Part One
Chapter 28
Alexander Hernandez:
"So she's in danger?"
His voice cuts across the room, loud in the tense silence that has fallen over them since Ezio and Ken had delivered their news. They sit around the kitchen table, all wearing various faces of worry, panic, and fear. The copies of the codex litter the table, thrown haphazardly in every direction as everyone's attention focuses only on the papers clutched in Kenny's hands.
"Yes, Mr. Hernandez," Ken says, head bowed in shame. Besides him, Ezio shuffles uncomfortably. He's torn between comforting Ken and staying as still as possible so as not to inquire the anger he can see brimming on the Hernandez's faces. Not that it's directed at them, of course.
"I told you this was a bad idea," Mrs. Hernandez is, surprisingly, the first to blow. The anger overtaking the fear so fast no one notices the shift until she stands, hands slamming onto the table with enough force to send a few papers scattering into the air and onto the floor. "I told you it was too dangerous to let her go."
Her yell is directed at none other than the Hernandez patriarch but Ken still winces at the sound. Mr. Hernandez for his part just stares at her with a calm, calculating gaze. A hundred thoughts and words pass between them as they lock eyes. As they stare at one another, they reach a silent agreement as he stands, posture calm and confidence in his every move.
"Come on, boys," he calls after pausing to place a long lingering kiss to Mrs. Hernandez's head. "We have a wayward princess to rescue," he says, the decision having been made long before Mrs. Hernandez's yells.
This has always been a possibility to him after all, and he is nothing if not a planner for worst case scenarios. His job kind of requires having a few escape plans up his sleeve if a case goes wrong. So he's been preparing a very vague plan that could fit any scenario that requires rescuing Jen from her own good intentions.
"Where are we going," Alexis asks as he follows after him, curious even considering the dire situation. He gets that from himself, Mr. Hernandez realizes. That innate need to know about everything happening around him, it's what has led Mr. Hernandez to take the career path he has.
"A professional Chismoso," his wife affectionately calls it. Or also known as a private investigator. Which really just means he's good at snooping around and eavesdropping and occasionally getting himself into tricky situations. Sneaking around is his specialty, which is why no one has the faintest idea that he's more than a little prepared for the situation at hand.
"Masyaf," he tells Alexis as they arrive at the attic. Going to one of the boxes in the corner of the room, he pulls out a few handguns. He hands one to Ken, another to Alexis, and slides the last one into a holster he ties around his waist. "We're going to have a nice little chat with Odell," he says as he pulls his shirt off and replaces it with a dark blue tunic.
"With guns!?" Alexis yells, incredulous even as he accepts the gun holster and tunic Mr. Hernandez hands him.
"I just want to talk," Mr. Hernandez says, a glint of something dark and dangerous in his eyes that tells them that there will be very little talking to be done. If any at all. The leather and iron vambraces he slips onto his arms do nothing to make him any less intimidating.
"Sure, you do," Alexis says as he pulls his on his tunic and wraps the holster around his waist. Suddenly thankful for all those days spent in the firing range, he checks the safety before stuffing the gun into its holster.
Ken, though, is more unsure in his movement. Fumbling the gun into the holster, he suddenly realizes why Jen had been so nervous to take one with her. It's one thing to give someone a gun and tell them to use it. It's a whole other thing to take a gun and realize you might have to use it on another living, breathing human being.
No matter how much they might deserve it.
No one comments on his nervousness, though. They all focus on the mission ahead instead, fear and anticipation making the atmosphere around them tense and unease. Unwilling to break the silence that falls around them, they say nothing as Mr. Hernandez continues to prepare for the mission ahead. Pre-prepared packs are pulled from the box and past around.
Each is stuffed with medical supplies, water, and rations and carry a small stash of ammo.
"How are we going to find Odell," Alexis finally asks. They're gathered around the swirl, seconds from jumping in when he finally breaks the heavy silence.
"Ezio will help us with that," Mr. Hernandez says, giving Ezio and expectant look. "You'll be able to track him down with your Eagle Vision, won't you, son?"
Ezio nods his agreement then and takes it as his cue to jump through the swirl. Ken follows after him without missing a beat. Mr. Hernandez watches them go with unconcealed amusement.
