A/N: My apologies for the long time between updates; holidays and catching up at work, and all that. I'll try to be more industious in the future ;)

Warning for one naughty swear word. I'd be interested in hearing what anybody thinks it should do to the rating... I changed it to T, is that enough?

Two

Altaïr crouched on the platform, gazing out at Damascus in the half-light. The pre-dawn hours were his favourite; everyone was still asleep, and the stars were still shining in the paling sky. As the sun made its slow ascent over the slumbering city, Altaïr's thoughts turned to the woman now sleeping in the Bureau.

She was unlike any woman he had ever met, and it was this more than anything which had prompted him to accept her strange story of time travel. Surely no woman in this time could possess the grace and inner power of the most elite assassin? Then there were her unusual features; he had heard stories of the people from the far east, with slanting black eyes, but he had never seen one.

She had caught him off guard, he realised. She had made him open up; laugh and joke, she had gotten past his defences within minutes of meeting him. She was dangerous. A threat to his self control; made him feel things that a killer shouldn't feel. Already he was forming an attachment, and that was unacceptable. Those with attachments were easy to manipulate – they had too much to lose. She had to be driven away; Altaïr would be careful never to reveal so much of himself again.

o0o

Lilia opened her eyes a crack. Morning sunlight was streaming into the Bureau, catching upon the young green leaves of a creeper which was winding its way along the trellis, dancing slightly in the morning breeze. It took a moment for her to fully orientate herself, but the moment of blissful unawareness passed all too soon, swept away with the memory of where, and who, she was. The enormity of what she had to do was only just beginning to impress itself upon her; already she was beginning to feel slightly overwhelmed.

"You're finally awake," said a pleasant deep voice from somewhere nearby. "I was beginning to wonder if I should check your pulse. Is business so poor in the future that assassins can afford to sleep all morning?"

Lilia cast a sceptical eye at the early morning shadows; it couldn't be more than a couple of hours after dawn.

"I've been travelling a long time," she said with a smirk.

"Well it's not over yet," replied Altaïr. "We must leave for Masyaf this morning. You do know how to ride, don't you?"

"Of course I do. We still have horses in the future you know, and I did actually prepare for this mission."

"Good, then let's get moving," he said, turning towards the gap in the trellis roof.

"What, no breakfast?!"

Altaïr fixed the she-assassin with a fierce glare. "You may well spend half your lives eating, and the other half sleeping when you come from, but things work differently now. We'll stop on the journey, but for now we must get moving. So move!" He aimed a kick at the spot where the woman sat gazing imploringly at him from the floor.

Quicker than he could blink, she scooted out of the way of his foot and was on her feet. "I'm hungry!" she persisted.

"I don't give a damn," Altaïr replied, fast losing the jovial tone with which he had begun the conversation.

"Well that's too bad, because I'm not going anywhere until I've had something to eat," she folded her arms, defiantly.

"You're not a guest, you're a prisoner, until such a time as Al Mualim decides you're not a threat, understand?" Altaïr hissed through gritted teeth.

Lilia flinched as though she had been slapped, but recovered quickly. "So you intend to starve your prisoner?"

"I said we'll stop on the way," he spat, muscles beginning to tense.

"I'm hungry now!"

With a snarl, the assassin launched himself at his antagonist, using surprise, as well as his superior strength and body weight to pin her to the wall, his right hand keeping her hidden blade at bay, and his left closing mercilessly around her throat, preventing her from drawing breath.

"Listen carefully to what I say," he growled as she attempted fruitlessly to throw him off. "Do what I tell you, when I tell you to, and we'll have no problems." Lilia started to struggle violently for her sidearm, but couldn't reach it. Altaïr ignored her. "If you keep arguing with everything I say, I'll cut your throat and dump your body in the river." As Altaïr locked gazes with the woman, the dark fire in her eyes began to give way; replaced with pain and panic as her vision began to grey out.

Altaïr's head started to spin, and as he released his hold on the she-assassin she slumped to the floor. Heart racing, he realised he hadn't been breathing either; and as he looked down at the unconscious form of the strange woman, he felt an unfamiliar clenching sensation in his stomach.

"Any particular reason you're strangling our guest?" the Rafik's old voice drifted out from the room beyond.

Altaïr whirled around, loosing his balance slightly from light headedness. "She's not a guest; she's a prisoner, and an uncooperative one at that."

"She seems to be a member of our own order, and you just assaulted her."

