Desmond hadn't spoken another word the rest of that day, nor did Altair. Probably still a bit taken aback by the insult that had been tossed his way but not translated.

Malik had decided to keep the man in the dark, which may have been a bad idea in the long run yet the rafiq did not care. The novice shouldn't have picked a fight with his charge, shouldn't have riled the young eagle up because it then meant that Malik would have a moody assassin in training on his hands - well, hand. Point was: the Al-Sayf didn't like Desmond being angry and upset.

It was a sad and disheartening sight to say the least. In it's own odd way it was also endearing.

How the young man was like a tiny bird puffing its chest out and ruffling its feathers, squaking and twittering in an irritated manner.

Though, at this moment, Malik was putting his dagger back on the shelf while his comrade was settled on the batches of pillows, cleaning his blades and making sure all was organized and working properly. Altair seemed unsettled, his eyes distant even as his hand holding a rock ran along his sword to sharpen it. All that was heard was the sharpening of a blade and breathing. There were some sounds of the civilians bustling about, bantering and chatting, along with a few birds chirping.

Desmond was resting in the back, on the dai's cot, nestled under a blanket. He'd drank some wine beforehand, making an odd comment of, "Hello, gorgeous."

Malik hadn't questioned the youth's happiness to the beverage, seeing as it seemed to bring back pleasant memories.

The bureau leader rubbed his face, the quill he'd been writing with resting on the counter. Its ink having dried and the parchment before him adorned with thick lines and simple drawings, clearly a new map for the surrounding area. He didn't want to bother with it anymore, he would rather be talking to the boy and teaching him.

It was strange how he'd grown used to Desmond's presence, how the curious man would ask him about things, learn and even teach Malik in return. Even if it was just enhancing his vocabulary of the English language, he knew it would come in handy in the near future.

Slowly, Malik turned his attention back to Altair once the metallic grinds ceased. The sight he was greeted with surprised him slightly, for the assassin simply sat there with his gaze straight ahead. Altair's brows were creased, lips pursed in a thin line, hands' hold tight and his knuckles had turned a lighter shade than his naturally dark tone, golden irises narrowed slightly.

Even if the other looked angry, the aura surrounding him was confusion, curiousity and a tinge of hurt. Noticing this had Malik raise a brow, he had to be seeing things, surly. There was no way that the 'almighty' Altair bn-La'Ahad could have been emotionally wounded by a plain jab that was said only from frustration. Fed up frustration but still. It's not like Desmond had meant it, though the dai had the oddest feeling that that was only wishful thinking on his end.

He turned to see that said Miles had risen from his resting state, standing there in the doorway with dishevled hair and dazed chocholate hues. Desmond rose his left hand, rubbing the side of his neck with a tired groan as he closed his eyes while his right moved to rid his eyes of remaining sleep. Yawning, the American then lowered his hands to blink once he noticed that Malik was watching him with an amused look.

True, the rafiq had seen this sight a handful of times but it was still amusing. Especially when the other man's cheeks would turn a dark red from embarrassment like they were right at this moment.

"Uh...hey."

"Did you sleep well, Dezmund?" Malik questioned, turning his attention elsewhere, reaching out for the feather to dip it into the ink. He added more lines as he waited patiently for his answer, twirling his wrist at one point.

"Yeah, I guess." Desmond shifted, his hands resting on his lower back, leaning back to stretch before walking around the counter to face the rafiq. Just to be polite, that and he was used to talking to Malik this way, perhaps more of a habit than anything. "So...what'd I miss?" He leaned forth to look at the map, eyes running over each line slowly and carefully.

"Not much. Altair is going to be leaving tomorrow as far as I am concerned."

Another dip into the black substance, back to the paper.

"Oh..." The brunet fell silent, cautiously turning his sights over to the assassin whom went back to sharpening his blade. "Hey, look," Desmond returned his attention to Malik, "I'm sorry about earlier. Guess I'm just -"

Next thing the ex-bartender knew was that the quill was put down, a calloused hand covering his mouth and that dark eyes were staring straight into his own. Malik's eyes narrowed slightly in warning, telling the other to silence himself and not finish his sentence. Desmond's own eyes widened from shock, breath caught in his throat as he then swallowed thickly, inhaling the scent of ink, earth and spices.

