Part One
Chapter 24
My stomach churns with every step, protesting with loud gurgles that echo in the otherwise quiet hall. Holding back a burp that will no doubt taste like the regrets of last night, I trudge on. Miraculously I manage to put one foot in front of the other without my knees buckling.
Though each step sends jolts of pain up my legs, along my spine, and directly to my throbbing head. In the back of my mind, I wonder why I thought drinking so much last night had been a good idea. Especially when I have so much I need to get done today. With narrowed eyes, I thank The Maker that the halls are lit with torches and not the fluorescent bulbs of home.
Bright lights would definitely do nothing to help my hangover.
The trek up the hill had been hell but I had trudged one. Despite my rolling stomach and throbbing head, I had made my way to the fortress because I really need to talk to Malik. I've put it off too long. So I trace my way back to Malik's room through memory alone. Though, when memory fails, innate stubbornness keeps me going. Positive that I've taken the same path Odell lead me down, I stop at the unassuming wooden door and knock. The relief that fills me when Malik opens said door is nearly overwhelming even though I'm met with harsh words.
"What do you want?"
Malik's face is nowhere near welcoming. There's a scowl on it as he pulls the door open and I don't blame him. Tired, brown eyes are narrowed into slits as he glares down at me. I fidget under his gaze, unsure how to reply to that because, for all that I planned to come visit him, I hadn't quite figured out what to do about him.
"I need to talk to you," I tell him, keeping the uncertainty out of my voice as I nod towards his room. Though he stands in the doorway, he doesn't block it, allowing me to see the bags piled beside the door. "If you have the time, that is."
The packs.
He'll be leaving soon. He arrives at Jerusalem before Altaïr, setting up shop just as Altaïr's sent to hunt down Talal. With Altaïr due back home any day now, Malik should be leaving soon. Eyes still on the packs by the floor, I wonder if it won't be today.
"Talk?" Malik questions, confused. Eyes narrowing further, he takes a better look at me. And I must be a sight to see. In the same pink tunic as always, my hair in a truly messy ponytail, dark circles under my eyes that no amount of make-up could cover—not that I'd even actually tried—and as pale as a ghost. I'm not under the impression that I don't look like I'm about to keel over at any second. Though, if Malik sees it, it doesn't soften his words. "You, I remember you. You are that bastard's apprentice."
There's fury in his voice, hot and thick and I'm amazed he doesn't slam the door in my face. Instead he continues to watch me, scrutinizing me. I say nothing. Even with the headache threatening to bring me to my knees, I hold my chin up high as his eyes run over me from head to toe. He's sizing me up and I refuse to back down. Shoulders set, I steel myself for the argument that will no doubt come if he refuses to listen to me.
Never mind that I don't know what I will tell him.
"While I am not inclined to deal with anything relating to that miserable excuse of an Assassin, I have a feeling you will not leave until you have said all that you have come to say," he says when he spots the determination on my face. His voice turns wary as the scowl drops from his face. Stepping back, he motions me into his room with his only hand. "Come in and say your piece so we can be done with this."
"You might not like what I have to say," I warn him as I make my way into his room. The knickknacks once decorating the room are gone, leaving the dresser tops bare and giving the room an unlived-in atmosphere. He's definitely leaving soon.
"I do not doubt that," he says, words distant as he stares hard at the packs by the door. "Everyone only ever brings bad news to my door nowadays."
Unsure of what to reply to that, I keep quiet. I'm so out of depth at the moment that I struggle between offering my condolences, or simply ignoring it and moving on to a different topic altogether.
I can never seem to decide what to do when it comes to Malik. Half of me wants to bundle him up in a blanket and protect him from the world. The other half, the one that knows that I'll probably be met with some resistance from Malik himself, wants nothing more than to be there for him.
To provide a shoulder to lean on and listen to his troubles and fill that empty spot next to him that Kadar's death has left behind.
He has no one else.
So many Assassins are orphans. Their parents having given up their life's for The Brotherhood at one point or another and Malik is no different. His parents are gone and, now, so is his brother. Even well into his adult years, I'm sure it has to hurt to be alone. I can't imagine having to face the world on my own.
And I don't want him to.
"It might be raining now, but a storm can't last forever," I tell him as my eyes go to the pack. They linger there, unwilling to rise to Malik's face in fear of what I might find there. "Stay strong. You're still needed, Malik."
"What do you know?" he asks. There's no fire in his words, only bone-deep wariness as he moves towards one of the beds and takes a seat. "You are just an apprentice and an outsider on top of it all. You are new to our way of life. You cannot possibly know that."
