A/N: I am SO sorry to any of you who have actually been following this. I apologize for taking so long to update this, and I also apologize in advance for this chapter not really doing too much. Don't worry, the rest of this section-ish-thing will come soon, hopefully tomorrow. I promise. Now that exams are done, I can focus on this stuff a lot more.

Mark looked out the window, shocked to see the last rays of the setting sun reflecting off of windows. Altaïr had long since stopped crying, though he still hadn't said a word. Mark was pleased to note that Altaïr had not tried to get Mark to move his arm, actually scooting closer to him at one point. Maybe this meant that he wouldn't try to kill him anymore. Though ever since Altaïr had moved closer, the hilt of a throwing knife had been digging into Mark's side rather painfully. Thankfully it was the hilt, and not the tip.

Mark took his arm from Altaïr and got up. Altaïr turned his head up to look at Mark, all its former anger and hatred gone, it now seemed almost the face of a child. Innocent, and in need of protection. And Mark would protect this otherwordly protecter. Killer. Whatever he was with all those weapons.

"Here, I'm going to go make us some dinner, okay?" Mark said, continuing after Altaïr nodded, "Why don't you take a shower while I cook? A nice hot shower always helps calm me down. Don't worry, I won't try anything while you're in there." Mark gave Altaïr a reassuring smile, reaching for Altaïr's hand to show him to the bathroom.

Altaïr got up, silently following Mark to the shower. He was being awfully trusting of this man he had only just met (and gone on to show an uncharacteristic display of emotions in front of), but something about Mark just told Altaïr he could trust him. That there was no need to worry about him trying anything on Altaïr. After all, he hadn't struck while Altaïr was in that vulnerable, deplorable state he had been in for hours. Still, best to still be on his guard. At least a little.

They reached the bathroom quickly, it was just a few steps down the hall from the bedroom. The walls were a pale orange, lit by a dim yellow light. There was a mirror above the sink in the center of the room. On one side of the sink was a white porcelain toilet, and on the other was a shower. Butted up against the corner, two of the shower's walls were tiled, and the other two were glass, one of which was the door. There was a shelf in one of the tile walls on which were several bottles of cleansing products.

"Here, I'll be right back." Mark said, quickly walking down the hall to get Altaïr a fresh towel. He picked out a big, fluffy, pastel green towel, which he brought back to the bathroom and placed on the table next to the shower for Altaïr.

"Oh, sorry." Mark said, cheeks growing hot and turning away from Altaïr, who had already undressed?

"For what?" Altaïr said, genuinely curious.

"I didn't know you had already taken your clothes off." Mark explained, still looking away. "The towel is on the table there, I'll go get started on dinner now. I'll, uh, try to find you some clothes before you are done in here."

Mark quickly left the room, shutting the door behind him.

That was odd. Altaïr thought. Why would he apologise for seeing me unclothed? In Masyaf, everyone bathed together. This time is very different...

Altaïr stepped into the shower, fumbling with the knobs until the water was the perfect temperature. The hot water and the steam felt amazing, as if they were almost melting away these problems he suddenly faced. But they were still there. They could not be melted away completley.

How could it be 2012? He knew it to be true, some deep part of him knew that the year was 2012, and there was no possibility for any trickery to be at hand. But still... How could this have happened? What kind of sorcery could have led to this? Could it have had something to do with the Apple? Altaïr did not know. It was too deep and too difficult a question for him to ponder at that moment. But he would find out how this strange event had come to pass. And he would find out how to get back to his proper time. He was determined.

But 2012... His very believing of Mark's words went against his creed: Nothing is true, everthing is permitted. He was supposed to seek out his own knowledge; divine his own truths! Not believe some random man whom he had just met. He would do just that then. He would unequivocably prove that it was 2012. And once he had aquired that knowledge, he could begin searching for a way back to his proper time.

But now was not the time for that. Now was a time to relax in this wonderful shower.

Altaïr's stomach grumbled. When had he gotten so hungry? He supposed it had been close to a millenium since he had last had a meal. Good thing that Mark was cooking.

The door's hinges emitted a barely audible creak as the door slowly opened. Altaïr's head shot around. Nothing but Mark's hand was visible, holding what appeared to be a pile of black cloth. The hand set those down on top of the towel Mark had left for Altaïr on the table besude the shower and then retreated, closing the door on its way out.

Altaïr quickly finished washing and shut off the shower. The towel Mark had given him was very soft and did an excellent job of drying the water from Altaïr's tan, muscular body. Once he was reasonably dry, Altaïr went over to inspect the pile of black cloth. It turned out to be a black tunic of an odd cut, similar to the type that Mark had on, only looser, and a light and loose pair of black pants. Tucked between them had been a pair of red underclothes. The underclothes were surprisingly tight, perfectly hugging Altaïr's thighs and cradling his more delicate parts in a rather comfortable manner. He slipped the clothes on and picked up the carefully folded pile of the dirty robes he had been wearing for a large part of his assassin career. On top of the folded robes Altaïr had carefully placed his armour and all of his weapons. The pile of weapons easily rivaled the size of the folded robe.

Altaïr eyed the pile of weapons. It was not like him to go anywhere unarmed. Hell, he had been armed the first time he had lain with a woman. Altaïr decided upon his hidden blade, and fastened the vambrace that contained it around his left wrist. Grabbing the pile of weapons and robes, he pushed open the door and walked into the hall.