"Hush, Dezmund. All is well, do not worry yourself over it." the bureau leader spoke, voice soft enough so only the recipient could hear. After he'd received a nod, he lowered his hand to rest it against the wooden surface. "I do not want you to concern yourself over the manner. Altair is a grown man, he has probably heard worse."

"Well, yeah, but -" The youth snapped his mouth shut when Malik narrowed his eyes once again. "Sorry."

There was no point in starting up a mindless dispute anyway.

Nightfall had soon arrived, the only light source being torches and candles.

Desmond had poked his head out to peer into the lobby, brows crinkled from confusion once he saw no sign of his ancestor. Carefully and as quietly as possible, the ex-bartender made his way to the entrance that wasn't latched shut for the night. That was odd since Malik liked to close the hatch when he was positive that no one would be coming or going, especially not this late at night.

It was then that the brunet tensed, his hands curled into fists as he crept over to the fountain, cautious in case a guard may just have found the bureau and had gone to alert the others. Unlikely but still possible. Swallowing thickly, Desmond reached out to grab onto a loosened brick, placing his foot atop the faucet to aid him in his assent. He gripped the ledge, straining his ears to hear if there were any guards before slowly raising his head to peer over and scout out the rooftop.

Nothing.

The youth let out a heavy breath, relieved, and hauled himself up and over. Once he was out of the bureau, Desmond stood up straight and inhaled deeply, making his way forth until he was standing right in the middle as he cocked his head back to peer up at the vast skies. What he saw blew his mind. Billions upon billions of stars were in the sky, twinkling and shimmering brightly, in all their glory.

His brown eyes widened, turning slowly with a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Desmond had seen stars before, having gone to visit his grandparents in the country and whatnot but this, this could not compare. They were natural and more than in the future, or, well, it was less polluted by factories and oil companies accidentally spilling and ruining the water. It was just all natural beauty.

He soon paused in his stargazing once he heard what sounded like shoes scrapping against the wall. Turning on his heel sharply, Desmond blinked once he saw that Altair was lifting himself up onto the roof. He watched silently as the man dusted off his sleeves, observed as the Syrian rose a hand to push back his hood and swallowed when the other's golden eyes locked onto his own.

The American couldn't tell if Altair was just as surprised as he was to see him, yet also felt his tongue poke out to lick his lips nervously, wondering if the assassin was still angry about earlier. If he'd figured out exactly what Desmond had called him.

"Hey, look, I -" Desmond's voice failed him, blinking once he noticed something adorning the other man's face.

Wait...is that...? He squinted to get a better look then flinched as he saw that Altair as indeed bleeding from his temple. Fuck. Did a guard get lucky or something?

The assassin turned his head away, as if trying to divert Desmond's attention elsewhere, his lips curved downward in a stern frown. It didn't seem like the tanned man desired the novice's worry which was more than a bit irritating, even though the young man should have suspected as such. All he could do at this moment was slump his shoulders and turn his gaze away.

It didn't seem that there was a high chance Altair would let him worry openly. Not like Desmond was going to anyway, the other was a grown man and an assassin. He didn't need to be babied or fussed over.

When he looked back over to his ancestor, the brunet blinked as he took note of how the ibn-La'Ahad's back was to him, sitting on the ledge. Head tipped back and looking up at the stars just as he'd done previously. Letting out a heavy exhale, the ex-bartender made his way over while also being mindful of the man's personal space. Desmond choose to stand a few feet away, arms crossed loosely, cocking his head back to take in nature's beauty once more.

"It is not as beautiful back where I come from," the American spoke, chocolate orbs turning to look over at his companion whom looked up at him.

Funny how Altair's posture was almost exactly the same as when he sat on a bench to avoid detection.

"You're not very social, y'know." was the next thing he said along with a chuckle added on.

It was as if, at that moment, a silent, temporary, truce had been shared as both men turned their attention back to the sky.

Assassination's note: I hope Altair wasn't OOC...
Here you go: a moment between Altair and Desmond just like I said. Doesn't seem like much, huh? A little goes a long way though.

Anyway...I was actually planning on posting this on the 22nd since that was when the first chapter was posted but...it's the holidays and I figured you would all be busy. So...here's an early chapter. Happy holidays!