A/N: Again, many thanks to everyone who dropped by and/or left a review. I'm stunned about the incredible comments I've been getting, even though English is not my native language. Thank you! I'll keep writing as long as my inspiration lasts. And we all know how whimsical an inspiration is.


Chapter 4

Welcome to my Bureau

The drop into the Bureau didn't seem that high now that I could actually see it with my own eyes. Crouching unsurely on the edge of the hole I peered down into the room below. A slight breeze grazed the green ivy leaves that climbed up the wall and across the wooden ceiling, making their shadows dance on the sunlight-blotched walls. Almost unconsciously my eyes wandered to the corner, where a pile of pillows and cushions sat innocently, basking in a spot of golden sunlight.

Despite all the mental and physical violence I'd endured at this point, over my anxiety the sight sparked a small, comforting feeling of security in the back of my mind. The place was exactly how I'd seen it. Or rather, how he had seen it.

Safe. Home-

"Inside", Altaïr's toneless voice said from behind me, emphasizing the command with a little push at my back. Concentrate.

"Right", I muttered darkly, calculating the height in my mind. I remember how my father – Dad – used to teach me this kind of stuff. When I still were in the place I once called home.

That was such a long time ago.

I could try climbing down by supporting myself on the uneven wall and perhaps the ivy as well, but for now I thought I should try to put as little strain on my left arm as possible. Just one short drop. I ignored the voice of Reason that saw fit to pipe up again as I swung my legs down and braced my battered muscles for the jump. Then, taking a deep breath I pushed myself over the edge with my right hand.

I'd been right – the drop was short, and my knees absorbed most of the impact when I tried to land as softly and quietly as possible. Still, the pain in my sore arm flared again as I reflexively held it out in order to stay upright. Breath escaped my lungs in a small hiss when I landed inside the Bureau. More loudly than I had intended, I might say.

I clenched my teeth as I regained my balance. My hood fell off again. Come on, you've been through worse. God, is this supposed to hurt this much?

To get out of Altaïr's way I shrunk against the nearest wall, gently massaging the bad arm with my right hand. The shoulder beneath my palm responded to touch by aching dully. Could be worse. Could be worse. I sighed through my nose. My parents had always in my younger years encouraged me to use my both hands equally, so much in fact that it had almost developed into ambidexterity. Almost – I admit I still untentionally favored my left hand, but despite that I was lucky to be blessed with almost equal abilities in my both hands.

At least that's something to be grateful of. A ghost of a bitter smile tugged at my lips, but morphed into a grimace as I flexed the shoulder.

A soft thud behind me indicated that the white-robed assassin had followed me down, and landed considerably more elegantly than I had. I turned my head, seeing him just standing there, his eyes trained on the doorway at the far end of the room and apparently listening intently. I thought it best to remain quiet. I watched in silence as the assassin stalked past me to the doorway. I knew where it led, and I waited for something to happen, almost holding my breath.

After standing in the doorway like a statue for a few dragging seconds, Altaïr turned to me. "Malik is not here", he said curtly. "He would have heard you already. We'll wait."

"Why?" I asked, ignoring the obvious jab at my less graceful entrance.

"I need to hear what he has to say. Get some rest."

While I didn't protest to the resting part of his comment, the first part in all its vagueness sounded like only more trouble for me. "Why do you need him?" I blurted, anxiety making me bolder. "You believe me, right?"

Altaïr leveled me with the sharpest glare I've seen, the sunlight's reflections making his eyes almost glow under the hood's brim. "I never said that, did I?" he said in that same infuriatingly expressionless voice.

The little comfort the Bureau's familiarity had brought faded at my dawning realization as I thought about what the assassin had said. He was watching me, observing my reaction. He didn't. Bastard.

"No, you didn't", I eventually forced out, my voice tense. Suddenly I felt very tired. The mountain of cushions in the corner seemed exceptionally soft and inviting. Altaïr said nothing when I resignedly walked over and heavily plopped down on one of them. Not that I would've listened if he had anything to say about it anyway.

No, he didn't. Guess I'm not out of this just yet.

Leaning my back against the soothingly cool wall and pulling my knees up I ran a hand through my rough hair, matted by sweat and dried blood. I found myself not caring very much. "I guess it's asking a lot", I said, more to myself than the silent assassin in my company. Or was I in his company? Should I consider myself a prisoner? "I mean", I continued tiredly, scratching at a scabbing scar in my scalp, "I still can't believe I'm here – talking to you – bleeding real blood, for fuck's sake..." Without looking up from my knees I gestured vaguely to his general direction. "You must think I'm crazy. A nutcase. Soft in the head." I even cracked a dry smile. "Templar spy, my ass."

I closed my eyes. I felt like I was falling. "Stubborn assassin", I mumbled blearily before I gave in to sleep that I had denied of myself for too long.

God knows how long I would've slept my exhaustion away if it hadn't been for my rude awakening after something that felt like no more than three hours. The blotches of sun on the walls had travelled upwards and I was left in a shadow right where I had fallen asleep – my back against the wall, my right shoulder leaning on the pile of pillows.

