Of course, Malik had been there, every step of the way. When she had first met him, she had been alone, crying, after she had a meltdown at being teased and spit on. Malik had come over with his little brother, and she had snarled at them, tried to make them go away, but Malik had just sat down, offered her a sleeve to wipe her nose on, and then let her bawl against his neck until they had to go to bed. Kadar had followed her and Malik to her room, since boys and girls had to be separated, but the brothers were kind enough to walk her to her room, and when Malik bid her goodnight, telling her to stop making a novice mistake by crying in the open and not alone with him, Kadar had stayed behind. The toddler had curled up beside her and fallen asleep with his thumb in his mouth. She had woken the next day with a new sense of meaning and drive.

She realizes as she steps back into the bureau that she's holding Malik's hand.

Somehow, she's okay with it.

She stays by him after stripping from the ridiculous outfit, hopping onto the counter to sit there in pants and a shirt. Around him, it seems easier to block out her thoughts. He seems to know exactly what's running through her head. He knows, somehow, when she's panicking, when she's hungry, or even when she will need something she hasn't thought of. She blinks when she gets a big whiff of Malik, and then she realizes he's right in front of her, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. She can feel a smile twist her lips, and she kisses back. This is it: she's married. She's pregnant. She'll have a family for once in her life. She's starting a new chapter in her life.

Surprisingly, as Malik presses kisses down her jaw, the prospect of having a family makes her calmer. She wraps her arms around Malik's neck as he kisses her again, and she realizes that she isn't panicking. At least, she isn't yet. He bumps their foreheads together, and she meets his gaze, keeping her breathing steady.

"There. Now stop thinking and relax."

She can feel herself smile reflexively as she rests her head on his shoulder and his arm goes around her waist. There's silence, and she concentrates on her breathing and the way Malik smells. She focuses on the feel of his robes beneath her cheek, the stubble on his chin scratching her head. She wants to cry. She wants to cry and scream at Malik. She shouldn't be doing this. She shouldn't. Yet, somehow, all those years of instinctively relying on her first instinct haven't gone away. Even though her mind is screaming for her to stop… cuddling… and pull away, she feels paralyzed in his arms. She can't. Her instincts said to cuddle, and her body listens. Her body and mind are no longer in sync.

"You're thinking, Altaïr," she hears, and she can't help but grin, feeling entirely out of character but unable to help herself, and she fists her hands in Malik's robes as she feels his fingers dip below her pant line and rub back and forth.

"Stop thinking."

She hums, thinking about the quick marriage, and, yes, she's married. It doesn't seem real, but then she realizes she's thinking again, so she's just going to yawn and close her eyes, concentrating on Malik as he holds her. She inhales deeply, tensing when she hears the novices come in and pause.

"What do you need, novices?"

They say nothing, and Malik is rubbing her back. It helps with her tenseness, at being observed in such a vulnerable state.

"Relax, novice," she hears murmured against her ear.

"I'm trying," she snaps. "I'm not used to this whole 'emotion' thing, so shut up and deal with it."

Malik snorts, pulling back just enough to smirk at her glare. "You are such a woman."

She blinks, then frowns at him. "There aren't any words to describe the stupidity of that statement."

Malik shakes his head, and she rests her forehead against him again. When Malik finally pulls back, she adjusts on the counter to lean against the wall and thinks idly about Masyaf castle for a moment before her thoughts trail back to her stomach. Her hands rest on her belly. She has a baby, a little assassin-bred baby. She closes her eyes. She has a baby on the way, a boy or a girl she doesn't know, but she has a baby. And perhaps this is only encouraging the sexist view, but she feels satisfied in a way she never felt before. Her opponents will laugh and spit at her, but ultimately, she will be the one with the last laugh. When their bloodlines die out, on purpose or on accident, her bloodline will continue, and she'll be able to watch it. It will grow. She will teach it to fight. She will teach it to read. She will cuddle it and play with it, and there's nothing in her way. She can hear others talking in the background, and she smiles. Eventually, her room will be filled with baby's laughter. It will be hard with the newborn to get a full night's sleep, but there have been worse nights on the road.

Her entire assassin's life has been training her for this one moment, it seems.