The assassin made a scathing noise. "You don't seriously believe that? She's a woman, a strange looking one too," he said eyeing her oriental features.

The Rafik sighed, and said "You had best be leaving."

Altaïr turned without a word, and hoisted the limp form of the woman over his shoulder, and climbed out of the Bureau.

o0o

Lilia was bobbing. Midday sun was streaming down on her, and she was overheated; her throat felt raw and parched, and there was someone holding her in place.

As she came to, she realised she was trotting along on a large bay horse, perched uncomfortably on the pommel of the saddle in front of Altaïr. She began to wriggle free of his clutches, but stopped when she felt the cool steel of a blade pressed against her already battered neck. At once her temper flared up again, but realising it would get her no where, she changed tack.

"Please," she croaked (perhaps a little hoarser than strictly necessary), "I'm so thirsty, could we stop for a moment?"

Altaïr nodded at an oasis shimmering in the distance. "We'll stop there," he said tonelessly.

Lilia said nothing, realising her captor was in no mood for argument. Instead, she turned her thoughts to her mission; it had been going so well, then this morning everything had changed. What had she done wrong? Surely just asking for breakfast couldn't have caused this? Or sleeping later than him? Whatever had happened, it was drastic. She wasn't ready now to face Al Mualim without Altaïr on her side. She needed to regroup; needed time. Escape was the only option.

When they at last arrived at the oasis, and had both drunk their fill, Altaïr went to tend to the horse, and Lilia wasted no time. As soon as his attention was diverted, she ran fleet footed, heart pounding, to the nearest rested horse and vaulted onto its back. Without looking back, she raced out of the oasis back along the road towards Damascus, tearing up clouds of sand and dust in her wake.

She slapped the reigns either side of her mount's neck, urging it on; she could hear the thunder of hooves in pursuit. Risking a glance behind her, she saw a figure robed in white atop a midnight steed, steadily closing in on her. Digging her heels into her horse's sides, she urged it on faster still. Perhaps the beast perceived her rising panic, as it stepped up the pace – but glancing behind her once more, Lilia saw that, impossibly, the assassin was gaining on her faster still.

Looking about her wildly for some other means of escape, blood rushed in her ears; what would happen when Altaïr caught her? Images of his hidden blade slicing her throat and her lifeless body tumbling into the river assaulted her. Would he really do it? Cold fear crept up her spine as she realised the answer was probably 'yes'.

She was trapped; with no avenue for escape, she pondered surrender – perhaps that would soften his demeanour? With this shred of hope in mind, she began to reign in her horse, and was hit from the side and knocked to the ground, with a sickening pop as her shoulder dislocated. Winded, she realised Altaïr had leapt from his horse, knocked her from hers, and pinned her down like a cat on a mouse, the opening to his hidden blade positioned threateningly close to her heart.

She glanced up at his face through watering eyes; it was expressionless, like a mask. He stood up, throwing her a glare which clearly said 'stay', and let out a clear whistle. Incredibly, both horses soon trotted obediently up to him. He ran his hand down the neck of her liver chestnut horse, and went to the saddlebags. After a few moments rummaging, he pulled out a length of rope with a satisfied smirk.

He bent down and flipped her effortlessly onto her front, and bound her hands tightly behind her back, ignoring her cry of pain as he jolted her shoulder. Lilia bit of a scream as Altaïr hoisted her up onto his tall mount, tying the reigns of her horse to the saddle. He then took the end of the rope from her wrists and looped it through the D ring on the saddle and around her neck in such a way that she would be strangled if she attempted to dismount without his help. Then they began again the journey to Masyaf.

They didn't speak until the sun sank below the hills, and they were forced to make camp, as they were still some distance from the citadel. Altaïr pulled Lilia down from the horse and hog-tied her where she sat, filthy and wracked with pain, as he built the camp fire. He then began to prepare a frugal meal, without ever glancing in her direction.

"Look, I'm sorry I demanded breakfast, OK?" Lilia whispered. "I didn't realise it would anger you so."

Altaïr said nothing, but began to dish out the food on to two plates, increasingly aware of the ridiculously trivial nature of the argument that had put him in such a bad mood.

"I didn't mean to upset you," she laboured on. "I was just really hungry, and stressed from the mission."

But it wasn't really that argument that had gotten to him, was it? He mused to himself whilst stoking up the fire. It was her. The way she robbed him of his self control. Then she tried to usurp whatever control he had remaining. That was it.

"Can't we just forget today? Start again?" she asked.