"I know more than you would think," I tell him, words lacking any heat. I'm too tired, too sluggish, to dreg up the proper emotion to go with those words. Instead, I move towards the dresser when I no longer think I can stand on my own and slump against it.
"Then you would know that I am useless now," he says, words almost a whisper as he runs his hand through his shaggy black hair. Slouching over, the same hand comes up to hold what's left of his left arm. If there's anything left.
The silence stretches then as I wrack my brain for something to say to that. It's a hard feat to accomplish when my brain refused to think of anything other than curling up on the nearest surface and passing out. I managed to find the words though, but Malik beats me to the punch.
"It was my first year, you know," he says, breaking the silence. His eyes are trained on the floor, hand still clutching his shoulder as he says, "The Master had only just elevated me to Master Assassin a few months back. Kadar was so happy, he wanted to celebrate. I told him we should wait. After all, it's not becoming a Master Assassin that's important.
"No, it is surviving your first year that is the real accomplishment," he says, head bowed and voice low and a part of me, the still tipsy part of my brain, wonders when the conversation turned so deep. "Did you know most do not make it through it? They try so hard to train us, to prepare us for anything that might come our way but most never make it to the end of the first year. The Grand Master claims the will of God. That fate has taken them. Me? I blame recklessness.
"Our whole lives we are told that nothing comes before the order. That there is no greater glory than dying for what we believe in," he says, still not looking up. "They rob us of our fear of death. Force us to face it again and again until we can stare into the eyes of Death and welcome it with open arms. They take from us the only thing that could ever make us stop and think of the results our actions will breed. After all, death is the greatest consequence.
"And, without a fear of Death, we become reckless. We dive head first into battle and cut down anyone that stands in our way," he says. "We become like your precious Mentor and so many lives are lost because of it. Those that aren't killed through their reckless actions. That somehow make it through the first year are left crippled, both physically and emotionally.
"With everything robbed from them, they're often left unable to form connections with the world around them. Leaving them distant and cold and ruthless. Like Altaïr and Abbas and…me," he whispers, eyes finally leaving the floor as they lock on to me. "And sometimes I can't help but wonder if we wouldn't be better off dead?"
"I…I, Malik," I mumble, not knowing what to say as my mind reels from information over load. "What are you trying to tell me?"
"I'm saying," he begins, gaze once again dropping to the floor, "That with only one arm left, alone in this world, and unable to serve The Brotherhood in the only way I've been trained to since birth, killing me would be more of a mercy."
"Don't say that," I whisper back, heat pooling in my stomach and warming my words. This time my narrowed eyes have nothing to do with my throbbing head. "Don't ever fucking say that."
"It is the truth."
"It's fucking bullshit, is what it is," I hiss, pushing off the dresser and moving to stand in front of him. My words are harsh, coated in anger and disbelief that he, of all people, would say that. But my hands are gentle as they cup his face. Tilting his head up, I make sure to hold his gaze as I say, "Listen to me Malik, you are not like that. You are not cold, you are not ruthless, and you are not alone."
"What do you know? You have no hope of ever becoming a Master," he says, pulling away from my grip. There's no anger in his words, no heat or fire but I still back away, stung. He sees the hurt on my face, knows that his words smarted, but he doesn't take them back. Instead he stands, a slump to his shoulders as he goes to the pack by the door. "I hope, one day, that you will come to realize that I did not say that out of spite."
I say nothing as I watch him throw the packs onto his back. Nor do I move to help him even though I know I probably should. Instead, I just stand there, endless thoughts circling in my head, as I watch Malik hoist the pack onto his good shoulder and walks out the door.
This won't be the end of this.
No, I won't let it be. Malik may be knees deep in his pity party but I'll be damned if he thinks I'm really going to let it continue. Of course, I realize he'll eventually pull himself out of it on his own but I prefer sooner rather than later. Especially if I'm gearing up to bring him in on the whole 'Saving-the-World-Thing'and possibly have him outfitted with a prosthetic arm. I'm not too sure how we might benefit from having Malik know about the swirls but I figure he could be of some help.
Besides Altaïr without Malik at his side is like Ezio without Leonardo.
Unthinkable.
Though with Malik no doubt on his way to Jerusalem at the moment, there's only going to be one way for me to have another talk with him. Looks like it's finally time for a real God Damn adventure. And no one is going to stop me.
Mind made, I finally make my way back home. More than ready to crawl back into bed and sleep the rest of this hangover off, I head directly towards the swirl even though I know I should probably check in on Odell. The last two times I saw him haven't exactly left me feeling all that great.