She's waken as she grabs someone's wrist, glaring at whoever it is. She blinks, realizing it's the chatty novice, and lets his wrist go. She had felt his fingers on her stomach. Her instincts were still good. The boy's eyes are wide, and he looks about ready to piss his pants, but she rolls her eyes.

"What were you doing?"

"I-I-I wanted to touch your stomach."

She hums. "Touch a woman's stomach?"

The chatty novice sticks his tongue out. "You are hardly a woman, according to Malik."

"So you believe the devil's lies? I am more of a woman than he can ever hope to obtain."

The novice laughs, and she can't help the smile at the boy's laughter. She lifts up the hem of her shirt, revealing the smooth bulge beneath her clothes. It can't hurt. Malik is right: she is hardly a woman according to society, so why not let herself serve as an example to the boys with misguided views about women?

The boy looks surprised, but his fingers are tentatively touching her stomach. She keeps her breathing even, feeling something akin to the prick of shame or touch of fear tickling along her cheeks and spreading to her neck. His fingers are callused, but not as callused as hers. She can feel the semi-rough texture on her belly, tracing over the hairs as if amazed.

"Have you never seen a pregnant woman?"

The novice blushes furiously, and it makes her own embarrassment go away.

"I have! I've just…" he seems to shrink down. "I've never seen one like this. Is… Is there really a baby growing in… in… your stomach?"

She watches him, nodding. "There is."

She feels the hand trailing over her stomach, and something inside her stirs hungrily. She envisions Malik's hand on her stomach, and she swallows as she feels a slow heat start up. The novice is smiling softly. She tries not to think about Malik, because that only causes that heat to get worse, pooling in between her legs and making her want him even more. Finally, the novice stops touching her and thanks her, hopping off to bed. She's off the counter and getting ready to jump the man before she knows what she's doing. Malik is in the middle of taking off his outer robe, and she's pressing up against him and kissing him before she can register it.

It's a wonderful feeling, she thinks, as her husband's lips move against her. She can feel his tongue tracing the bottom of her lip, lingering on the scar. It's intoxicating, and her hands find their way to her husband's pants. Her mind is getting fuzzy with lust, and she briefly wonders if this is normal, but Malik is already slipping his tongue into her mouth. Her hands are working on getting his pants off, too eager to get into his pants to worry about the shirt. The man has slipped a hand under hers—

And all she can do is gasp as he fondles her breast, her hands faltering and him shushing her as he cups it before rolling her nipple between his fingers. It didn't feel this nice last time. She heaves for breath, resting her head on his shoulder as he continues, and she tries to keep herself composed, which is hard given how much she wants him. Her breasts are so sensitive.

"Take off your shirt, Altaïr."

She swallows as his hand trails under her breast and down the center of her stomach, rubbing back and forth gently. She's panting at the feeling, and briefly, her mind wanders to the baby. She can't help but wonder if the baby could feel that. She wondered if the baby was the one making her feel like this, so familiar to her first time, and yet nothing like it at all. She was too sensitive. Was it because the baby wanted to feel it too?

"Altaïr. Your shirt."

She pulls back slowly, the sudden urge to jump him passing into this deep seeded warmth in her stomach and spreading up her neck. Slowly, she pulls off her shirt, shivering as she feels Malik's eyes on her. His hand doesn't leave her stomach, trailing slightly lower to pull the string on her pants. As he pushes her pants down, she presses against him for another kiss. His tongue is heavy and warm in her mouth, tracing over the back of her teeth and tickling the roof of her mouth.

Can the baby feel this? Can the baby feel the lust spreading throughout her or the need growing in between her legs? If the baby can, how does it feel it? She can feel Malik moving her down to the bed. She wonders if the baby is enjoying it. She certainly is, as she feels more than sees, Malik moving above her. He doesn't break the lip-lock, his tongue moving against hers and making her want so much more. What is the baby feeling? If it could feel the heat pooling in her stomach, is it too warm? She isn't making the baby uncomfortable, is she? Surely the baby isn't too uncomfortable, or else it would have made itself known again with nausea or overwhelming dizziness. The baby had a way of making itself known. The man nips at her lower lip, right on the scar, and she can't help the moan that escapes her, moving her arms to touch him.

But she can't.

Her eyes fly open, and she tilts her head up to find her arms bound above her head. Her fuzzy mind can't exactly identify with what, because Malik is nipping at her chin and kissing his way down to her ear.

