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When you go
Would you have the guts to say
I don't love you like I loved you yesterday…
—My Chemical Romance—
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Chapter 1; Scars
It started innocently enough, though it didn't end that way.
It had rained, as it did every winter, and the cold had iced over the wet. And Altair always was the kind not to look before he leapt, especially when he was excited.
As he was running down the path between the main fortress and the courtyard where Malik was approaching, having only just returned from one long term errand or another, the specifics weren't really important at the moment, when the young master's foot had just politely shot out from under him on one such icy patch.
Down he went in an awesomely awkward sprawl on the stones.
A laugh exploded from Malik's throat and he jogged, much more carefully to where Altair was spread out and bent, breath puffing silver out in the air before him as he continued to chuckle… That is until he realized Altair had actually hurt himself when he'd fallen.
A quick prodding by one healer or another and Altair was hunched miserably shuffling along with his arm trussed up in a sling, his shoulder bruised and swollen but firmly back in its socket.
"Of all the things to hurt you, it had to be falling on the ice." Malik chuckled and guided the younger man to his room, helping him out of his belts shirts and robes.
Altair, though, was less than amused about his injury and grumbled the whole time. "Make yourself useful and find something I can rub on these bruises so I don't ache like an old man in the morning."
Malik laughed again but did as he was told, going to the small chest in the corner and fishing around for a jar or a pot of something. "Do you want liniment or something numbing—" He'd turned to look over his shoulder and noticed Altair had finished removing his clothes and was rubbing a painful looking black and blue spot on his behind and upper thigh.
He'd never seen Altair completely nude before, had never really physically sought out to do so, imagination and desire notwithstanding, but he'd always assumed he and the other man were built similar enough that there was no mystery…
He'd been wrong.
There was a scar, a thick jagged thing slanting across Altair's lower abdomen and hip. His right thigh was similarly marked, as well as a small portion of his left, just above and to the inside of his knee. It varied in color through its length from pale silver and pink, to a few darker almost brown gray places where he recognized signs of past, serious infection.
Malik couldn't help but stare in horror at what he was obviously not supposed to see. That had been an ugly wound that would have killed most men… When had it happened and why had he not heard anything of it before that moment!
Altair blinked at him noticing he'd been caught, then down at himself and snatched his trousers back up, fisting them closed, hiding the scaring. He looked away and seemed to give a shiver, wetting his lips before he spoke. "Something that dulls pain…"
Malik swallowed thickly, nodded and turned back to the chest. His hand shook as he looked through the packets, jars and little pots, but couldn't focus on them well enough to find it, so he just plucked up the nearest pot to his hand, a pale ointment he'd seen Altair rub on blisters and scrapes that formed on his hands.
He approached slowly and eased into a sitting position behind Altair, where he'd placed himself on the edge of the bed, his hand rigid on his knee, head bowed.
The younger man was tense, the bruised muscles on his back bunched.
Malik gnawed his lip for a moment then laid his hand on Altair's back. "What happened?"
He shrugged his uninjured shoulder; "I was very young, I don't remember much of it."
"Did someone—"
He released a single, sad sounding laugh and shook his head; "No." Then with a low sigh; "It was a dog…"
Malik winced, imagining some horrid beast of a thing, larger than any dog he'd ever seen with teeth as big as his arm and wild pulsing red eyes. A monster of a hell hound was the only thing that could have done this.
"I'd been climbing a tree near here and a hungry mutt of a thing came along and must have smelled what I had in my belt." He cleared his throat; "I've been told some older boys heard my screaming and came running. They killed it and pulled me to safety… The surgeons didn't think I would survive— It really does look worse than it is, it doesn't even hurt." He flapped a hand nonchalantly, as if dismissing it, redirecting the conversation perhaps.
"No?" He was a little relieved that it didn't cause him pain, but there was something dark in his eyes that worried Malik.
"No, it's all very numb."
"Do women not mind it?"
He wrinkled his nose and turned peering curiously over his shoulder, back hunched defensively. "Why would a woman wish to see it? I don't even like to see it."
Malik snorted; "Aren't they curious as to where you gained such a scar, or do you just take your pleasure and leave."