Something's going on there.
Whatever it is, I don't think it'll be good. Still, I push those worrying thoughts aside as I climb up the ladder. Pausing on the roof, I take in the bustling city, admiring it the view for a few minutes before jumping back home.
The attic is empty when I land in the pillow pit. The computers are off and the only light in the room is the one that filters in through the tiny attic window. I take a moment to just lie there. Melting into the pillows, I let my eyes close and finally let loose that god damn burp that taste of nothing but cranberry and vodka and bad decisions.
"Kill me," I mumble as I rub my head. Finally surrendering to the full effect of the hangover, I curl up into a ball and whimper in misery. A little melodramatic, I know but I feel like I've been hit by a bus. Believe it or not, wallowing in my misery while curled up on a pile of pillows actually does make me feel the tiniest bit better.
I'm not sure how long I lay there, eyes shut and arms wrapped around my stomach. A part of me realizes I'm dozing in a particularly hazardous spot but the hungover part of my brain firmly tells it to shut up and let me sleep. And that's how I end up spending most of the afternoon, only waking up long enough to readjust my position and snuggle deeper into the pillows.
Though it doesn't last long. Soon I wake to a full bladder and I have no choice but to finally crawl out of the pit. And crawl I do. There's nothing dignified about how I pull myself from the pillows. It's all clumsily fumbling and more whimpers and groans.
It's slow going but I finally make it out of the pit after a few tries. Getting to my feet I make my way to the nearest bathroom and, after using it, start the trek back to my room. It's only then that I realize how silent the house is, leaving me to wonder if anyone's home.
I get my answer when I make it to my room. Pausing to scoop my phone off my desk, I crawl back into bed just as I check my messages.
'Went out for food. Anissa was hungry. Text me when you get back from Masyaf.'
— Ken
I keep my reply sweet and simple as I curl up under the blanket.
'I'm home. Gonna knock out. Don't feed Ezio.'
Message sent, I push the phone under my pillow and doze off again with the hopes of getting a few decent hours of sleep. But I'm still hungover so it's no real surprise when I find myself waking again and again. Sometimes I wake overheated, body drenched in sweat as I kick off the blankets. Other times I wake up freezing, the sweat cooling unpleasantly against my skin.
Thankfully my dreams are blissfully empty of fire and ashes and anything Minerva related. Instead, they're filled with excitement and action and ridiculous scenarios that I forget as soon as I open my eyes. So while sleep comes with starts and stops, I'm not terrorized by nightmares
"I hate my life," I mumble when I wake up covered in sweat yet again. The room is dark, the sun having set while I was asleep, but this time noises fill the house. Laughter and voices and it's enough to pull me out of bed. Especially, since I don't quite feel like death warmed over anymore.
Following the noise of a happy family, I stumble into the living room just as the television lights up with the Netflix logo and the lights darken.
"Join us, Jen," Mother calls, pulling my gaze to her. She lounges in the loveseat, lying across it and leaning into Fathers chest, wrapped snuggly in his arms. Alexis and Ken and Ezio are they're too, Alexis in the recliner and the others on the couch. They're all wrapped up in blankets and cozy and I move to join them instantly.
"What movie are we watching?" I ask as I make my way towards the couch. Ken scoots over without any promoting, pulling the blanket on his lap up so I can slip under it.
"No idea," Anissa chirps from the floor, surprising me as I hadn't realized she was still here. The coffee table has been pushed to the side, making room for Anissa to spread a blanket on the floor and curl up on it. For some reason, it looks a lot more inviting, so I shake my head at Ken's offer and drop down next to Anissa. "It's a Max Mystery Call."
"Ask Max is choosing for us then?" I ask as I sprawl out on my stomach next to her. She nods her head as she scoots over, lifting the blanket covering her enough for me to crawl under it. "I hope it's a scary movie."
"We'll just have to wait and see," Mother says as she plops a bowl of Popcorn next to me. Sacrificing the blanket on her lap, she throws it over us. With another blanket in the mix, Anissa takes hers back, rolling herself up into what she deems is a burrito. "Are you feeling better?"
"Much better," I tell her as I throw some popcorn into my mouth. With Mother's concern abated we all settle in just as the movie begins to play. "Remind me never to drink that much again, Ken."
"Don't worry. I got you."
The next few hours are spent laughing as Max chooses a truly ridiculous horror movie about sharks getting sucked up into a tornado and wreaking havoc on Southern California. All except Ezio that is. He spends most of the time staring at the screen in confusion and pestering Kenny with whispered questions I can't make out.