"Now, lift your head up."

She narrows her eyes. "Why? Malik, untie me."

"I will in a bit. For now, lift your head up."

Scowling, she does, and before she can register it, Malik has her head in his arm and is tying a blindfold over her eyes. She snarls, trying to thrash her head, but she can't, and she can't squirm and kick because of the baby, and she doesn't know what will hurt it. She can't risk injuring the baby, but Malik is too damn strong and quick for having only one arm. When he moves back, she grunts, letting her head fall back. She's quiet, frowning.

"Now," Malik says, and his voice is low and sultry. She's not going to respond. "Tell me what it is that worries you."

"That is none of your business," she spits, even though Malik is sitting between her legs, and she's stark naked. The thought makes her want to shiver, but she tries to hold it back.

She jerks when she feels a hand on her upper thigh. She swallows. She can feel his hand there as his thumb moves back and forth. It feels rough against her skin, even though her thighs have calluses from horseback riding, and it makes her warm again, starting in her groin and sending that shiver up her spine regardless.

"That is all of my business," Malik murmurs, rubbing his hand against her thigh. She groans softly, all her attention right there as the lazy lust curls back through her. "You are my wife. My flesh and blood now. The mother of my baby. Let me inside your head, Altaïr."

She's silent. He does have a point, but to just demand such things of her isn't going to fly. She won't let him in. They are her thoughts. That hand on her thigh inches closer to her folds, his thumb stroking just shy of where she really wants it.

"Let me in, Altaïr. It is clear you are having many problems reconciling the idea of a child in you with your mind." She whimpers when his thumb strokes the lips of her vagina, bucking her hips up slightly. "With the exception of a few days, you have lived in a state of near-continual panic."

She swallows as he continues to rub just lightly, just teasing, and her leg twitches. She wants him. She doesn't understand why she does, or why she's so adamant about having him, but she wants him.

"So let me in, and I'll give you what you need."

She swallows again, feeling his hand travel up her stomach and down her side. Every touch is entirely too prominent in her mind. She can feel his hand moving, and the blindfold isn't helping her at all.

"Now, tell me the first concern that ran through your mind when you found out."

He sits there, touching her, making her want him so badly. She's going to blame this all on the baby. She scowls, squirming beneath his hand as she refuses to tell him. These are her problems, and she will work them out. That is it.

Until he slides his fingers against her clit, and she groans. No, she needs him. She squirms and bucks, trying to get something more from him as he rubs his fingers slowly down there. When she whines, he chuckles, pulling his fingers back.

"Talk, Altaïr."

She growls and is silent for a moment before hissing, "My job. What of my job? I am ruined."

"You are not ruined."

"I am a woman. I am pregnant. I am ruined."

"You are not a woman by society's rights. You surrendered that when you first picked up the blade and fought. You are a brother. You are the brotherhood, and within you grows the future of the brotherhood. Al Mualim can see this. That is why he accepted you into our folds."

"I will be ridiculed even more. The novices are novices! They know nothing!"

She grunts, suddenly glad that Malik isn't touching her at all as that need vanishes and she's hit with an overpowering wave of dizziness. Malik must have known that would happen. He must have. That's why he blindfolded her. He knew she was going to get dizzy and that having her eyes open to look at things would only make it worse. There was nothing to swim in her vision now.

"Altaïr, you are the first to become pregnant in the order. Even an assassin will see this as an extraordinary event. Perhaps even revolutionary, urging the assassins to find wives to indoctrinate into our order and raise entire lines of born-and-bred assassins."

"H-how do you know?" she groans as she feels Malik untie her hands.

The blindfold is helping, but she wants to puke now. She can feel her head swimming, and she doesn't want to know what it would be like if Malik hadn't successfully blindfolded her. She exhales shakily, resting her hands by her sides as the man strokes her belly gently. It helps.

"I do not know—"

"No," she grunts, pissed off. Will her body ever calm down? "No, how do you know when I am craving something? When I will get dizzy? When I am panicking? How do you know such things?"

Malik is silent, and she rests her hands on her stomach, turning her head toward where she believed him to be. As much as she hates to admit it, she is beginning to feel a bit better about the baby, despite her nausea and her dizziness. As much as she will dismiss it on the baby, getting these things in the open is a good thing for her. She smiles softly when she feels Malik press a kiss to her brow, running his hand through her hair.