I was pretty sure that I wasn't dreaming the voice that now was calling Altaïr's name. A remotely familiar voice somewhere above me.

Shit. Not even one moment of peace.

My eyes shot wide open and I clambered on my feet with speed I didn't think my aching body was physically cabable of in this condition. The stiff, sleep-sore joints in my neck and legs clicked back into place in a series of tiny pops.

Through the gaps of the wood of the ceiling I saw a human-shaped shadow crouching on the edge of the entrance hole. My heart slammed in my throat. I glanced feverishly around the room, finding no clue of Altaïr's presence whatsoever.

A panic-induced cold sweat broke out on the skin of the back of my neck. Where is he?

While I stood there, rooted on the spot in a strange half-crouching pose, my still drowzy mind attempting to decide what kind of action to take and my hyperactive imagination coming up with several worst case scenarios, the figure dropped lightly down into the Bureau, an empty left sleeve of a black overcoat flapping uselessly.

I'm in trouble, I realized as Malik straightened his back and saw me.

For a split second the assassin stared at me over the expanse of the room. When I saw his remaining hand already moving to his belt I understood exactly just how disadvantageous the predicament was for me. I did try to sidestep when I regained control of my muscles again, but I had already wasted too much time gawking at him.

Damn assassin reflexes, I only managed to think sullenly before the throwing knife embedded itself in my left shoulder.

As much as I tried not to, I yelled aloud, although mostly out of surprise and shock. The burning pain came soon after, when I stumbled backwards towards the wall and my hand flew to the throbbing wound where the small hilt was grossly sticking out of a rip in my sweater. With some morbid fascination I watched as three crimson spots stained the white fabric around the blade, just below my collarbone.

Why did it have to be the left arm, I found myself thinking senselessly.

"What are you doing here?" the Bureau leader before me demanded in that same harsh tone I recognized from the many times when I'd heard it before. The words were emphasized by the ringing sound of metal. I looked up. A longsword had appeared in his hand, the tip pointing straight at me. His narrowed dark eyes and the long hawk-like nose effectively made his features look intimidating.

My mouth opened, but instead of words I just released a pained huff. The shocked daze caused by the wound had rendered my tongue useless. My whole left shoulder felt like it was on fire. I clutched it tightly in an attempt to keep it still, my fingers unconsciously digging into the flesh around the tiny blade. I hardly felt it over the burning.

I saw how his expression changed as he studied my face, a hint of confusion appearing into his angry frown. The tip of the sword came closer as he advanced one step. "Who are you?"

"Malik, stop."

I hadn't guessed I could ever be as relieved to hear Altaïr's voice as I was at the moment when he emerged into the doorway between me and the sword-brandishing Bureau leader. I would've liked to sigh with relief to calm my racing heartbeat, but my laborious breathing was already making my wound sting with each inhale.

A silence ensued, during which Malik's eyes darted between me and Altaïr. His hostile demeanor didn't change, but I was certain our undeniable resemblance had not gone unnoticed. I know. Get over it. Jesus, this hurts. I clenced my teeth. Malik's attention had focused on Altaïr. "What-" he began, and then apparently changed his mind. "Who is this, Altaïr?" Malik glanced quickly at me, Altaïr didn't. The sword stayed where it was.

"He's with me."

"Only the more reason, if you ask me", Malik slipped. "Congratulations, Altaïr. You have once again compromised the Creed by revealing yourself to an outsider, and in the process, betrayed us all!" His voice kept rising after each word until he was almost shouting.

"Well, no one's asking you", I groused through my teeth, releasing my fear and frustration at my own helplessness in an aggressive outburst. The heads of both assassins turned to me. "Doesn't the Creed say something about killing innocents as well, huh?"

Both regarded me in complete silence. For a second the outraged expression that passed Malik's features made me regret my words – shouldn't be talking back with a goddamn knife in my shoulder – but at least the bickering had stopped.

"This is perfect, Altaïr", Malik said slowly, every word just dripping with sarcasm. "He has not only your face, but your tongue as well. And as for you..." His attention turned back to me, accompanied with a nasty glare. "As far as I'm concerned, your very presence here is alone enough to remove your status as an innocent."

"Don't give me that – assassin talk!" I shouted awkwardly, surprising even myself. "I've been hit, chased, and tossed around like a sack of flour and now you threw a knife at me! And I don't even know why!" My chest was heaving, which did nothing to lessen the pain and combined with my abrupt adrenaline rush it only made me feel nauseous. I looked down at the tiny metal hilt, which suddenly seemed extremely sickening, jutting out like that. "I think I need to sit down", I breathed and stiffly backed up to my cushion in the corner, trying to keep the limply hanging limb as still as possible. No one made a move to stop me.

Just before I closed my eyes I saw Malik lowering his sword and turning to Altaïr who had been watching our dispute without a word. I was biting my tongue in order to give myself something to concentrate on instead of the burn of the wound, but the buzz of conversation that soon started stole my attention. Malik wasn't attempting to lower his voice, so I didn't need to strain my ears. He was talking like I even weren't there, probably deeming me little threat in my current condition.