Whatever the questions may be, they don't seem to annoy Ken. He answers them with a smile, the fond look on his face going unnoticed as Ezio's gaze never shifts from the screen. My heart twinges at the sight of it though. An uneasy feeling settles in my stuck, thick and heavy, as I realize I might not be the only one in danger of ending up with a broken heart.
Dragging my gaze back to the screen, I try my best to ignore the feeling just as the credits rolls.
"Another?" Alexis asks even as he picks up the remote and moves back to the Ask Max section on Netflix.
"Sure," Mother answers, still snug in Father's arms. His blanket is now thrown over both of them, keeping them warm even in the cold winter night. "One more can't hurt."
I'm only half aware of the next movie to be played. Head nestled in my arms, I drift off before I can figure out what type of movie we're watching. Though, when Anissa jostles me awake as she curls up into my side with a yelp, I figure it might be a Horror movie.
Ignoring her, I snuggle deeper into my arms and doze off again. It says something about how tired I am that I can fall asleep on the ground with nothing but a blanket to soften the tile flooring. Guess the effects of my hangover aren't as gone as I thought.
When I wake again, it's to arms lifting me up and pulling me into a sturdy chest. I throw my arms around the neck of the person holding me without hesitation. Though I do crack my eyes open enough to identify the person carrying me. The room is dark, everyone's gone off to bed, and the television off. The only light filtering into the room comes from in between the floral curtains but it's enough.
"You're back," I whisper, closing my eyes again. Confident that I won't be dropped, I nuzzle into his neck.
"I'm home."
"Welcome home, Altaïr," I mumble against his neck, lips brushing against his skin. Pressing a light kiss there, I settle into his arms. More than content to be in them. He hums in reply as he carries me to my room.
The gentle rocking almost lulls me back to sleep but I fight against it. Unwillingly to lose any time with Altaïr to sleep, I wiggle out of his grasp. He places me on my feet easily enough but his arms stay wrapped around me, holding me against his chest.
"You are not about to come to bed covered in the much filth," I tell him, still nuzzled into his chest even though he reeks of sweat and dirt. It warms my heart to know that coming to find me was a bigger priority than washing off after days spent on the road. "Take a shower. I'll get you something to sleep in."
"What happened?" he asks instead, fingers ghosting over the bruise on my cheek. Too eager to feel his touch, I lean into them without really thinking. The fingers against my cheek turns into a hand, cupping my cheek before I can regret the decision.
"I'll tell you after your shower," I promise as I finally find the will to push out of his arms. He nods, heading to the bathroom without a fight. Knowing that everything will go a lot quicker of he just takes the shower. Scrounging up a pair of sweats and a t-shirt from Alexis' room, I place them in the bathroom before he can finish.
That done, I grab a few clean sheets from the cupboards in the laundry room. Figuring a clean, freshly made bed would make a great welcome back present, I decide to change the ones in my room. Anissa and I had slept there last night, both of us reeking of alcohol. While I managed to get Anissa to the restroom last night before she could start blowing chunks all over my bed, the sheets smell faintly of alcohol.
Though, thinking on it some more, I probably need a quick shower of my own. While I don't quite reek, I know I smell of booze and sweat. Not a pleasant sent to come home to, I'm sure. So, grabbing my own set of sleep clothes, I head to the upstairs bathroom and take my own shower.
Finally, out of my now signature pink tunic (I'm a god damn cartoon character), squeaky clean, and into the biggest, baggiest shirt I own, I pad back to my room.
Making it back before Altaïr, I crawl into the freshly made bed. All but melting against the clean comforter as it slides against my bare legs. With nothing better to do, I pull my phone out from under my pillow and browse through 9gag as I wait. Eyes flickering over the phone, it's with a mild amount of surprise that I realize it's actually six in the morning. I should be sleeping.
Or, better yet, I should probably be thinking on just how I'll convince everyone to let me leave with Altaïr to Jerusalem without kicking up a fuss but I figure everyone will be easier to convince if I already have one foot out the door. Not that I actually think they'll try to stop. While they might worry, they novelty of the swirls has mostly worn off, taking with it the feelings of the need for caution.
They swirls are being mostly ignored at this point.
With the expectation of me, since I quit my job, everyone has gone back to their normal lives. There's not much we can do at the moment anyways. Without further instruction from Minerva, we can do nothing but wait for Altaïr to get The Apple. And that's going to be a while yet so even Ken's gone back to devoting most his time to designing inventions for his job. Leaving me with nothing better to do but keep an eye on the swirls.