"I cannot answer those, as I do not know myself. My only inkling would be that it is because we have been through so much together, have struggled so much against each other, that I can know what you need."

She frowns. "So then, why would I not be ridiculed, if I am a brother but not a woman, for getting pregnant? We are to live for our jobs, are we not?"

Malik chuckles, his hand back on her stomach. She won't lie: it feels nice.

"You are a woman—"

"You just said—"

"I said you are not a woman by society's rights. Yet still, as you lie bare before me, I see your breasts and the folds of your womanhood, and I know that you are, in fact, a woman. Not in career, but in body."

She blinks behind the blindfold and quirks an eyebrow. That is the stupidest thing she had heard him say. His intelligence is leaving him.

"You…" she begins, trying to figure out how to best form the words, then giving up and figuring she should just say it, "are an idiot, and such pretty words do not work with me."

"I should hope not, or else you would be a sad excuse of an assassin."

She snorts, falling silent as she allows Malik to caress her stomach. She lies there, blinded, one hand by her head and the other by her side.

"Is there anything else?"

She pauses, and she can feel her mind kick into overdrive as it has been for the past while. Of course there's something else. There's always something else. She can't stop the million and six thoughts that are now rushing in uninvited from her traitorous mind. Always with her—she's thinking a million things that she could voice. She's married. She's pregnant. She's married. She doesn't want to have the baby. She does want to have the baby. She wants to fight but she can't. Her heartbeat quickens as she thinks about this, about all these things that she'll have to get out there for Malik to be satisfied, but she's not used to just talking, not used to opening her mouth and letting the words come out.

"Speak," comes the command, and it's as if a storm of words is let loose.

"I'm married, Malik, fucking married and even though it's to the man I've always wanted I'm married without really wanting it before I had come to terms with it! I'm married—married!—and it's the man I've always wanted! I've dreamed about having a child, having children, and now I've got this child in my stomach!" she's borderline screeching, hardly remembering the novices in the next room. "I have child in my stomach! It's growing there, getting bigger, getting stronger," and her voice starts to begin to crescendo into a panic as her heart picks up and her blood starts to pound, "and who's to say that it's not going to rip my stomach open and leave me to bleed to death because I've heard a lot of women die giving birth and that the pain is nothing like anything anyone's experienced and that there's always the baby could die later on in life," she's heaving in gasps like she's going to start crying, even though she refuses to acknowledge the sting of hot water in her eyes, "and that's just the beginning! What if I lose the child? I can't do it, Malik—I can't do it! I can't go through the pain and lose the baby!" She refuses to acknowledge the burning water being absorbed by the blindfold. She won't admit she's crying. "Or what if I lose my child? What if I get attacked and lose my baby? What if Al Mualim finds out that Robert escapes because I'm waylaid because I couldn't keep my legs together? Something isn't right with these men I kill anyway! What if there some bigger scheme and I miss the opportunity to stop it! Malik, what if I can't reconcile the assassin in me with the mother in me? What if I can't keep myself from fighting or attacking or end up stressing myself out too much? What if I can't trust you enough? What if I can't calm down enough? What if—"

By now, she's sobbing so hard she can't keep speaking, and the blindfold feels soaked through. She can feel it, but she can't think logically anymore, and she turns her thoughts over to her crying. Can the baby feel this? Does the baby know she's crying? Is the baby crying, and thus she is too? Is the baby the one in charge? What is the baby thinking? Can it think? Is she upsetting it by crying? She is such a horrible mother. Malik says nothing, rubbing her belly as she cries. He makes only quiet shushing noises, letting her cry. She's taking huge, ragged breathes in between sobs, feeling as if she's already been ripped wide open internally, letting all of this out, and all she can do is cry and weep, heaving for breath as if she can't get enough, and her nose is running, and she's starting to get a stomach ache from how hard she's crying.

