"Looks delicious, your apple."
Malik kept on writing silently as if he did not hear and there was nobody but him in the bureau.
"Are you going to eat it?"
"Yes." he said after a pause.
Altair shifted slightly on the Damask pillows, meditating.
"If you're hungry, go and get your own from the storage."
Altair tilted his head and looked at Malik with puppy-dog eyes. "But I want yours!"
"And why on earth would that be, Altair?" he raised his eyebrows "Get your own. I'm neither your servant nor your mother."
Frowning at being treated so condescendingly, Altair folded his arms, scowling at the man writing behind the counter.
"Novice!" Malik slammed his quill on the table "Your pathetic craving for recognition distracts me. If you are going to sit here sulking at me like a five-year-old, please don't embarrass yourself any longer and leave."
"Or you could just give me the Apple…" Altair said while examining his nails absentmindedly.
"Altair! Enough already! I don't have time for these immature games of yours and it is not my concern to entertain you, when you're bored." He waved his hand towards the now grinning figure in the pillows, "Buzz off and don't bother coming back before you've grown up." With a resolute gesture, he took the shiny apple and put it under the counter.
Altair was still smiling. In the beginning he really wanted the fruit but now he had found something so much sweeter. Badgering Malik had not been on his mind today, but this opportunity to unnerve him was just too good to let it pass. He loved how he could peel away the bureau leader's several layers of precious self-countenance bit by bit. It had already started – Malik's fingers held the quill tighter and that vein above his temple began pulsating visibly. Oh, you think you are made from the coolest marble, my mistaken friend. But I will make you the fire-spitting volcano that you really are. Altair smiled even broader at that thought but when turning to Malik again, his face showed a surprised expression. "How can I bother you when I'm not doing anything? Besides, I have every right to sit here and have a rest for a while. But if you are that touchy, I won't say another word."
"If only…!" Malik snorted and rolled his eyes before he continued tracing the map in front of him with his compass.
After a while of sitting silently with eyes half-closed in the sunlight shining in from the panel ceiling, Altair got up and started wandering aimlessly through the bureau. Taking his time, he patted the colorful carpets on the wall, thumbed through some books without any greater interest, and rearranged the cushions in the resting area until Malik stabbed the compass forcefully into the wood of the counter.
"For the love of my sanity, stop prancing around playing with my things you idiot! I was under the impression a master assassin would have more urgent tasks at hand than fluffing up cushions."
Score! He had tapped his sarcastic vein. From here on, Malik would not be able to subdue his anger and eventually burst out into a delicious fit of rage. Altair knew how Malik despised being mistaken for a domestic pedant just because he had to serve the order as an intellectual mentor rather than a venturesome assassin. To nettle him further, Altair answered defensively:
"Not today, no. I'm free for the afternoon and I thought I'd drop by to look how you were doing. You seem a bit on edge and I thought I could make your life easier by helping you with the little tasks around the house."
He could see the mental effort Malik had to put in to restrain himself from shouting a foul answer back at him. His body was as taut as a bow and his mouth almost invisible, so hard did he press his lips together. He could see the man following his every move under the shade of his thick lashes as Altair continued brushing away invisible specs of dust from the plants and assessing the texture of the stone walls with his gloved hand.
He would not buckle to his rage and give into this stupid little game of Altair. He plucked the compass from the desk with one quick yank, trying to continue his cartography and to ignore the disturbance that was hovering tauntingly in the sun-speckled room. Palpably enjoying himself, Altair did not whistle, but he might have as well. In Malik's head he was humming a provocatively happy tune while he loitered around only to annoy him.
The bureau leader secretly took great pride in being known for his thoughtful advice and discrete wisdom – losing his temper the way he was about to did not fit into this picture. Nobody knew that intentional childishness drove him mad to the point that he would just burst. Nobody but Altair. He had to pull himself together! But the more he tried not to take notice of the other person in the room, the more prominent it became. Each tiny movement of Altair stung his eyes, making his hands itch to grab the next best thing and throw it at the assassin. The goddamn apple for all he cared! But he would contain himself this time. He would not give Altair the satisfaction of a response, he thought seething.
"Mali-hik..." a velvety voice dripping with honey rang through the fog of his anger "Just give me the apple and you'll be rid of me for the rest of the day."
"Don't you chirp at me you foul creature. You'll have to pry the apple from my dead fingers if you want to have it now."
"Ha! Don't be ridiculous Malik. I want you to give it to me." He grinned impertinently. "If not for that, I'd bask already in the sun on the roof, munching your little treasure." He took some steps into Malik's direction and turned up his palms like a magician, "It's very easy, you see."
Malik pinched the bridge of his nose.
Altair continued, "But maybe you just don't want me to leave, hm? I can fully understand that, brother. I am here for you when you need me."
"Don't flatter yourself, you ragged peacock!" Malik spat at Altair, his thick brows creased in one menacing line .
He was ripe for the picking. Only a tiny push and his friend would lose it. Altair exulted at the thought of what was inevitably going to happen. He shook his head disapprovingly while covering the remaining distance to the counter with elegant steps .
"Always so prim, Al-Sayf..." he purred and slid behind the counter like a cat approaching its prey.
Still standing his ground, Malik straightened up, his posture one big warning sign not to come any closer. "Stay the hell away from me, you bastard"
Altair mockingly shook his head, his eyes withstanding – no, savoring – the deathly glare of the enticingly wound-up Malik.
"Agh!" as if struck by an adder, the dark-haired man shrank back when Altair smacked a hearty kiss on his unsuspecting lips. Through his shock of surprise he could hear a muffled clink, causing a tiny rush of sweat when he identified the sound as a that of a hidden blade. But as quickly as he had been attacked, he was released again, leaving him perplexed and agitated.
"Altair, you son of a …!" he bolted after the flapping white robe that was now darting towards the roof panel but it was too late.
The assassin was already out of his reach and sat on the edge of the skylight, glinting at him with the eyes of a school boy while dangling his legs, knowing that there was nothing the other could do to reach him. He lifted his right hand to his face and tiny sprinkles landed on Malik's face. When his eyes adjusted to the brightness overhead, he saw Altair devouring his apple, pronged on the hidden blade.
"Fee ya 'onight, fove!" he shouted, his mouth still full. He winked at the pitiful shadow beneath his feet, and off he was over the rooftops of Jerusalem. He was unnecessarily proud of himself and already excited for when Malik would return to their sleeping quarters. He would willingly pay for his little prank. Tonight was going to be great fun.