Assassination's note: Now, I know, there are some of you who are getting a bit fed up with Malik being around and 'romance-blocking(?)' and whatnot since chapter four but...I feel he's necessary. So I'm sorry for dragging out his welcome - if I am. All I'm asking is that you all bear with me (and Malik) for a bit longer. (seriously, I have the feeling some of you might be going, 'Argh! Malik, stop butting in! ROAR!')

A clash of steel rang out in the morning air, along with a grunt accompanying it. The series of clangs continued to go on for a while longer before there was a pained groan that rose from the depths of a man's chest as he lie on the ground, chest heaving with his head lolled back. The blade they'd once held a few feet away from their outstretched arm and open hand.

Said male on the ground being Desmond Miles.

His opponent stood before him, dagger held tightly in their grasp as they peered down at him with lips parted. A tongue darted out to run over them before taking a step back and sheathing the blade. "You have gotten better, Dezmund." he praised before reaching his hand out for the other to take. "Let us take a break for a while."

Nodding slowly, Desmond shifted to sit up on his elbows to then take hold of Malik's hand. Once hoisted up onto his two feet, the youth placed his opposite hand on a bent knee as he panted heavily. They'd been sparring for the past few hours. All upon his request, of course. His host had been rather uncertain and confused at the suggestion when it was presented.

Plus, just as the dark haired dai had said, Altair had indeed left to head to Acre for his next mission. Well, at least the assassin had dressed his wound before leaving.

Though Desmond was somewhat disappointed that even if they'd come to a truce last night, it seemed as if very little progress had been made. Altair didn't talk much and most of the conversation was just silence. Pure, chilling, silence. It wasn't as if he'd hoped that his ancestor would be chatty - that would most likely happen when Hell froze over, seeing as the elder didn't come off as a talkative person from the beginning or ever. Then again it seemed reasonable given how he was raised and the circumstances.

And how Malik didn't seem to want them to be left alone in a room for too long.

Not that the novice could blame his host for acting as such since that little 'dick' outburst. Speaking of said incident, it had been about another week since that ordeal, so Desmond truly had begun to lose track of the days he'd been with the rafiq. He didn't mind Malik's company, not at all, he really did enjoy it.

"Yeah, sure." Releasing Malik's hand, the brunet rose to his full height, only to cringe when his muscles screamed their protests. "...I think I pulled something."

A chuckle was his friend's response. Yes, they had become friends. Shocking, Desmond knew, taking into account how many days he'd stayed here that would originally prevent this 'fast-friends' thing, but no. It didn't. Hell, how many days has it been?

He watched as the bureau leader headed towards the back, into his room to then return with a bottle of wine, much to Desmond's relief. Although he was starting to miss the taste of water - even if water didn't have a taste. True, the water in this time was possibly contaminated or something but wine every single day was starting to kill his taste buds. Funny because he was a bartender and he would knock back a few drinks with customers from time to time.

Shaking his head vigorously, the young Miles rose a hand to rub his face, sliding his fingers through his hair a bit harshly. He had to stop thinking about home, least he worry Malik and that just wouldn't do at all.

After what felt like years, Desmond had finally managed to parry almost each blow thrown his way without being knocked back or stumbling backwards. His right hand swapped the short sword to his left, twisting his wrist just in time to stop the strike that would have most likely sliced his leg. Gritting his teeth, the assassin in training furrowed his brows as he shifted his foot to hold his ground while his teacher placed more pressure.

His jaw clenched, knuckles turning white before Desmond jerked his hand, shoving the opposing sword away. He shifted back some feet, lips parted with soft pants and sweat sliding down the side of his face.

Hell, Malik seemed to be getting more aggressive with him the more he progressed. Which wasn't making this any easier, yet wasn't that the point? It wasn't like the guards would go easy on him or that he'd have back-up like last month.

Still, when Desmond had come to the conclusion that hoping to be sent back was just wishful thinking, he'd decided he would just prove his worth and do what he could. Training, running errands, helping Malik sort out the maps, continue his lessons on their culture and language, everything that Desmond could do he did. No questions asked.

Altair hadn't paid a visit at all, being sent elsewhere instead of Jerusalem.

Even though the rafiq had assured him that Altair was fine when he'd asked, Desmond wasn't so sure about that. Call it 'gut instinct.'

A gasp came from the brunet, barely blocking the blow to his side, needing to place his right hand's palm against the end of the short sword to stop the strike entirely. Gritting his teeth with a hiss, the young man then realized that he'd spaced out and buried himself into his thoughts.

