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Entry tags:
White Collar, "Haramt Ahebak" (It Is Forbidden For Me To Love You), Alex-centric ficlet
Title: "Haramt Ahebak" (It Is Forbidden For Me To Love You)
Fandom: White Collar
Characters: Alex, OMC, mentions of Neal
Rating: PG
Summary: Alex is doing a job in Cairo, and she doesn't miss New York at all...
AN: For the iTunes meme. The song is "Haramt Ahebak," by Warda, and the chorus is more or less "I forbid myself to love you, because you don't love me." It's a great song! You should listen to it.
Alex wasn't missing New York too much. It was hard to feel homesick when she stayed with Omar, one of her favorite associates -- a courtly old Cairo businessman who, in his retirement, was happy to devote his considerable grey-market fortune to the business of locating stolen Egyptian treasures around the world and making sure that they made their way back to their homeland. Often, after the heat had died down, he'd quietly donate his acquisitions to public institutions, but there were always enough artifacts that he couldn't manage to part with for one reason or another -- practical or personal -- to make his villa into a miniature museum in its own right. Alex could barely force herself to sleep in the guest room; every time she stayed there, there was something new to study.
While she was in town to broker one of Omar's deals, he was always happy to let her lounge by his swimming pool and read all morning, shielded from the bright sun by a huge pair of dark glasses and a loose cotton tunic. Omar said that it was a rare pleasure to have a beautiful woman staying in his home these days -- she didn't believe him for a minute, but she wasn't going to argue. Manhattan had its charms, of course, but she could definitely get used to this. A waiter, who must have been eighteen or nineteen but looked younger in his slightly too big, slightly too crisp shirt and tie, brought over a plate of candied fruits.
"May I have another glass of that delicious tea?" she asked in her stilted fus'ha Arabic. She still hadn't mastered the Egyptian dialect, but she wanted her hosts to know that she was trying.
"Of course, Ma'am, just a minute..."
As the waiter turned started to turn his back, Omar appeared in the doorway, dressed in a pale blue linen suit over a cream silk shirt, smiling like he'd never seen such a beautiful day (when in fact it was the fifth perfect day in a row, by Alex's count).
"Good morning, Miss Alex. Are you finding everything alright?" He liked to see how her Arabic was progressing, so she kept up the conversation in his language to amuse him.
"Everything is perfect, as always, Omar. I should have your package for you by tomorrow morning -- if the postman is reliable." She lifted her sunglasses and winked at him, and he laughed.
"Funny that you should mention postmen -- there seems to have been a letter for you."
She let her sunglasses fall back into place. "That is not possible. Who would know where I am to find me?"
"Well, it's very odd. There's no return address on the envelope -- but there is a very nice drawing of a lily where it would normally go. Beautiful lines."
"Goddamn it," Alex muttered in English. The waiter, just returning with her tea, raised an eyebrow.
Fandom: White Collar
Characters: Alex, OMC, mentions of Neal
Rating: PG
Summary: Alex is doing a job in Cairo, and she doesn't miss New York at all...
AN: For the iTunes meme. The song is "Haramt Ahebak," by Warda, and the chorus is more or less "I forbid myself to love you, because you don't love me." It's a great song! You should listen to it.
Alex wasn't missing New York too much. It was hard to feel homesick when she stayed with Omar, one of her favorite associates -- a courtly old Cairo businessman who, in his retirement, was happy to devote his considerable grey-market fortune to the business of locating stolen Egyptian treasures around the world and making sure that they made their way back to their homeland. Often, after the heat had died down, he'd quietly donate his acquisitions to public institutions, but there were always enough artifacts that he couldn't manage to part with for one reason or another -- practical or personal -- to make his villa into a miniature museum in its own right. Alex could barely force herself to sleep in the guest room; every time she stayed there, there was something new to study.
While she was in town to broker one of Omar's deals, he was always happy to let her lounge by his swimming pool and read all morning, shielded from the bright sun by a huge pair of dark glasses and a loose cotton tunic. Omar said that it was a rare pleasure to have a beautiful woman staying in his home these days -- she didn't believe him for a minute, but she wasn't going to argue. Manhattan had its charms, of course, but she could definitely get used to this. A waiter, who must have been eighteen or nineteen but looked younger in his slightly too big, slightly too crisp shirt and tie, brought over a plate of candied fruits.
"May I have another glass of that delicious tea?" she asked in her stilted fus'ha Arabic. She still hadn't mastered the Egyptian dialect, but she wanted her hosts to know that she was trying.
"Of course, Ma'am, just a minute..."
As the waiter turned started to turn his back, Omar appeared in the doorway, dressed in a pale blue linen suit over a cream silk shirt, smiling like he'd never seen such a beautiful day (when in fact it was the fifth perfect day in a row, by Alex's count).
"Good morning, Miss Alex. Are you finding everything alright?" He liked to see how her Arabic was progressing, so she kept up the conversation in his language to amuse him.
"Everything is perfect, as always, Omar. I should have your package for you by tomorrow morning -- if the postman is reliable." She lifted her sunglasses and winked at him, and he laughed.
"Funny that you should mention postmen -- there seems to have been a letter for you."
She let her sunglasses fall back into place. "That is not possible. Who would know where I am to find me?"
"Well, it's very odd. There's no return address on the envelope -- but there is a very nice drawing of a lily where it would normally go. Beautiful lines."
"Goddamn it," Alex muttered in English. The waiter, just returning with her tea, raised an eyebrow.
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