A/N: Alright, so this is my first AC fic and I freely admit I have no idea where it's going. Fair warning. I haven't actually played the games, have read The Secret Crusade and done a lot of research though, particularly on Altaïr's story. If it's not completely accurate I apologize in advance. I foresee this mainly revolving around Altaïr/Maria fluff seeing as I adore them, but I will attempt to work a plot in there. Maybe.

Enjoy!

"You are awake early today, Maria." Altaïr felt himself adequately fluent in English, but the string of expletives which followed his greeting had him wondering if there still wasn't quite a lot for him to learn. "You are perhaps not feeling well?"

From where she huddled against the ship's railing the former Templar proceeded to heave up the last of her aching stomach's contents over the side and then issued a pitiful groan. When the Assassin's hand appeared before her nose she wrinkled it at the small sprig of greenery laying in his calloused palm.

"If you chew it, it may bring you some relief," he supplied.

While it certainly didn't look like much, Maria was far past the point of persnickety. She snatched the herb from him and ground it determinedly between her teeth. Anything was better than the constant cycle of managing to force down a few mouthfuls of food only to be vomiting it up again a couple of hours later. Everything hurt and she was beginning to gain a new appreciation for the men who worked nimbly on deck all around them, completely at home on the pitching seas. For her part, Maria belonged with both feet planted on solid ground. And that was precisely where she intended to stay. If she actually made it there again.

"How much further?" she demanded, squeezing her eyes shut against another lurch of her gut.

"A few days more if the weather holds."

Damn him. Damn him for always being so collected and calm. Oh he just had all the answers, didn't he? Really, it was infuriating at times. Why had she ever thought travelling east with him was a good idea? Bloody ridiculous, that's what it was. She could have gone anywhere. Well, not anywhere exactly. But a good many places which were not east and not on this blasted boat.

"Maria? How do you feel now?"

How did she feel? "Bleeding awful, that's how. And whatever this is tastes like dirt."

"You would not like to get off of the ship and stretch your legs, then?"

Seriously? Now was the time he chose to start cracking jokes? "Don't be an ass, I haven't the patience for it at the moment."

"Very well. Stay here, I will not be gone for long."

"As if I could go anywhere else."

Maria snorted when no response came. Idiot. Probably scratching away in his little book again. It never ceased to amaze and annoy her how much time he spent writing whatever he was writing. As though it were more interesting than having a real conversation. What the hell did he have to say to a piece of parchment that was so important? And why couldn't he just say it to her instead? If the numerous pages of flowing script (which she had not flipped through on occasion when he forgot the book below deck) were any indication, he was having a far easier time finding things to write about than talk to her about. They'd barely spoken more than a few passing civilities to each other since boarding the ship in Cypress. It did occur to her that she had spent the majority of her time since then battling her seasickness and being downright contrary, but that was hardly her fault. How could she really be to blame for not taking up the role of conversationalist when she was having a hard time merely keeping track of what was up and what was down on this godforsaken vessel? Always swaying this way and that way, throwing her off balance and making even the simplest tasks (such as relieving oneself) all but impossible. And all the time the Assassin was strolling about as though he had been born at sea. Perhaps he had been.

With a sigh, Maria shifted a little to try and get more comfortable on the worn planking and it suddenly dawned on her that the deck was not rolling. Her eyes snapped open and she swiveled her head to take in the quay of boats tied up alongside them in the harbour they had apparently made port in at some point while she'd been busy feeling sorry for herself. Wonderful.

Getting her legs beneath her, she stood shakily and made her way towards the dock, doing her level best not to trip in her own feet. Nothing was sweeter than taking that first step onto terra firma. She'd no idea where here was, but it was instantly her new favourite place.

"Out of the way, woman," a hefty man grumbled as he swerved around her. A fisherman, from the smell of him. But not even that could dispel Maria's newfound sense of joy. Joy to be alive and standing on a surface which was not moving to and fro beneath her. Everything was right in the world again. She strolled down the dock, managing to appear only mildly intoxicated, and even summoned up a smile for the two girls who ran past her giggling.

Approaching the array of fruit stands, she bartered with a wrinkled crone she was sure had been around when Jesus was born and got a bag full of blood oranges in exchange for the length of blue ribbon she had been using to tie her hair back. She found a cosy seat in the sun on the dilapidated stone wall which encircled the harbour front and had devoured three of the juicy pieces of fruit in a matter of minutes. In the process of peeling the fourth, she started and cursed herself when Altaïr's approach (as per usual) caught her utterly off guard.

"I thought you did not wish to leave the ship?"

Swiping a hand across her chin to remove the evidence of her somewhat unladylike consumption of the oranges, she gave the most nonchalant shrug she could manage. "Changed my mind."

"Ah." She caught the slight quirk of his lips as he lowered himself to sit on the other side of her stash of fruit. "Your appetite has returned, I see."

"Mmmhmm," she was forced to mumble around a mouthful of the delectable ruby flesh.

"I am glad, but perhaps you should give your stomach some time to settle before we set sail again."

"Hmm?"

"The captain assured me this would be a very fleeting stopover."

And just like that, Maria felt ill again. Spitting out what was in her mouth rather unceremoniously, she turned to him in desperation. "I can't get back on that boat, not today. Surely we can convince them to stay a little longer? A day or two?"

"It is a merchant vessel carrying perishable goods, I do not suspect this would be possible. Besides, in only a few more days we will make land in Acre," he assured quite reasonably.

