-Jerusalem/afternoon-

Malik Al-Sayf clenched the quill in his only hand tighter in frustration. Altair had left to gather information on his next target almost two hours ago. And although he always managed to be somewhat "unprofessional" at times, he was never this late in returning...
Had something happened to him? Surely "the great" Altair Ibn La'Ahad hadn't been taken down...had he?
His frustration slowly changing to concern, Malik set down his quill and began to pace the floor. What the hell was taking him so long?
I can't even go after him...Malik's sad but true thought haunted him with the fact that he could no longer be an assassin, due to his "condition", courtesy of the currently MIA novice. Just when Malik thought he'd start throwing books, he heard a loud crash from the other room. Altair was finally back...
But not in good shape, as Malik had suspected. The rafiq hurried over to the fallen killer, an angry but worried expression on his face.

"Altair, what in the name of-"

"I'm fine," The stubborn assassin refused to accept the fact that he was bleeding profusely, having been stabbed in the side by a lucky guard who managed to wound him before having his throat slashed by Altair's blade.

"You are NOT fine, Altair. I will have to dress your wound so that you don't ruin my floors any more than you already have." Malik turned to retrieve the medical supplies.

Altair sat there despite his nature not to listen to anyone. He was angry and humiliated. One, for being wounded by a lowly guard. Two, for having to come to Malik for help and seeing him in this pathetic state.
But what else was he supposed to do? He didn't have the things needed for treating the gash himself, and the streets were crawling with more guards by the second. He HAD to come to the bureau, pride be damned.

Malik returned to the room with a small basin of water, a washcloth, bandages, and medicine. The fact that he managed to carry all that with a single arm stunned Altair. And apparently, that astonishment was clear on his hooded face.

"What are you staring at? Hurry up and remove your robe before it's dyed completely red...!"
Altair sighed and reluctantly complied, taking off his gear and weapons, followed by his bloodstained assassin's robe, leaving the hood on.
Malik winced involuntarily at the sight of his former friend's injuries, despite the fact that he'd seen much worse on others...but seeing Altair like this was...strange...he wasn't sure what to feel.
Altair frowned at the one-armed man's expression. "What's that look for? It isn't that serious..."
No, it wasn't, but still...was this sympathy Malik was feeling? A compassionate Malik Al-Sayf seemed somewhat...unnatural. But that thought didn't stop the wounded assassin from feeling a little grateful...and as for why, he had no idea.

Malik sat down next to him, setting the supplies on the floor. He picked up the cloth and dampened it with the water in the wooden basin. "Why on earth do you always keep your hood on? Are you afraid-"

"I'm not afraid of anything," Altair all but growled those words, his icy glare barely visible in the shadow cast by his beaked hood.

It took a few seconds for Malik to answer. "Altair...everyone is afraid of at least one thing, whether it is visible or invisible. You know this, and yet you believe you fear nothing. You are such a novice..." Sighing, he wrung out the cloth and began cleaning up the gash in Altair's side as best he could.

Altair winced slightly, but that was it. He refused to show any form of weakness, pain being the main one. That was what your enemies thrived on. Pain. So to not show it is not only survival, but dignity. But there is also another damning emotion; love. Altair made it a point not to grow too attached to anyone. But whenever he came to Malik's bureau, he was assaulted by mixed emotions...remorse surprisingly one of them. He never wanted Malik to lose his brother, Kadar, or his arm. And every time he saw Malik, deep down was a tiny voice begging him to apologize and ask for Malik's forgiveness. But he always managed to drown out that voice with his more stoic self. Today, however, was different...

"That's enough treatment, Malik. I need to finish what I started."

"And so do I. Now sit still and stay quiet." Malik continued wrapping the bandages, having already applied the medicine. "You are so impatient..."

Altair sighed. He didn't see himself as impatient, just dedicated. "I am not impatient. I have unfinished business to attend to."

The rafiq frowned at the assassin. "And you think I don't? I'm not sure why I'm even helping you...it is your own fault that you were wounded like this. And yet you have the nerve to say-"

"Sorry..." Altair felt as stunned as Malik now looked.
Did he just apologize?

Malik quickly finished and stared at his guest.
I must be going insane...I must be hearing things...

"Malik, I...I mean it...I've been wanting to tell you, but...I was...I just didn't want you to resent me any more than you already do..." Altair looked to the side. "It was a tragedy. That day...when Kadar was lost...and your arm being damaged beyond repair...I didn't mean for those things to happen. But your resentment towards me is fully understandable as well as justified. I don't blame you at all for hating me, for I've hated myself as well. I just hope that one day you could look at me without wishing I would leave the moment I get here...without-?"

Altair's oddly heartfelt words were cut off by Malik's lips quickly pressing against his own for a split second before he pulled away without a word. Malik picked up the medical items and silently walked back into his office, leaving Altair shocked, confused, and feeling some other foreign emotion that he had yet to recognize...