She makes a muffled sob when she feels lips on hers, even though her nose is running and she can't see a thing. It's a gentle kiss, a press of lips upon lips. Then, those lips begin to move, and she finds herself mimicking the motions, trying to distract herself from tears and worry. Her crying is stuttering to a stop, leaving her to sniff and whimper as Malik plays with her bottom lip, teasing it between his teeth and tracing the edges of the scar. He sucks on it gently, and she feels the blindfold lifted from her eyes, but she still can't see anything because her eyes are closed as that tongue flicks against her scar once more and pulls back. Her eyes open, and she can feel something inside her working itself out, like a knot in the rope of her mind is slowly untangling. She feels drained, and Malik is rubbing her stomach. She gets hit with a desire to sleep as she stares into his eyes.

"You are a fool, Altaïr. Allah always has a plan."

She blinks, then frowns slightly and yawns, earning a chuckle from Malik. She takes the offered kerchief and blows her nose.

"Come. Let me bathe you, and then we can sleep."

Her mind is completely shut down. She can't think anymore, and, for some reason, her thoughts are focused on the idea of a warm, secure, red place in her stomach. Her mind has a picture of her baby curled up inside her, comfortable and warm now that there's nothing else for her to feel. She lets Malik help her up and into the bath. She even lets him bathe her without protest, enjoying the warm waters. It's almost enough to put her to sleep, but Malik is done quickly, leading her out of the bath and curling with her beneath the covers on their pallet of blankets and pillows. She can feel his heartbeat as her back, his soft breath on her ear. His arm is resting over her side, gently caressing her stomach, and she closes her eyes. Tomorrow, she thinks, tomorrow. Tomorrow is a new day.

She spends the next month or so in a blissful daze, completely and utterly worn out from the night she cried. She doesn't really remember much as she walks around, one arm under her belly and the other around it as if it could sag. She eats what she feels like, what Malik gives her, and she spends most of her time either sitting beside him or resting in the cushions. She vaguely remembers hearing something about the funeral soon, but she can't find it in herself to care as she watches Malik move around the bureau.

Occasionally, he stops and stares at her in her not-really drugged up state. It seems like her belly has exploded in terms of size. What was once just annoyingly noticeable is now huge, already as big as the mothers of normal children. She doesn't remember what month she's in. Her sixth, she thinks, in the middle of her sixth, but her stomach is huge, and it keeps growing. It's as if the growth was stunted while she was panicking, and the abundance of food and the nice long resting period had given the baby the ability to boom in size. Her back hurts, and so do her breasts, and she can tell her breasts are growing again. Still, the ability to laze around the bureau is a luxury.

Malik introduces her to the midwife, and the midwife gives her a check-up, looking utterly amused at her state and her belly.

She has no clothes that fit anymore. Not even Malik's are comfortable, and for once, the baby outsmarted the man. The clothes he had ordered were too small now that her belly was large and nearly bursting with the baby. So she lounges around with her pants untied, hanging low and loose around her waist, and a long strip of cloth wrapped around her breasts to make her decent enough to walk out into the main room.

Malik pales as the midwife talks to him, chuckling at his expression and looking at her. She smiles softly as she reclines in the pillows, her mind still a little hazy, and the midwife smiles at her. The lady is a kind old woman, one who has seen many births and knows what she's doing. She will be in good hands when she gives birth. The little old lady hobbles over to her side and sits. She doesn't hear a word that's said, but she enjoys the woman's company.

However, she snaps from her trance one day when she walks into the main room and sees Malik, a novice, a journeyman, and a master assassin shutting up the main room. The midwife is sitting there, chuckling as they frantically rush about, and Altaïr can hear a long bellowing noise in the distance, an instrument. She slowly walks over with her arms around her stomach and sits down slowly in the cushions.

"What's happening?" she asks the lady.

"A sandstorm!" the woman cackles. "Looks like your mission is put off by Allah himself, child!"

She blinks, looking at her. The old lady is watching the young men secure the doorway as the sandstorms hits, looking utterly amused.

"How did you know?" she asks, and the old woman looks at her, shaking her head.

The old woman has a kind face that she seems to be reserving for her alone. Probably only for mothers-to-be. "I am fully aware of everything you've been through. Your husband has made it clear to me. Although I must admit, he took the news of twins exceptionally well."

She blinks. "Twins?"

The old lady cackles again as the men stop their frantic preparations, and they're panting. She seems to be getting a great amusement from watching her husband and the other men.

"You were out of it," she says, her eyes glimmering with excitement, perhaps not used to such activity. "As to be expected."

