Altair leaned heavily against the door to his chambers, pressing his forehead against the rough wood with a sigh.
"Maria, I could pick this lock if I so chose, why-"
The sound of the bar slamming into place cut him off. It seemed picking the lock would no longer be possible. He couldn't quite keep the smile from his face or the frustration from his voice.
"I will gladly stand out here until you see fit to open the door." And then he would gladly turn her over his knee for this, except that she might well return the favor if he tried.
"You may stand there until doomsday; I am occupied."
Altair pressed his ear to the door, drawing shallow breaths; there was very little sound of movement. She was not taking it upon herself to rearrange his things then, that at least was a blessing.
"Maria-"
"Do not address me in that patronizing tone!" He winced, recognizing a grain of truth in the criticism. Her voice seemed hoarse and strained and for the first time he considered this might be more than a mood. Surely she would have informed him if she were ill? No, of course not. And what else could it be? She had made directly for this chamber before she had even finished her customary round of practice bouts. He had bolted after her immediately, but true to form she had always stayed a few paces ahead.
He winced at a choked gasp from beyond the door, panting and shuffling. He gritted his teeth, putting every ounce of determination into his tone. "Open the door or I will break it down, Maria."
A muffled sob of laughter greeted the pronouncement, but he heard the bar shifting out of place and the feeble lock's tumblers clicking as she turned the key. Feeling unaccountably guilty and undeniably wary he stepped in.
Maria had moved away to crouch on the floor, head bowed and breathing uneven; "This is not so serious as it looks. Be calm."
Far too late for such a warning, Altair had already crossed to her side and was desperately trying to appear composed while he examined her for any telling injuries.
"Were you struck? Do you need a healer? Are you-"
"He kicked. He kicked me in the lungs. Twice." She was still wheezing a little, hands clutched protectively about her abdomen now. Seeing no sign of any other injury Altair began to relax, good humor slowly returning.
"Then I think she must be her mother's daughter."
"His father's son. No daughter of mine would attack her own mother." Maria tried for a smile, but it seemed strained.
"Can you stand?"
Maria snorted, pushing herself to her feet so fast she swayed a little, glaring at him when he reached out a hand to steady her.
"I think it is best if you conduct your practice alone henceforth. Clearly your son has no liking for it."
"Our daughter is a hellion." The tone was light and teasing, but he could not resist trailing along behind her, hand hovering over her back lest she stumble.
"I'm sure any daughter of mine would welcome a few friendly contests of strength." Maria rested a hand against the edge of the bed, turning back to smirk at him. That was an expression he had become intimately acquainted with, and the last of his concern melted away. Five months of this, nearly two with the little one making its presence known periodically; he was sure Maria had planned for every contingency as carefully as she would any battle.
"However, I am more than a little fatigued. A brief rest would not go amiss…" That lift of her brow was equally familiar, and while Altair knew any responsible leader would decline the invitation, Maria made a very convincing argument in favor of temporarily abdicating his duties. Malik would be grateful to work without his interference for a time, he assured himself.
"No. I think not." He watched her face change from mischievous to disappointed in a fraction of a second. His own grin widened, "I am not tired at all."
That rasping laughter of hers did much to abolish what little was left of Altair's cherished self-discipline. He could not resist stepping forward that last foot to put them face to face. Maria's laughter trailed off, pink tongue peeking out to wet her lips. It was more than any sane man could possibly be expected to bear, and evidently her thoughts were following much the same pattern. No sooner had he leaned forward to catch her lips in a hurried kiss than she had twined her fist in his robes and gracefully twisted so that he was effectively pinned at the foot of the bed. Clever wench.
Altair allowed himself to be pushed onto the bed, Maria crouching gracefully above him. "Nevertheless. I am." She leaned down to feather kisses along his face. "Desperately so." She smiled, and he could see it was only half in jest.
Concerned once more, he caught her hands in his own. "Maria, rest. I-"
Maria drew back, narrowing her eyes and Altair braced for a reprimand, already preparing several undeniably rational arguments should she object. She pushed away and threw herself down beside him, arms thrown out carelessly at her sides. "That might be for the best." Altair muffled a relieved sigh.
"Do not assume you are rid of me, though. I expect to see you at evening practice."
"I think it would be best if-"
The look she slanted his way was so mild it could not be anything but a warning; experience had made him a far wiser man than to trust that look.
"If I returned and kept watch. Many of the novices were concerned when you left so quickly; I would not want them bothering you."
"Too clever by half." Maria mumbled, and he knew she was not fooled.
Altair laid there a few moments more despite his words, basking in the pleasure of her company with no concern for time or times of peace were increasingly rare; if he wasn't seeing to the duties of his station then Maria was almost certainly engaged in the daily minutiae of upkeep. Most mornings he rose before her, seeing her only just after dawn when they split the duties of putting novices through their paces. Even that was new, Maria insisted it was important that he make his presence felt among even the smallest.
For weeks now they had both stumbled to bed exhausted, hardly able to do more than discard their worn clothes before sleep claimed them; at least Maria had the excuse of the child, for his weakness there was no pardon.
He was certain they had exchanged more words in this brief stretch of time than they had the last three days. Worse, there were words he should have spoken some time ago and had neglected. A wise man knew to speak such words before they were required.
"Maria."
A soft breath was his only response; he could not be sure if it was an acknowledgment or whether she had succumbed to her fatigue while he was lost in thought.
Not being any kind of poet, Altair chose the most straightforward words he could find to express his contentment; he choked on the unfamiliar phrase twice before he finally managed a strangled whisper:"I love you."
He was oddly grateful that she did not respond in kind, but he thought she might have murmured a few sleep-muddled words of agreement. It was enough for now.
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By rights this should have been the next chapter for "Friends of a Feather". My apologies for how long that one is taking, but it is currently driving me up the wall. Hopefully I'll have it up sometime this week. :)