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29 June 2007 @ 05:51 am
Don // { into the dark }  
Title: into the dark
Characters: Don, Sarah Ailes
Prompt: None.
Placement: This takes place in the middle of my fic-verse, in the year 1999, and before Don - The Chase Begins Again.
Word Count: 719
Rating: PG for petit gratuitous language.
Spoilers: None for the film; none for my story.
Author's Notes: How Sarah became Indian. Just a cute bit between Don and Sarah, because I love them.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Don - The Chase Begins Again, not even that golf ball that Don used to kill the mole in that COMPLETELY AMAZING scene. I do own the Ailes brood, and this particular take on Don's past. Please don't sue me; I'm a college student now, and you won't get a dime!







"There's something so magical, so beautiful about this country." I say this as scenes of violent protests flash before us. We stumbled onto an old film about the revolution, and wordlessly slipped into it. Don's face flushes with pride; he'd never let his father know this, but he's a real Hindustani at heart. The fact that his country is still young, still growing and reeling from the high of its liberation, makes me long for that same kind of dedication.

"You didn't feel that way about it for the last fifteen years." He turns to me with a bemused grin.

"Well, that was before I left." I try to sound dignified and logical. I know the event that's running through his mind, the first time we met, the first time he laughed at me, the first of many, many bemused glances. There's nothing I can do but try to move the conversation along. "I've got a new appreciation for Hindustan."

"America will do that to you." Don sneers. We both let the silence go for a few moments. On the television men in British uniforms fire into a crowd of dingy turbaned, extremely dirty Indians. After a bit of gunfire, one of the wreckless brown teens tosses a stick of dynamite into the soldiers' ranks. The explosion is cheesy, but oddly satisfying. Don and I both smile. I feel my eyelids weighing down and slide over to grab a piece of him as I slide down to the pillows. The television clicks off, and we're left in the dark with the sounds of Indian night growing louder in the new silence.

"Can I have your Hindustan?" I ask softly in a voice that sounds especially childish, the one I know he likes.

"It's not mine to give." He says with a weak laugh. His arm slides underneath my neck, and the slick sound of his skin on the sheets occupies me for a moment.

"I know," I say, watching the lights on the ceiling that are coming in through the window. "But I've never really had any place, any country of my own. I'm not American, not English, not French... I just feel at home here. I'd like to be home here."

"Well, talk to the President." Don says curtly. "I'm fresh out of Indian flag tattoos." He's joking, but I stay quiet for a bit, until he catches on. I've only been back for a few months. I think we're still trying to acclimate, to get in synch like we were.

"Do you promise to watch Mother India at least once a year?" He asks in a serious voice that's low, like an announcer or film star. "Do you promise to serve the nation of India with dignity and dedication?"

"Yes." I say, and then reply in Hindi when he coughs loudly with disapproval. "Ji."

"Do you promise to visit a temple every month and always give to the poor and desperately ugly?"

"How ugly?"

"Hideously disfigured and dismembered."

"Give of what? Time? My body?"

"Just money."

"Oh, then ji."

"Do you promise to always support Amitabh Bachchan and vote in every presidential and parliamentary election until you die?" He accentuates the last word with a particularly theatrical flourish.

"Ji."

"Then, by the power vested in me..." He leans over and presses his lips to my forehead.

"By whom?"

"What?" He mumbles against my skull.

"Who gave you the power?"

"That's not important." He says hurriedly. "Shut up."

"Okay." I close my eyes.

"I now pronounce you Hindustani." He kisses me on my forehead so cinematically that I expect to hear fanfare coming from the walls. There's a loud smack as he pulls away, leaving an oversized bindi to mark my new nationality.

"Now say 'You may now kiss the idiot.'" I whisper to him. Don pulls me to him, and I can feel his breath condense on my face as he speaks.

"You may now kiss me, idiot." He laughs smugly as we kiss, which I would resent if he wasn't so adorable. In a little while we're both exhausted, and I turn away from him to sleep.

"Hey Don." I ask, half-whispering because I'm still not used to sleeping in a room without three other girls.

"Hey what." His response is uninspired and devoid of his usual energy.

"It's tough being brown." I say solemnly, and smile into the dark as I feel his body shaking with silent laughter behind me.
 
 
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