A/N- Yay! I'm back! I have to say, this is the fastest I've been able to update in a very long time! Lucky for you guys, I've found an app on my phone I can write and then send to myself, and that means, since I'm always on my phone, I can turn chapters out very quickly!

Thank you all for your lovely reviews! It makes me very happy and motivated every time I read one!

Enjoy!

Once Altaïr had on a shirt (looking more like a nightgown on him) and had devoured almost a whole basket of fruit, he wasn't quite as afraid as he was before. In fact, he was rather cross with the Apple, turning it over in his hands and grunting in frustration. It wasn't glowing any more, no matter which of them touched it. And to be perfectly honest, Altaïr had been extremely close to throwing the trinket across the room. He didn't, though. It might have destroyed his way to change back.

It was still hard for Malik to believe what had happened. Sure, it had only been a few hours, but he found it tiresome to keep an eyes on Altaïr. The boy was a great ball of energy, flitting from one side of the bureau to the other, and he frowned every time he came near to any object that could break.

With a soft growl to himself he watched the boy run to the wall, step up it, then turn mid way and jump off, landing out in a roll. Altaïr couldn't hold still. Just like when he was an actual child. Now, though, he was using the free running techniques to settle his body. The only problem? It was ticking Malik off.

In a split second, so fast he wasn't sure he even caught it, the dai saw his attention suddenly shift. Gold eyes sharpened and Altaïr stride over, coming tight in front of the part of the counter Malik had piled the other assassin's weapons for when he changed back. He slipped the sword free and started moving through a few motions of training.

Alarm bells rang in his head. No, no, no. A child with a sword? Not safe at all! Malik stood from his stool from where he'd been reading assassin scrolls to try and find an answer. His eyes watched the blade throw Altaïr about, movements clumsy and uncoordinated. His mouth was open at the same time he stride from around the barrier. "Novice! What are you doing?! That's not something to play with! You of all people should know that!"

The boy jolted and glanced up, his eyes wide. He lowered the tip of the weapon to the floor, letting it rest heavily in his palm. "I'm being careful!"

"I don't care if you're being careful! You're presently too young to touch that thing, much less wield it!"

The boy bristled. "I'm an Assassin! I'm not stupid!"

"Are you sure about that?"

Malik's brow raised and he felt a trickle of anger bleed away as he heard a childish growl from Altaïr's lips. He let go of the sword and let it clatter to the ground, his hands clenching into fists. He even stamped his foot. "I'm not stupid!" he repeated, as though that would convince Malik otherwise.

The dai's brow raised. Was... Was Altaïr, the great Eagle of Masyaf, master assassin... throwing a tantrum?

A laugh threatened to explode from it. What a ridiculous idea! Surely it was not what it seemed! And yet there he was, stomping and glaring at him. "I'm not! I'm not, I'm not, I'm not!"

Before he could stop it, a snort slipped past his lips. The boy blinked and looked up at him for a moment. The dai, now unable to hold it in any longer, started laughing, doubling over with his arm over his stomach. He could practically feel the confusion and anger radiating off the of the boy. Confusion, no doubt, as he didn't laugh much these days. And anger, because dammit, he was an Assassin and no one should laugh at him!

Malik didn't notice the boy move until small fists beat against his thighs, demanding attention. "Stop it! Don't laugh at me! You're being mean!"

His brows immediately rose at that. "Me? I'm being mean?" He quelled the last of his laughter and bent down, grasped the back of his shirt, and lifted Altaïr a few inches off the ground with no difficulty at all. "Idiot. If you play with that thing, you're going to cut yourself, or knock something to the ground and destroy it! I know what I'm doing here. You're not only a novice, but a child now too, and so you listen to your superiors and your elders! Got it?"

Altaïr struggled, squirming in his grasp. "Let me go!" he cried, wriggling. Though he didn't show he had listened at all, once he was let go, all the boy did was pick the sword up and place it carefully back on the counter. He turned to Malik with a huff, arms crossed over his chest.

The dai shook his head. He really couldn't get used to the fact that those golden eyes, used as he was to them being cold, distant… Were now wide open and filled with emotion. It had been a long time since he had seen the master assassin in a state such as now. In fact, the last time they had done anything than bicker was when Altaïr came in the dead of night, and apologized over and over about Kadar and his arm, bags under his eyes, the same bloodshot, hood drawn back.

Malik swallowed heavily as his mind was cast back in the past, to then, to the swirling emotions that had encompassed him and had refused to let him go. It was a terrible time, but he was glad it had happened. Things weren't as strained, and they were almost… Friends again.

