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I just like putting Altaïr in horrible circumstances it would appear...
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Maria wiped her fingers off on his tunic, and then fixed her gaze once more on his chest. "I suppose this'll have to be stitched then…" She picked up the needle and threaded it, her fingers fumbling, unfamiliar with the process. She bit her bottom lip as she attempted to find a proper point of entry. After a few minutes, Altaïr broke the silence, his voice soft in an effort to be as less offensive as possible.
"Do you want me to do it– I've done it before."
"No, that's fine, I can do it." She slid the needle through his skin, cringing at how the thread tugged slightly as it slipped through.
"I guess I'm just more upset that something my mother said I should do more of, actually would have come in handy."
Altaïr snorted lightly, amused at her words, " I thought women sewed all day ."
Maria's frown returned, her eyes hardening as she looked down on him, "You know, perhaps you should choose your words carefully– I might just get upset enough to make them sloppy. I might have to redo them several times."
Altaïr sighed, trying not to wince as she dug the needle through one too many layers of muscle.
Maria's brow became heavy with concentration, her focus entirely on her task. She placed her hand against the plane of his chest for support, absentmindedly rubbing her fingers against his smooth, warm skin. Altaïr watched her fingers; curious as to why they moved as if under their own accord. He did find her soft touch a pleasant change from being thrown around by guards and soldiers. His eyes traced over her features, taking in her long dark eyelashes, the faded freckles on her cheeks. The way she tucked one corner of her lip under her teeth while she worked. The pull of her lips sent a twinge through his body, nestling in his centre. He continued to watch her, enjoying the warmth he felt throughout his body.
Maria's fingers moved deftly, eventually getting the hang of suturing. Although his wound still bled a little, the redness surrounding it seemed to attenuate already. She finished, and tugged against the thread, trying to break the end off. Instead of cutting it, she only managed to pull on it, tugging Altaïr's skin in the process. He hissed dangerously, and she apologized, bringing her teeth to the thread, and cutting it between them. Her lips brushed against his chest, and she let them linger for the briefest of seconds.
"Now, your leg?"
He nodded, silent once more.
She re-threaded the needle again, and stood on the side of his leg. She ran her fingers around the wound, finding her starting point once again. He took her hand, and placed it at the bottom of the wound.
"Start here, when I walk, it pulls from here. Needs to be stronger here."
"Oh… alright then."
She started again, feeling more assured in her motions than she was the first time. Altaïr's hand blanketed her free one. She assumed he held it there because of pain, and was trying to communicate it. She tried to keep her actions gentler in the hopes that he would let go of her hand, however, he kept it there until she finished.
"Well, I guess that'll be good enough for the likes of you." She brushed her hands off, and stood, puzzled by the expression on his face. "What's wrong now?"
"What does that mean- like of you…"
"Likes, not like." She snorted condescendingly. "It means it's good enough for an Assassin."
Altaïr stood, trying not to wince, "Why do you keep calling me that? I have told you my name. You said yourself you call me habibi."
She gave him a warning look, and tried to draw a few more inches by straightening her back, "I do not have to reason with an unfeeling monster. You kill innocent men and women all because your master commands you to." She spat.
"And are you Templars any better? Killing in the name of…" he paused, looking for the right word, "justice."
Maria raised an eyebrow, "I don't think that's right at all. The Templars– we don't kill for justice, we do what we have to, to keep our people safe. If that means killing a few inbred, heathen Assassins in the process, so be it."
Altaïr grabbed her arm firmly, she winced slightly in more surprise than in pain. His eyes had a dangerous edge beneath them, "When will you learn to respect what you do not know, Templar?"
She tugged at his hand, eventually pestering his fingers enough so he let go, "We will never be able to be around each other without trying to kill the other. There is no point in learning about the other, except to learn their weakness."
Altaïr looked down on her, scorn and pity across his features. He turned his gaze to his stitches, and ran his fingers over them, checking their thoroughness.
Maria followed his fingers as they ghosted over his lean muscles to where they had been sewn. Scars lay littered across the bands of muscle, some deeper and more jagged than others.
"It doesn't appear that you're a very good fighter."
Altaïr scoffed, "My wounds are small, my enemies' are great."
Maria scowled at his quip, and turned on her heel out of the room.
"I cannot believe the nerve of this man!" Maria stalked into the kitchen, her hands above her hand in outrage.
The servants turned and regarded her questioningly. The oldest of them approached her, wooden spoon still in hand, "Prythee, what do you mean milady?"
Maria slumped down in a chair, and picked absentmindedly at a loaf of freshly baked bread. "This, heathen– Assassin, expects me to treat him as if we are equals. He dares to compare the Templars to his own barbaric creed!" she tore a great chunk out, earning a smack on the hand with the wooden spoon.
"We come from all walks of life milady. Although the Templars and Assassins fight for different reasons, they both fight because they think the other is wrong, and they must protect the world from them."
Maria scoffed, "What on earth do you bloody think you're talking about? You speak as if you know them– of our own Order's agenda. You, a simple cook–"
"Try and show him some kindness, and he'll turn around." She smiled knowingly.
Maria stood, "Like I would treat that barbarian, that base creature like anything other than he is!" she stomped out of the kitchen, oblivious in her anger of the chuckles that filled the room as she left it.
Altaïr stood alone in her chambers, wondering what on earth had just happened. The last thing he could remember was feeling her small hands finish working, and how her eyes lingered on his muscles. His abdomen felt warm, as if having been replaced with honey, or some other warm liquid. He rested his tall frame against the table, trying in vain to stretch out the soreness still residing in his back. Try as he might, whenever he felt the beginnings of the stretch, he would feel the tug of his stitches, and was forced to cease then and there. Any attempt to solitarily cure the ache would only result in pulling out his stitches.
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingertips, cursing himself yet again for managing to get himself into this beautifully fucked up situation.
It would be at least another few days before his stiches healed enough to fight his way out of the Templar stronghold. However, the enemy he feared the most was not the chain mail-clad Templar, nor the broad sword wielding guard, but this stubborn, childish woman.
Yet, also the woman who calls me habibi
He smirked softly as he recalled the way it fell, albeit foreignly, from her lips.
That is one word she must never realize what it truly means.
As Maria climbed the stairs, her internal argument ebbed and flowed from two opposite ideas.
Perhaps she was right– to show some kindness might be the thing necessary to squeeze some cooperation out of him. After all, I'm sure I'd be the first to show him that kindness…
Then again, why should I be the one to offer this undeserved blessing to an unfeeling–
There'd no good answer to this, is there?
She paused, realizing she had been standing in front of her door for the last few seconds. She blinked, and shook her head, trying to make her mind up.
Fine, he has one opportunity, and that's it. Besides, if it doesn't work, I can always easily go back to the old way – no skin off of my back.
It'll only make my job easier if he cooperates anyways…
She sighed, and pushed the door open.
Okay, this one was pretty short, but I wanted to upload something new :P
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Stay lovely,
juno57
