Sleep comes easy for Malik, who is exhausted by the time he is given a thick blanket to rest on. He remains unconscious for the majority of the night and wakes up without knowing what time it is. The hum and glow from the machines are too bright and loud, now that he is left alone with nothing but his thoughts to plague him, and he knows that he will not be able to go back to sleep again. It must still be early, for the others are not awake yet, though Lucy is missing, most likely keeping watch out of sight in the stairway.
Staring at the ceiling, Malik thinks back to the moment the Apple sent him away, trying to imagine what he felt and thought. He knows the Apple reacts more to the state of minds rather than the force of clenched fingers holding it. He remembers feeling angry and anxious, only wanting take the Apple away just so that Grandmaster could eat or, if Malik was so lucky, actually lie down and rest.
Maybe it would have been better if he had waited for Altair to pass out at his desk, instead of asking, of demanding and shouting, so that he could simply steal the Apple, ride out Altair's furious silence, and return it after he had gotten a few hours of sleep. It's a shame that he respects Altair too much for that, for all the good it did him; when it came down to it, Malik had grabbed the Apple, pulling Altair along and trying to wrench it free. It is his fault that he had given Altair the chance to fight back, so it was Altair's choice to never let go.
And the thing that frustrates Malik the most is knowing that Altair would still be at it, sitting listlessly at his desk, looking and searching for him through the Apple. It makes Malik put a hand over his eyes, blocking out the unnatural light from the machines, all too aware that now he is just another excuse for Altair to use that wretched Apple.
Someone shifts beside him, the movements too deliberately soft to be that of a restless sleeper. Malik opens his eyes, meeting Desmond's watchful gaze.
He looks thoughtful in a sort of sleepy way, as if he is still caught between wakefulness and a faraway dream. His eyes are dark, and Malik notices for the first time that they do not hold the same golden glint as Altair's, but Desmond squints, just the tiniest bit, and Malik has to stop himself from shaking his head; he has seen that look before.
"Are your eyes really that bad that you need to use that?" he asks, amused.
Desmond blinks, and sounds guarded when he replies, "No harm in checking."
Malik sits up, wary, but Desmond is already getting to his feet, kicking his blankets into a somewhat neat pile and leaving Malik to stare after him.
Like his eyes, Desmond is only a fleeting image of Altair. He pulls on a dark shirt and puts on a pair of pants over the shorter, thinner pair he is wearing, covering a body that does not nearly have enough faded scars or the beginning of new ones. It isn't fair that Malik keeps comparing, but it is inevitable, in the end, when Desmond kneels down in front of him with a smile that is too eager, too challenging, and too much like Altair.
"I'm going out for a run. Want to come?" he asks, innocent in everything he does, because there is no way he is doing this to Malik on purpose.
And even if he was, Malik doesn't think he can refuse. He stands, accepting the invitation with silence, and feels a little unbalanced when Desmond grins up at him from the ground. For a moment, he forgets where he is, and raps a knuckle over Desmond's forehead, lingers there for half a second too long, and brushes over the line of Desmond's short hair.
Slowly, the grin fades into a rueful smirk with just enough embarrassment to acknowledge that they both made a mistake somewhere within those seconds. Desmond clears his throat and Malik withdraws his hand. Standing, he bumps against Malik's arm in another friendly gesture, and Malik is beginning to learn that Desmond likes to touch, to clasp and feel, in a way that is effective as speaking out loud – something that Altair does not do, unless he is with someone he trusts (and even then, his gestures are fleeting and easy to miss at the best of times).
Desmond shows him outside, stopping at the entrance to greet Lucy. She glances at Malik, but instead of objecting, she only laughs, quiet and tired. "Keep Desmond out of trouble."
Malik is without the earpiece, having taken it off to sleep, though it does not stop him from answering in English. "How much trouble could he be?"
It gets a raised eyebrow from Desmond. He ignores Lucy's chuckling, reaching out to pat her shoulder, and Lucy leans into it briefly. "Don't make me have to come and get you," she jokes.
Desmond promises with a crooked grin, and turns to Malik. Outside, the air is warm and clear and refreshing after being kept inside for so long. The sun has not risen yet, but Malik takes his first good look around, curious about the tall lamps and the strange architecture of the large building they had been hiding under. Desmond gives him a minute before Malik senses his restlessness and motions for Desmond to lead the way.
They jog over a stone pathway and over grass, passing trees and even a well until there is a guardrail in front of them. Desmond hops onto it, easily finding his balance, and looks down at the expanse of rooftops and streets of Monteriggioni. He looks over his shoulder at Malik.
"When I said I was going out for a run, I hope you didn't actually expect a flat surface," he says, and has to move out of the way when Malik brushes past him, leaping off the rail and landing lightly on the rooftop below.
"It didn't even occur to me," Malik answers, amused to find that even after a thousand years, crossed arms and an eyeroll still conveys the same thing.