Altair turned away from him; "I-I don't do that."
"Oh, yes, how could I forget. You're still in mourning—"
"Malik… I-I can't… do that."
Malik stiffened in surprise.
"I'm mostly numb there… I-it doesn't… Not well enough to be of any use." He shrugged from under the older man's grip and drew back the quilts on his bed, rolling under them to put some kind of barrier between himself and the older man. "I won't have you repeating this, understand?" He glared hatefully. "The surgeons who treated me are long gone by now, and the only other people who knew the extent of it were my parents and HIM, and I've made it a point not to let anybody else know what happened. If you so much as breathe a word of this to anyone I'll—"
Malik lifted his hand, trying to placate the young master. "I won't speak a word of it to anyone, but—"
"I don't want to speak of it any more… I just want to sleep and hope I'm not too sore to function tomorrow." Altair thumped his head down on the pillow and stared silently at the far wall with a somehow empty expression on his face.
It was quiet for a long while, Malik just sitting there staring at him, and then, fed up with the silence, he cleared his throat.
"Surely there is some chance… have you—Have you any sensation?"
Altair's teeth came together and he curled inward on himself like an animal readying itself to spring; "If I weren't so sore I would beat you into silence."
Malik's brows scrunched in anger; "You could try."
"Don't tempt me… You're of more use to me alive. Go away."
"I am not attacking you… I am merely curious."
He tugged the blankets up to his chin; "You're irritating me. Go away."
"You have to have some feeling or else you'd be incontinent. I've seen men with injuries like this and they lose all control of their water and sometimes their bowels. Since you're not wet—"
Altair shoved back the blankets and sat up glaring hatefully at Malik. "I have lived more than fifteen years like this, don't you think I've tried everything! I've done anything I could think of that might help—And yes, SHE saw it and SHE tried because she pitied me and NOTHING happened! Do you know how humiliating it was? Lying there letting her do that and I couldn't even—" He pounded his fist against the covers as if he were stabbing something his eyes distant and glassy; "You may be half a man, but if you find a woman who'll have you at least you can still function! I am ruined, do you understand that!"
Malik bristled, fist clenching and he came within a hair's breadth of punching Altair in the face. His jaws popped and he gave the younger man a dangerous look.
The young Master visibly shrank in on himself all the color draining from his face; "I… Malik, I'm sorry." He lowered his eyes and stared in shock at his hand. "I j-just don't… I'm sorry."
Malik glared at him for a long while, trying to control the impulses he had to beat Altair to a pulp. The younger man's wounded shoulder wouldn't allow him to use that arm and he wasn't as good with his right. It would be easy… But he could understand the outburst in a strange bitter way, sometimes you just became so angry at yourself and your situation you would say anything, even something hurtful you didn't mean, just so you would be left alone. He'd done the same thing himself a few times...
So, instead of lashing out with his fist and harsh language, he took a deep breath and let it out in a hiss.
"You have never been aroused before?"
Altair sighed, realizing he wasn't going to be able to get Malik to simply drop the subject, so he decided the best course of action would be to just answer his questions and hope his damnable curiosity was sated; "Never physically… I've seen people and desired intimacy, but I've never… Never where it matters."
"And I'm assuming you've never—never experienced r-release."
He shook his head.
"But you can control your water and bowels… were you damaged internally?"
"If I had been I would be dead."
Malik nodded and rubbed at his mouth while he thought. It had become a mission somehow, he wasn't sure why or when. He was rather satisfied with the rumors floating around that Altair was still in mourning and would never marry or take a lover… it made the man seem more respectful, and young Doves and Novices thought it was terribly romantic that he would deny himself for the memory of his first love.
But, another part of Malik felt for the other man… He knew what it was like to feel ruined and damned to an eternity of loneliness because of something you couldn't control.
"Altair?"
He lifted his head slowly, eyes wary but didn't say anything.
"Do you trust me?"
He glanced around suspiciously; "Right now, or in general."
"If you trust me, I might be able to help…"
Altair was quiet for a long few minutes, then with a sigh, he nodded.
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