It wasn't her fault, though, was it? He thought. He was being unfair, punishing her like this, and here she was, offering to just forget the last day, all he had done to her. How could he refuse?

He looked up at her face in the flickering firelight, and saw to his alarm the little clean tracks that tears had made in the dirt of her face. She had been crying? But she sounded so steady, so strong. It shocked him to see her so vulnerable.

Wordlessly, he stood and walked over to her, and untied her bonds. She sighed with relief as her muscles relaxed, and turned with a smile to thank the assassin, but he had already turned his back to her and was quickly eating his meal. Lilia ate her food in silence, and watched Altaïr as he lay down to sleep for the night. She shuffled closer to him and laid a hand on his arm. "Altaïr?" she said, but received no reply. Sadly, she lay down on her good shoulder and closed her eyes.

o0o

The seconds seemed to crawl by as she lay there trying to ignore the throbbing in her shoulder. Minutes seemed few and far between, and by the time the moon had travelled half an inch across the sky, she could stand it no longer. Sitting up, she picked up the rope lying beside her that had so recently bound her in place. She stood, and made her way as noiselessly as possible to a nearby tree. She cast a fearful look at the slumbering assassin, afraid of his reaction if he should wake. But he seemed deep in sleep; indeed, she might actually be able to make a clean get away if she chose. But looking at his sleeping face; so peaceful, so lacking in the scorn it bore when conscious, she felt strangely reticent.

Why, she could not fathom. After all he had done to her the previous day (and for what? Some stupid argument over breakfast!) she had every right to resent him, yet she found that she didn't, and she didn't want to leave him. She had spent half her life studying this man, but now that she was here, she realised that she didn't know him in the least, he was like a stranger to her. She knew every detail about his past, yet nothing, nothing, about the man himself. Shaking her head helplessly, she tied one end of the rope to a branch, and the other to the wrist of her injured arm, took a deep breath and wrenched.

o0o

An ear splitting scream roused Altaïr from his sleep. He leapt to his feet; drawing his blade, looking around for the source of the disturbance. He saw nothing, except the woman, who seemed to be dangling from a tree by one arm. Panic gripped him as he ran towards her; what had happened? Had brigands discovered them in the night? Tied her up, raped her, and killed her? He knew he had been foolish not to keep watch! He had just been so worn out, physically and emotionally – but now Lilia had paid for it. How could he have been so foolish?

He knelt down beside the woman where she hung limply. Taking her form in one arm, he released her wrist, and she collapsed back into his grasp. And groaned.

"Fuck me, but that hurt," she said.

"What – ?"

"I dislocated my shoulder when I fell from the horse, couldn't sleep," she said hoarsely.

"Why didn't you say something? I could have just popped it back in place. You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"Sorry about that, but you seemed to be ignoring me last night," she answered carelessly.

A guilty pang accompanied her words, and Altaïr grimaced. "I am sorry, I didn't realise you were injured. I have some hashish to numb the pain."

"That's not necessary, I have some codeine and Tylenol in my backpack, could you grab them?"

"?" said Altaïr.

"In the side pockets, a little white tub and a sheet with white things in little pockets," she explained quickly.

After a few moments rifling through her backpack, the assassin returned with a myriad objects, which happily included the painkillers. Gobbling some down, she sighed, and motioned towards the fire.

Altaïr helped her over to the small fire, which she had obviously been tending, as it was still burning brightly. "Lie down," he said. "I'll keep watch for the rest of the night."

She smiled gratefully, and as the numbing effect of the drugs kicked in, she drifted off to sleep.

Altaïr sat in the dying light of the fire as the sky gradually began to lighten in the east. His gaze was trained constantly on the sleeping face of the mysterious she-assassin who had so suddenly dropped into his life. What would happen when they got to Masyaf, He wondered? Would Al Mualim accept her as part of their order? Would he perhaps dismiss her because she is a woman? Or would he suspect foul play, and order her execution? This last option, he thought, was not impossible. Unlike many men, Al Mualim did not look down on women, and consequently did not underestimate them.

What would Altaïr do if he was ordered to kill this woman? He had come close to doing so now on two occasions, but in truth, he knew that he had never intended to, that he wasn't sure he could. Though he had only known her for a little over a day, she had wormed her way under his skin. Her strange features, her delicate strength, her playful character; she was intoxicating, bewitching. He had tried so hard to hate her, but he couldn't.

He sighed, and as the sun peeked out from behind the mountains, Altaïr stood and prepared the horses for the final leg of their journey.