Chapter: 2/2 AN: The second part already! Imagine that... Well, here's the second installment, in any case. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Word Count: 1145
Pairings: Altair/Malik
Warnings: Altair POV, mentions of violence, regret, unrequited love, mentions of heavy slash. Set during the mission in Jerusalem when you first speak to Malik again.
I think Malik has a tendency to want to perpetuate animosity between us. He has no reason to still be so angry with me; I only tried to hold a conversation with the man, to see how he was doing, and he snapped at me something about making 'Brilliant plans like in Solomon's Temple?!' I've heard more than my share of contempt from the man, but in all my life I had never heard such a biting ferocity behind it. If I hadn't been so caught off-guard, I might have argued back. He lost his brother and his arm, but he isn't the first Assassin to lose something like that, and he certainly won't be the last. What could his deal be?
I even left him those flowers, tended to them, tended to him when he was too in pain to know the difference between myself and his scheduled caretaker... And yet he still thinks that I wanted this for him. Sure, I think he should just get over it and move on, but I never intended for my actions to backfire like they did. Robert is a slippery man, and clearly that is why my blade missed, it had nothing to do with my "idiocy and inability to listen and do as I am told", as Malik so graciously put it.
But it's the night before I'm supposed to go off to assassinate Talal that I finally decide he needs to make an apology to me, for continuing to drag this out like it's some kind of war. We don't need to be fighting, and I'm trying to be nice... He's just being the world's biggest dickwad.
"-Cry in a corner, whatever you do before a mission, but do so quietly." He snapped, turning from me with the idea to get some work done, I'm sure, but all he does is stand there, staring at me from over his shoulder. Finally, I go to the pillows in the sun, resting and tanning my face a little, until the sun began to creep towards the ground. When my eyes slid open again, the sky was becoming a deep blue, like Malik's coat, with dots of small, twinkling stars that looked like a thousand diamonds strewn across the material. I wondered vaguely if he kept it soft somehow, or if he just let whatever happened to it happen. Of course, I realized then that there was no way he would let something just 'happen', if he had any way to prevent it.
I hear the clatter of the roof's lattice, and it seems Malik had gone out of his way to crawl upon the fountain, chest pressed into the stone as he used a long pole with a hook attached to close the latch. He still seems to think I'm asleep, because when he walks past me he mutters something about a 'stupid novice'. I wait, eyes closed, until he's returned to the inside of the bureau. I can hear the clack of the door that keeps the other Assassins out of the back, and the sound of a curtain being drawn and replaced can be heard. He's going off to his bedroom in the back, no doubt. What small comfort he was allowed, but it likely worked well enough for him.
Of course, having slept all day, I was restless, rising from the pillows and looking around, smirking a bit. Nobody else rest here today, which wasn't exactly a surprise, but it meant that I could get away with my plan. Carefully, I removed most of my clothes and such, laying it in the pillows before sneaking, barefoot and barechested, into the main room. Easily hopping the little door, I swung behind the curtain, only to see a small hallway and several rooms. On the right, I could smell musty papers and, upon poking my head inside, noted it must be some kind of clerical room. Past that on the left was a room likely used for a bathroom, and that meant the room at the end of the hallway with a thin, beaded doorway must have been Malik's. With that smirk growing into a lecherous grin, I make my way silently forward. Peeking my head inside as quietly as I can, I realize with dismal regret the situation I've put my lover in.
Not that I'd ever admit that to him.
The room itself serves as little more than a place to sleep. The bed is small (but I think we could fit together if we curl up against one another), and there is a small dresser on one side for his clothes. He has a bedside table, but it looks like he had to shoddily build it himself. I would have to remember that for next time I need to apologize.
Making my way inside, I creep up to the bed and carefully lift the covers. He's mostly naked, except for his smallclothes, that I have to admit fit nicely on his body. Licking my lips, I crawl in with him and hold him close, pulling him up against my chest. Immediately he relaxes in his sleep, and I could tell he'd been tense before this. However, as he begins to wake, he shoves at my body, no matter what I do.
"Altair, get out," he growls, but I can tell that he doesn't exactly mean it. The way his hand, only one now instead of the usual two, rubs against my arms, or my chest and stomach, I can tell he's forcing himself to put up this fight, even while half-asleep. He manages to get a breath of air between our bodies before he gives up, sighing softly and grunting in frustration. "Why are you here?"
"I wanted to see how you were doing..." I whisper into his ear, and he shivers. "It's okay, Malik... I will not make fun of you for your shortcomings... I am not that heartless."
"That sentence alone doesn't make any sense, Altair." Malik sighed, but gave in and laced the fingers of his right hand with mine. "Novice." He adds, I'm sure for his own benefit. I hum as I hold him, one hand tangled in his and the other gently petting his side. This is his way of apologizing, I think, allowing me to lay with him without much of a fight or complication. These moments where things are quiet and calm between us... It's how he shows he cares.
After a while, I hear the softest of snores leave him, and I know he's asleep. I relax a tad bit more, trying to relish this calmness for a while longer, and lose track of when I fall asleep, myself. The best apologies, if you ask me, are the unspoken ones; the ones that convey more than words ever could.
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