes ago, when he had first heard Alain's voice again, though this was ten times worse. Zachary felt dizzy and his vision was clouding over. He bent double, trying to keep his head up so he had some chance of firing off curses and counter curses should it come to it, but Alain's body dropped out of the sky as his captor struggled to hold onto consciousness and as he fell a flailing arm took out one of Zi's legs so his unceremoniously toppled over and blacked out.

When Zi opened his eyes again (upon which he felt a brief flash of relief that he was still alive), Alain was getting away. At least now though, Zi was able to breathe properly. He shot a quick spell at the door to make sure it was locked and would stick and sent off a stunning spell at the retreating figure.  The jet of red light missed its mark by about an inch and exploded in a dazzling display on the a fresco on display in the museum. Zi scrabbled himself to his feet and steadied himself.  This was no longer a game, and the man wanted some straight answers. No more pulling punches or playing fair. He apparated across the room to catch Alain just as he was reaching the door. With no room to brandish his wand, Zachary and grabbed at the taller man, both hands pulling him backwards by the shoulders and swinging him far enough away to get a good shot in. Another stupefying curse, this one on target, and the man went down.

Finally able to collect his thoughts as the other man lay unconscious on the floor, Zachary played back the man's answers to his questions and finally realised what was going on.  He had said he didn't have his memories. Some seriously powerful memory charm had gotten him, who knew when. Well, that was something Zachary should be able to help with, even if he was correct in his suspicions that the man laying unconscious in front of him might have objected to such a proposal.  Maybe leaving him unconscious was the best plan for now - there wasn't much he could do here and in his amnesiac state, there didn't seem much chance of him coming back to Neroli quietly, so Zachary grabbed some flax from his pack and tied a loop around his own waist and another around Alain's rather more solid feeling abs  (he made a mental note to investigate those later) before unwrapping and activating the portkey that would take them back to his residence in Italy.