I'm not sure what woke me. All I knew was I sat up sharply in my cot, wincing at the phantom pain laced through my arm. Through parts of an arm I no longer had. Something was going to happen, I could tell. That seemed to be the only good thing this accursed stump was good for anymore. Detecting danger.

Very slowly, I pushed back my blankets and stood. My back popped from laying on the pillows, but I ignored it, instead picking up a short sword I had leaning against the wall. I didn't want to be paranoid, but I didn't hear a thump of a novice drop through the roof. And anyway, I had closed and locked the lattice up hours before.

Weapon in hand, my feet made no sound as I practically glided to the main room. What I saw was nothing that I had expected. The blade clattered to the floor.

Altaïr clinging to the doorway. I don't even know how he got in, that door was only unlocked when I went in and out from the city. That didn't particularly matter, though, as his clothes were absolutely soaked in blood. Nausea hit me at the same time the metallic, terrible scent of it did, lingering at the back of my throat. I couldn't see where it was coming from, and not knowing whether it was his blood or that of others.

"Al...A-Altaïr…" I murmured, staggering forward, my feet seeming to work just as well as my nonexistent left arm. "What… The hell happened to you?"

The assassin was silent, and I found myself unable to do much more than half fall on the counter, worry and fear coursing through my veins. His hood was pushed back, revealing dirty, sweat soaked hair, eyes agonized. Breaths ragged, the Eagle of Masyaf stayed still, clutching about himself. A jolt ran through me when I realized the younger was clutching desperately to his arm, much like I myself had nearly a year ago.

As much as I didn't care what happened to Altaïr (or so I told myself) I would never wish a missing limb on anyone. In a flash I moved again, slipping the basket of medical supplies I had devised to be able to carry all I needed into the crook of my elbow.

Rounding the counter, I didn't even make to touch him before he fell at my feet. That was when I saw the tears streaking down his cheeks. "I-I'm sorry…" he panted, in pain, a mixture of physical and emotional. "I… I'm so…" I frowned. This wasn't right.

"...Altaïr?" He didn't have a reason to be sorry. I was almost certain that these injuries were not meant on purpose. Why would they be? And why was he still grovelling before me? It was unnatural, my thoughts careening out of control. Perhaps it was being woken in the middle of the night, perhaps it was seeing him in this pitiful state, and maybe it was because I at last saw his eyes after months of stony and tense words between us, but I found myself dropping to my knees in front of him and reaching out, trying to get him to look up.

He flinched away, though, hand squeezing his forearm tighter and tighter, the blood oozing out and dripping onto the stones. I felt sick.

"No… I… I-I'm so sorry, Malik. I… I didn't… I didn't think…"

Something was wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong. I realized that the bells that surely would have been sounding were not, that there was no running feet desperately searching for the assassin. A thought entered my mind, but before I was able to check and confirm my suspicions, Altaïr moved like a shadow.

He lurched forward and gripped my arm tight. Blood soaked into my robes as well, and before I could jolt out of his grasp, there was a hilt laid in my hand.

Eyes widening, I took in the appearance of it. It was Altaïr's favorite dagger. An eagle adorned the darkened hilt, stretching its wings up to become the guard. The terrible feeling in my gut grew, and steadily worse. I couldn't open my mouth in time before he spoke.

"Take it," he pleaded, voice gravel and harsh and grieved. "Take it. Take me."

The words slammed into me hard. Did he mean...? How could he think me able to do that? I shook my head furiously. "Altaïr, I can't-"

"Yes," he insisted. "You can and you will. I… I-I deserve it."

Somehow, he was able to hold back the gasp that threatened to fall from his lips. No. He wouldn't go there. Not into that memory, not again. He couldn't. But it did bring up one question…

Taking the few steps over he needed to cross the floor, Malik knelt and took the boy's chin in his hand. He tilted Altaïr's head, looking, ignoring the protesting noises. Sharp eyes sought out, and he noticed it then. The scar on his lips was still there. Faded, but still there.

Then that meant the other pale lines on him, drawn across grotesquely, the ones hidden, the ones he could not bear to think about…

Those scars…

It made Malik sick.

A/N- So…? How did you guys like? And I'm taking a rather dark turn with what I think happened to Altaïr after Soloman's Temple. Those who know me know that I'm going to delving into a lot of the psychological side- the grief, depression, humiliation, and possibly some dependency/almost Stockholm-like symptoms that I can't help but see when dealing with Altaïr, the event, and with Al Mualim. So, the squeamish should look away now! Just because he's a kid doesn't mean I can't have my fun! And actually, it'll be easier to show symptoms, since kids have a harder time hiding them than adults… Fun!

Please review!

~L~