Summary: I'm sorry - I love you...!
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The men were working on a fragile alliance. They know that they were the ones trading on danger, holding on to a fleeting promise of help, while any misstep would land only them in a hellfire.
Holding the candidates hostage would pressurize the top governmental policies of course, but the act itself and what was demanded from them on its guise would only reduce their own chances of leaving the chapter behind.
They work on the room, taking everything under the control as they move from one injured person to another, looking for a particular face.
"Ammie?" Anwar's hand closes over Farida’s upper arm and turns her over. His breath hitching he taps her dusty face gently.
"Ammie?"
Her eyes open gradually, fluttering with confusion. Anwar ducks over her, covering her movements when one of the men walk in too close. In the next moment he is pulling her away.
"We need to move. Come with me. Come," he encourages her in whisper and they draw themselves, crouching, creeping towards the shadows.
"Others? Where are the others?" Farida asks him urgently.
"Where do you think you are going?" A hand grabs her from her hair at the same time another man hits Anwar in the head with the back of his rifle.
"Farida Begum Siddiqie, bohot sunna hai aap ke baare mein."
The man peers into her face with a grin twisted with sarcasm.
"Down! Stay down!" With his foot between Anwar's shoulder blades the man hoovering over him, keeps him pressed to ground.
"You would make a nice bait, now wouldn't you?"
Farida cuts the man a look, neither the dirt in her face nor the cut on her cheek tale away the fire of it.
"If it's death that you are fishing for, sure, I will make the perfect bait."
The man stares blankly at her and after a moment starts to laugh. He pulls over his rifle and takes aim between her eyes.
"Take care Begum sahiba, your silver tongue might get you killed."
The hit on his nape comes so unexpectedly that the man is still open mouthed when he crumbles on his knees. His rifle is snatched from his hands and pointed at his companion.
"Not on my watch," Veer bites out, placing the gun against the other man's bobbing throat. He gestures with his eyes for the man to move. Anwar springs to his feet, snatches the arm from the cornered man.
"On you knees," he says after spitting out a mouthful of blood.
They both crouch covering Farida when a bullet is shot from somewhere above. Shattered glass rain upon them and they roll away just in time for a chandelier to land right at their earlier spot.
"Go, go, go out!" Veer urges them forward, pushing Anwar physically towards the door.
"Omar? Rukzaar? Amrit?" Farida rattles.
"I've already send Rukie out with Omar, there's that side door out into the back kitchens, straight into a back alley from here. He dragged her with a couple of others. I will get Amrit and - and Ma Sahab." He nods at Anwar. "Take your Ammie and go after them."
"But - but -"
"We will wait for you," Anwar tells him.
Veer bites his lip.
"I need to find Ma sahab. Its foolish to linger here."
"Veer - it's-"
"It has nothing to do with her. I'd rather not live with another death on my conscious for the remainder of my life. And biwi sahab won't leave until she is certain that I do. Please - Go! Go!"
Anwar shakes his head. Turns to his mother.
"Ammie, you can find Omar and Rukie can't you? Let me go with Kuwar sahab -"
"Anwar listen -" Veer begins, only to stop at Anwar's look.
"I'll come with you and get Babhi sahab out. You can find your mother and do whatever you want. Snap out of it Veer, surely you want to make sure she gets out safe don't you?"
He'd known him for ages. Anwar knows just the way to phrase his argument. Veer has to nod after a moment.
Wait for Farida to agree.
*
They watch her leave, and Veer makes himself turn his back on that easy and perhaps the only escape to do what he considered his last duty to the woman his father loved until his last breath.
It's stupid enough that he wanted to, when what he has seen so far, caught from the passing scraps of conversation between the assailants told him that this elaborate game of death was drawn up by none other than his mother and Rathod, as a final attempt to end their terrible fate; to kill him.
Another bullet grazes by closely and a crystal vase of daisies shatter with a bang. Veer has to pounce away and roll before the next one explodes at his feet. He shoots a worried glance at the gallery above, unless the shooter hidden there is taken care of, he would not be able to move around unnoticed.
An inch from his hiding place the man up there shoots again, causing him to pull back.
He shares a glance with Anwar who is hiding behind a pillar himself and he nods imperceptibly, wordlessly accepting the task of taking out the gallery man upon himself.
Veer curses under his breath, picks up the closest thing he could find - which in this case was half a brick fallen from a collapsed part of a wall - and throws it in the opposite direction of where he wanted to move.
As expected the shooter chases the sound with a shot and he slips away to the other side, taking advantage of the time the man would take to aim once again. At the same time Anwar rolls over and starts to creep his way along the debris blocking the stairs leading to the gallery.
In the general chaos of the attackers shooting around, and screams of the survivors, Veer returns to Amrit.
Her arms are immediately thrown around him, her scattering heartbeat pressed to his.
His heart clenches at the thought of parting with her.
"Jaan," he says slowly, urgency coating his words. "Hum kuch maanglein toh de dongi - bina sawaal kiye?"
"Chhod jaane ke alawa kuch bhi," she mutters back, her breath burning against his throat.
He says nothing and she pulls back.
"That's what you wanted?" Her eyes are bloodshot, swimming with tears. "I'm not going to leave you behind."
He drags a hand and cups her jaw.
"Amrit - I want you to leave with Anwar and others. And I-"
"Veer Pratap Singh!"
In the shadows he pauses and slowly turns around. The voice comes from opposite them.
"Kya aap innhe toh nahi doond rahein?"
Blood in his veins turns ice and he forgets to inhale. The man who calls him over has his hand wrapped around Nalini's throat.
"Veer Pratap Singh," the man calls again, "step out, step where I can see you."
"Nahi!" Amrit grabs his wrist, shakes her head. Her voice is beseeching. "Don't go. Don't. Don't."
Their eyes meet for the briefest of seconds that feels like a lifetime. Amrit finds her hold loosening, her grip falling away. There is a look in his eyes that makes her throat tighten with a scream that will never spill out of her.
Veer was still Veer. Still yearning for his mother, still desperate enough to do anything for her.
Veer will never stay and watch.
If he does, if her plea does manage to hold him, he will be but a shell of the man she loved.
It's a heartbreaking irony that she fears she will lose him either way and that she knows, he reads it too well in her face.
He leans across and kisses her briefly. A sob chokes her and he is smudged with her tears.
"I'm sorry," he breathes between their lips. "I love you."
*