She stares at the lady a while longer, blinking, as her mind works through this. She has twins. Which means not one baby, but two babies living in her stomach. Two babies curled up together in her womb, feeding off her, waiting to come out. She can hear the sound of the sandstorm outside as a smile creeps onto her face, her arms around her stomach tightening slightly. The old lady is watching her with a warm look, an affectionate look.

She has twins. She has two babies. Not one, but two. They are living inside her—can they feel her smile? She rubs her stomach slowly, unable to get rid of the smile.

Twins.

Twins.

Will they be friends? Enemies? What gender are they? Will they get along? Will they share that bond all twins seem to share? She continues to rub her stomach as she adjusts in the pillows. Two children. Malik comes over, bending down to cup the back of her head and kiss her. When he pulls away, she's still smiling.

"I'm glad to see you're better."

"I feel much better. I think I needed that month of nothing."

"Do you even remember it?"

"Not really," she murmurs. "We have twins."

Malik's soft look falters for just a minute, and she can hear the midwife cackle. Before she gets the chance to wonder if Malik wants twins or now, that smile is back on his lips and he's kissing her again. She's smiling as he kisses the corner of her eye and her ear.

"I know. The midwife made it clear. You are far too big to be in a normal pregnancy."

She can hear the roar of the sandstorm ripping over the bureau, and she blinks. What if there are still assassins out there? What if they're caught in the sandstorm? What if—

"Malik!" she hisses. "What if there are assassins out in the storm?"

"There are not, Altaïr. Stop your ceaseless worry."

"What if there are?" she insists. "You know how quickly—"

"There are not," come from the master assassin. "I have escorted the only assassins here."

She looks at him before her eyes slide to the chatty novice. The boy blinks, jerking back. She furrows her brow.

"Where are your friends?"

The boy blinks again, then smiles. "They went back to Masyaf, Master. A few days ago, while you were feeling out of it."

She gestures for him to come over. The boy comes bouncing over, sitting beside her and smiling. She takes his hand.

"Are you sure they'll be okay?"

"I'm positive, Master."

She holds out her arm, and the boy snuggles into his side, smiling. She rests her chin on his head as the novice makes himself at home in her arm. She hopes the others are safe in Masyaf as she rubs the boy's arm. For some reason, she's worried about them. Before, she couldn't care less about the others. Why did she care so much now? Was it because she was pregnant? Was it because of Solomon's Temple? Was she finally getting along with her womanly side?

"I think I like Master Altaïr as a mother."

Malik snorts. "Yes. If she is reconciles herself, but she seems to be doing that just fine."

"I told you she would," the old lady snips.

Malik rolls his eyes, stepping back to the counter and pulling out a map. Altaïr is just fine with cuddling the novice. She's worried about the others that might be out there. If they get caught in it, they might not survive. She feels the boy wrap an arm around her.

"They'll be okay, Master Altaïr. I promise."

"If you don't watch yourself, Altaïr," Malik begins, "those novices will become spoiled by your coddling."

"Shut up," Altaïr snaps at him. "I'm worried about the others out there."

The novice cuddles in, and she lets him. It helps alleviate her tension.

"This is a surprising turn of events," she hears the other master assassin say as he sits on one of the pillows they brought in. "I never would have thought that the Great Eagle of Masyaf could be so… motherly?"

She snorts, glaring at the man. "Be quiet, or I will be forced to teach you a lesson."

The old lady cackles as Malik brings them over a bowl of dried fruit. As if on cue, the craving hits, and her hand is in the bowl.

"It will be an interesting change to watch," the journeyman says, settling down nearby. "I can see why the novices will like it if this is just the beginning. She will coddle them like her own children."

"I never could have guessed she was still in tune with her motherly side," the master replied.

"She wasn't," Malik snips, his gaze turning into a glare. "And I had to deal with her continual panic attack."

The novice hums, and she realizes she still doesn't know his name. It doesn't matter, though, and she hunkers down to wait out the sandstorm. The boy is cuddled in close, and she's perfectly content to sit there, cuddling with him, as she listens to the storm raging outside. She falls asleep with the boy in her arm, her cheek against his head, and her mind blessedly empty. She gets the feeling she's going to get addicted to being a mother. Her back hurts, and so do her breasts, but she hopes this is all worth it.