"For the sake of the Brotherhood I hope you have a good explanation for this."

For a moment he got no answer. "He has information", Altaïr's voice then replied, every word carefully deliberated.

"Has our Master taught you nothing? Of course he has information! He could be a spy!"

This time I could make out a hint of annoyance in Altaïr's voice. "Don't think I haven't considered the possibility."

"If there's a possibility, that is already a risk too big to take, Altaïr." I heard rustling of clothes as Malik shifted. "I can't let you do this again."

"It is not up to you to decide." A pause. "Just one day, Malik. Two at most."

Another tension-filled silence. I kept my eyes closed when I finally heard the sound of a sword sliding back into its sheath. "Two days", Malik said, the words echoing a sense of finality. "If you're not gone by then, I'll kill him myself and make sure Al Mualim knows exactly what happened." There were footsteps advancing towards the doorway.

"Thank you."

The footsteps paused, as if hesitating. "We will talk about this later. Keep an eye on him." Then they disappeared into the next room.

Apparently I had been very close to blacking out again, because when I felt a light touch on my left shoulder, I violently flinched away from the contact and inhaled sharply. My eyes flew open, and I saw Altaïr crouching close to my left side, a hand held out near my injured shoulder and a white roll of linen bandages at his feet. What surprised me more than this unexpected invasion of my personal space was the fact that he had no hood on.

This moment will hereby mark a historical event, I thought dryly. Mister Altaïr without his hood.

His coarse hair, the same as mine, was left messy and partially matted by the hot day and the hood that was now shoved down to his neck. This was the first time I could properly see his face without the hood concealing his features. His skin and eyes were a shade darker than mine, but if I hadn't known better, we could've as well been brothers. I understood his confusion when he first saw me.

Again I realized I was staring, but the assassin didn't either notice or didn't care. He paid me one brief glance before he focused on my shoulder again. "Let's take this out", he only said. Without stopping to wait for any kind of reply from me he curtly proceeded to position his right hand on my shoulder right above the wound while the other moved to hover over the little knife. "Stay still."

Aside from those vague words he gave me no warning at all before with one quick move he grabbed the knife and jerked it out.

My pained cry was partially muffled by me furiously clenching my teeth together. "Jesus fucking Christ!" I cursed profusely through my teeth, not caring the slightest if Malik or anyone else heard me. The knife clattered to the floor and the makeshift doctor tightly pressed his hand on my shoulder, which now sported a large red stain which was spreading alarmingly fast.

"Take this off", Altaïr said, tugging at the collar of my sweater. I obliged reluctantly due to the pain of wiggling my right arm out of the sleeve, but only when I saw the long look he gave the zipper I realized he probably had no idea how it worked. Temporarily easing the pressure on my shoulder he unceremoniously peeled the left sleeve off as well.

The whole left shoulder and part of the left side of my white t-shirt was soaked in blood. I could smell its metallic odor wafting into my nose. I felt drops of the warm fluid running down my arm. Damn. No bleach in the world is going to wash that off.

"It looks like much, but it is not", he said when he saw my horrified look. He used my discarded sweater to wipe away the excess blood and the wound. Then he rolled up the remaining sleeve and quickly covered the shoulder in a few layers of bandage. "It's just a flesh wound, and not a big one at that. You'll live."

"Well, it feels like-", a hiss of profanities as he lifted my arm to pull the bandage tight, "-like I won't. What's up with you always attacking before questioning?" I wanted to keep talking, because it was the most normal thing I'd done in a while.

"A precaution."

"What, you still don't believe me?" I stifled another string of curses as he added more pressure by tightening the strips of linen.

"I never said that either."

I fell silent, slightly annoyed. Trying to hold a conversation with him was useless. All he did was talking in circles. Why is he going through all this if he doesn't believe me?

"You are lucky he didn't aim to kill", Altaïr continued quietly, presumably wanting to avoid the last topic.

I snorted and tilted my head back, against the wall. "Yeah, you bet. I am one lucky guy indeed", I said my tone so obviously sarcastic that I doubted even this assassin without a sense of humor could have missed it.

"Forgive him his hostility. For a while now Malik has wanted to aim the knife at me instead. I believe he got some satisfaction out of this." I couldn't tell if he was being serious or if this was his way of being funny. I probably would have asked, but his next question took me by surprise. "Besides, you can use both of your hands equally well, can you not?"

I paused and blinked. Altaïr didn't seem to register my confused silence in any way and continued wrapping the strips around my shoulder. Had I told him that? I came to the conclusion that I hadn't. "Yeah? How do you know that?" I asked, staring at the ceiling and trying to appear casual.

If I had been looking at him then, I would have seen how the assassin's eyes very briefly glanced up from his work, and then were lowered again. "Because so can I", he simply said. With that he pulled the final knot tight and got up. "Don't move it. I need to speak with Malik."

Then he pulled his hood back up and left, indicating that the conversation had ended.