It seemed like Malik had noticed this as well since he pulled his blade back, eying his charge with a questioning gaze.

Swallowing, Desmond slowly pulled his cut hand away from his weapon, clenching his hand into a fist in an attempt to cease the bleeding. Chocolate eyes fell halfway shut, looking down on the blood stained steel, watching as the crimson fluid slipped downward and dripped. The American then turned his attention to his hand, seeing it do the same.

"I...uh..."

"Dezmund," the dai's tone was sharp, almost receiving a cringe from said Miles, "do not lie to me. I can tell you are worried about something."

Desmond rose his gaze to lock onto charcoal, feeling frozen in place with the look he was getting. It wasn't disappointment from becoming distracted in the midst of a duel, no, rather it was one of minor frustration. Like a parent who kept telling their child there were no monsters hiding under the bed for over more than a year. It was a look that had him avert his attention to the side, to the floor, anywhere except for where his mentor stood.

"Sorry, it won't happen again, let's just st-"

"No."

This had the brunet blink, whipping his head to stare at Malik with wide eyes.

"Put the sword down, Dezmund, and go rest."

"But I -" Desmond snapped his trap shut, deciding it best not to argue with his friend. Nothing good would come of it anyway. So, with the utmost reluctance, the ex-bartender made his way over to the weapon's rack to place the blade in its proper place. "...all right."

He then went to go get the supplies to bandage up his hand.

All the while, Malik watched Desmond with a concerned expression beginning to surface once he knew the boy was out of the room. He didn't know what had distracted the young man, that was true, but what he did know was that he couldn't do anything to rest Desmond's thoughts. It seemed as if his student was holding back, bottling up everything, as if he couldn't confide in the dai.

Frustrating. It was downright frustrating that he was left in the dark, guessing what was dwelling on the youth's mind. Then again he was worried as well, wondering just when he would be found out in housing a man whom possessed such likeness to Altair, when someone besides he or said assassin would run into Desmond.

Closing his eyes, he shook his head slowly before making his way to put his own weapon away to then turn and see his guest return, hand bandaged up.

"Dezmund..." Malik paused once brown eyes lifted to lock onto his own, taken aback by how the brown had melted to a darker chocolate, by the seriousness that was lashing about in them. With a slow inhale and exhale, he started once more. "Dezmund, what is on your mind?"

This had the bartender avert his gaze, pursing his lips with his thin brows knitting themselves together. "It's just...I just think something bad's gonna happen soon. Or it has. I - well...I dunno. Something doesn't feel right, y'know?" While saying this, Desmond had crossed an arm under the opposite's elbow, hand raised and twisting about. As if, in doing so, it would show what he meant. "I know it sounds crazy but I'm serious."

Altair planted his back against a wall, hand placed firmly against his side as he grit his teeth, golden hues whipping towards the opening of the dirty alleyway. His lips were parted slightly, panting heavily with a cringe and tightening his hold on the bleeding site.

A guard had taken him by surprise, much to his disgust, and got him good. The wound was oozing blood still and the assassin didn't have much time to do a minor patch-up that would hold until he reached the bureau to then get a more proficent medical application to the gash. Just thinking about it had him press his palm even closer than physically possible - which was mostly a failed attempt to stop any further blood flow than what was being held off with how he was holding it now.

Altair closed his eyes halfway, listening to the bells chime. Listening as guards hustled and rushed about to try and track him down, hearing people talk amoungst themselves and the gossip spreading about on how Abu'l Nuqoud had been assassinated.

If he could risk it, the wounded Syrian would have chuckled.

This scene played out a lot during his years of this profession, all the same threats, same chatter and same blows being given and taken.

Though, this time, it felt different. Like an out of body experience. He recalled a time when he would feel as if someone else was with him, that they wouldn't let anything hurt him if it was within their power. A guardian angel of sorts, or perhaps a demon.

He swallowed thickly, closing his eyes as he placed most of his weight back against the wall. He knew he had to get back to the bureau, hand in the feather soaked in his prey's blood and rest - but, honestly, he wasn't sure if he'd make it if the guards surrounded him as they had once he'd finished talking to Abu'l. Not that this was anything new but with how many there were, even with the skills he possessed, it was a task to get out of the area.

Altair then caught sight of a group of scholars once he opened his eyes, relief washing over him as he pushed away from the wall and made his way over to them.

extra note: Also, before I forget...something was brought to my attention, so I have tossed up a poll on my profile for this story, please take a look at it if you have the time. (If Altair happened to be OOC this time...well, I have no excuse...besides that I felt I should show how things are going on Altair's end.)