"But why go there at all? Our aim is to head east, to India, right? Wouldn't it make the most sense to start out from here? No point in wasting time continuing to Acre; where we're both wanted for treason, I might add." Well, it was true.

"You jest, Maria," Altaïr insisted.

"I'm not getting back on that boat." Maria sniffed indignantly. "Go without me, if you like."

"I have already paid for our passage to Acre."

"Oh is that the issue at hand? Well, here!" Shoving the sack of oranges at him, she stood. "What else shall I give you in gratitude for ruining my life and having a price put on my head? How about my dignity? No, wait, you took that already. Hang on, I'm sure I'll come up with a suitable form of repayment."

"Maria-" he attempted to conciliate the situation, but her fist connecting with his jaw put an abrupt end to that. She noted with some satisfaction the trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth as his hooded face turned back toward her. Silently he rose and took her wrist before she had the chance to evade him, pushing the bag of fruit into her grasp as she opened her mouth to protest. And then he had the gall to just walk away.

"Fine!" Maria shouted after him for finality's sake and plopped down onto the wall again dejectedly. The blood oranges didn't seem so appealing anymore.

She sat there until the ship set sail a mere hour later, and then she sat for the rest of the day, feeling stupider by the minute. What had she expected, for him to return, apologize and beg for them to continue their journey eastwards together? The notion made her huff. No, perhaps not that, but she had not prepared herself for the possibility he might actually abandon her either. He'd spent weeks dragging her all over Cypress, after all.

Eventually she scolded herself into getting up and figuring out what she was to do with darkness fast approaching. She had few items left with which to bargain, and recalled in a surge of self-deprecation that she'd waltzed right off the ship without her last greatest possession – her sword.

"Bollocks!"

Grinding her heal down onto the peels she'd discarded earlier during her feeding frenzy, she fought the urge to throw a tantrum and took several deep breaths. She still had her cloak and her boots, they were of a quality make and should easily fetch her enough coin to secure accommodations for the night. With the vendors packing away their stalls for the evening she slung the sack of fruit over her shoulder and hurried to broker her deals. Maria couldn't help feeling a little pleased with herself as she completed the necessary transactions and headed off in the direction she had been informed she would find the inn, her 'new' boots nipping her toes and scratchy replacement cloak flapping in the breeze.

The inn was easy enough to find, though she didn't get the feeling she would much enjoy her stay as she stepped into its dimly lit interior. The candles guttering on the table the lone patron sat at cast shadows across her weathered features as she bent over her knitting.

"I'm looking for a room for the night, is the keeper about?"

"Yes," came the absent response as the woman continued on with her work.

Maria shuffled her feet. "Then I need to speak with him." She'd assumed that much was obvious.

"You are."

About to lose patience with the old hag, Maria clued in before she could make a fool of herself. "Right." She cleared her throat. "Well then, I require a room with a lock on the door. How much for one night?"

The price was nothing short of criminal, but with no other prospects Maria paid it and stalked down the hall and ascended the creaky staircase to the second floor. Oddly enough there were no other sounds of occupancy in the run-down building despite it being the only inn in the port. When she reached the third door on the left she pushed it open and was halfway in before she noticed it was not in fact vacant.

"Bloody hell!" she fumed, glaring across the sparsely furnished room. "What are you doing here?"

Altaïr surveyed her from when he stood silhouetted in the only window. "You said you would not get on the ship again, Maria," he replied simply.

"I know what I said, Assassin! Answer my question!"

"I retrieved your belongings and came here to wait for you. I thought you may need some time to yourself."

Maria snorted. "Indeed? So you just assumed after all that, not only would I be happy to keep travelling with you, but I might like to share a room with you?" It was maddening, the way he had known precisely where she would end up before even she had.

He inclined his head a fraction, but his expression wasn't discernable. The light from the lamp hanging in the hallway didn't reach the dark recesses of the room. "If I was incorrect, I will go."

"Go, then! I thought you already had, anyway." She moved to the narrow bed and dropped her sack of oranges onto the floor as she sat. The thin straw mattress barely gave at all under her weight and she sighed, resigning herself to a restless night already. He didn't show any signs of leaving, but she resolved to ignore this and instead set about the task of removing her ill-fitting footwear. Which was when she spotted her sword propped against the wall adjacent the bed and snatched it up like a long-lost friend. Running her fingers over the wear marks on the hilt, she bit her lip. "Look, I know that… this isn't entirely your doing. If I had not been so blinded by my own pursuits perhaps I would have seen the corruption spreading through the Order before it was too late. I didn't want to believe. I suppose a part of me still doesn't."

"Nothing is true. Everything is permitted." When she only looked towards him quizzically, Altaïr allowed the ghost of a smile to touch his lips. "Get some sleep, Maria. You are tired."

While she may have agreed wholeheartedly with his assessment, it didn't lessen her annoyance. Setting her sword aside, she kicked off the slightly too small boots as he crossed the room and experienced a moment of mild panic until she realized he was merely closing the door. What should it matter, in any case? She was perfectly capable of spending the night alone in a musty old inn. Hell, she preferred her privacy. The fact that he even had the nerve to insist upon sharing her room was insufferable. Or, at least, she told herself it was as she curled up on the stiff mattress under her cloak and fell nearly immediately asleep in the company of his reassuring presence.