These past two weeks since Altaïr left—with the exception of the day we went to Monteriggioni—have been the most boring days since the whole debacle started. They'd almost made me wish I hadn't gone and quit PetSmart. Though, with nothing to do, I've finally gotten around to applying to every College and University in the area.
Altaïr opening the door to my room, pulls me from my thoughts. Pushing my phone back under my pillow I turn towards him, holding a hand out. He takes it and climbs into the bed as I pull him towards me. Sprawling out on his back, I curl into his side.
"I missed you," I tell him as I toss a leg over his. He hums in reply, arms moving under me to tug my closer to his side. Head now pillowed on his chest, I throw my arm over his chest, fisting the material just over his heart. "When do you leave again?"
"The sun is still out in Masyaf," he answers, voice hoarse with what I assume is disuse. He's spent most of these two weeks traveling. I highly doubt he had someone to talk to during his trip so a voice rough from disuse would be no surprise. "I am to spend the night and leave at first light."
"Did you already go see The Master?"
"Yes."
We lapse into silence then. A comfortable one that has me melting into his side and closing my eyes. The feeling of his heart beating under my hand soothes me in ways I never thought possible. Relaxes sore muscles and chases away tension I hadn't realized I held. By the time he speaks again, I'm nothing but a pile of goo.
"Will you tell me what caused such a horrid bruise?"
"Only if your promise not to kill anyone," I tell him, thoughts of keeping the truth from him long gone. No matter what trouble it may bring, I won't lie to him. I don't want to lie to him. Not when so much of our relationship is based on trust.
With there already being so much I can't tell him, lying to him now would feel like the ultimate betrayal.
"I...I cannot promise you that," he says, voice pained. Slowly his body begins to tense under me and I press a kiss to his cheek in the hopes to soothe him again. He melts back into the bed at the kiss, holding me tighter to him.
"I know," I soothe him as I lay my hand flat over his heart, savoring the feeling of it beating. "But I figure it wouldn't hurt to try," I tell him, falling silent until he gives me an expectant look. "Ken, Anissa, and I went to celebrate Halloween—a custom in our time where one gets dressed in costumes and gets drunk—and, well, I ran into unpleasant company. Long story short, we traded harsh words and then he hit me."
"He?"
"They can't all be gentlemen," I say, shrugging as best as I can given our positions. "But he got what was coming to him. Kenny broke his nose. You should have seen him—or maybe not cause you probably would have killed Ronnie if you had been there but anyways. Ken laid him out flat. Just 'pow' and the twat went down. It was amazing."
"I am sure it was," he says, voice rueful as he runs his fingers over the bruise again. It's four reddish-purple lines that can't be explained away. To say they're from anything other than a slap would be unbelievable. "Are you okay?"
"I…I'm fine. I was a little shaken up at the moment, sure, but I'm fine," I tell him, choosing to offer up more than the typical 'fine' to ease him. "It was just a slap anyways. If he had punched me though, that would have been a different story."
"Would I have been allowed to kill him then?"
"Probably."
He huffs at the reply, obviously displeased that I've been hit regardless if it'd had been just a slap. The bruise is still there, spanning across my left cheek. I've been hurt and it doesn't sit well with him but there's really nothing we can do about it now. Not when Ken's already broken Ronnie's nose in retaliation.
"But enough about my misadventures," I say, not so subtly changing the conversation. "I want to run something by you," I tell him even though I've already set my mind on this. Asking his opinion is really just a pleasantry I've decided to extend to him. "I want to go to Jerusalem with you."
"Why?"
"I need to talk to Malik," I tell him, once again being honest with everything I can be. "I've gone to see him twice now but he was asleep the first time and left me with more questions than answers the second time. If I have any hope of convincing him that Minerva was messing with him in Solomon's Temple, then I need to talk to him again."
"Malik is in Jerusalem then?" he asks, hand still ghosting over the bruise on my cheek. Though it soon drops to curl around mine. "Why is he in Jerusalem?"
It's a loaded question and once again I answer it honestly.
"I told you," I say, words soft even as I wonder why he hasn't made the connection already. Especially when we've discussed thing like this in front of him more than once before. "Remember? Malik becomes a Rafiq."
"The Rafiq of Jerusalem," he says, voice soft as well. The unasked question hangs in the air then, painted all over my face as I silently ask why he hadn't figured all this out before. Other than Al Mualim's pending betrayal, we've never actually tried to keep anything from him. "I guess I was just hoping it would not come true."
Ah, ignorance is bliss, after all.