"Those two," Alexis says, picking up on what everyone hasn't been saying. "Are being idiots."
"Yes, yes they are," Mr. Hernandez agrees, allowing a brief smile to grace his lips before he motions for Alexis to jump. "But they're our idiots."
~oOo~
Jennifer Hernandez:
The sun has set. The sky is dark, but the night is nowhere near quiet as it had been in Masyaf. The city continues to bustle. The murmurs of citizens going about their lives filters in through the stone walls. Unlike Masyaf, Jerusalem doesn't settle in for the night.
Instead, it continues to move long into the night as the dark desires of the city floods the streets. From the dark corners of the city, the miscreants slowly emerge. Embolden by the setting sun, they take over the streets as the decent people head to bed.
And it's the perfect environment for an Assassin to work.
I don't know how long I lay there, blinking up at the stars above me. But it doesn't take me long to realize sleep won't come. I'm too nervous, too worried, and it's only through sheer force of will that I keep myself laying on the pillows for as long as I do.
Too soon for my liking, the restlessness in my limbs becomes too much to keep still. It drives me from the pillows. Though, for a lack of anything better to do, I grab my pack and begin to rummage through it.
Pulling a baggie of chocolates from it, I stare in dismay as I realize they've all melted into one giant glob. They used to be Hersey kisses, all carefully unwrapped to avoid accidentally leaving candy wrappers in this time before being stowed away into my bag. In hindsight, I should have figured traveling with easily melt-able candy had not been a good idea.
I'm just lucky the whole thing didn't spill at some point and ruin everything else in my pack. Breaking off a chunk of the glob, I nibble on it as I finally stand and make my way inside.
Tossing my pack over my shoulder. I shuffle into the bureau, pausing at the doorway as I try to figure out where I might be able to find a warmer place to sleep.
There's no couch in what I figure is Malik's office. Or is reception a better word for it since this is where he greets the Assassins? Who knows but the point is there's no couch here, or anything remotely comfortable enough to sleep on. So I move on.
I make my way back towards the dining room and peek through every doorway on the way there in hopes of finding either a bed or a couch to sleep on. There aren't many doors and the ones I do find look more like storage rooms than bedrooms. They're filled with crates and boxes and scrolls that I probably have no business looking at.
Not that I would even be able to read them though.
Still, for fear of drawing Malik's suspicion, I hurry away from those rooms and continue on my way until I enter the dining room.
The table is still set when I enter. All the food Malik had prepared for us still sits at the table. It's not a great feast, but guilt still claws at me as I see all the untouched food about to go to waste. They don't have fridges in this time and everything not eaten is usually thrown away, right?
"Do not worry," Malik says, scaring me half to death as he appears behind me. It's a miracle a scream doesn't escape me as he sneaks up on me. "Nothing will go to waste," he says as he steps around me and heads towards the table. Picking up one of the plates still full of food he says, "It will all go into the icebox until tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" I ask, trying to make small talk as I move to help him clean up. Not that I feel he can't do it on his own. I'm sure he could but I still feel guilty over Altaïr's behavior. So I help in an attempt to make up for having spoiled Malik's night—and day too, no doubt—with our appearance.
"While to let all this food go to waste would be senseless, I am not a fan of reheated food," Malik says, eyes carefully watching me as if he can't decide whether to thank me for helping or to be annoyed at my thinking he needs said help. Instead, he doesn't remark on it, he just grabs a bowl full of leafy greens and nods his head for me to follow after him. "So I will hand these out tomorrow."
"To who?" I ask as I follow after him with a small pile of plates.
"Beggars, the poor, the sick," he says with a shrug as we enter the kitchen. "Anyone who is hungry, really."
It's a small thing, nothing more than a fire pit and furnace on one side, a low bench holding clay pots and vases on the other, and a table in the middle. There's also a chest, it sits off to the side, next to what I assume is a sink and a basin of crystal clear water. Malik goes directly towards the chest after placing the bowl of leafy greens on the table.
Following his lead yet again, I place my burden on the table before heading back out to collect more plates. It doesn't take long to clean the dining room. Before I know it the last of the dishes are in the kitchen and all the dirty dishes are in the sink.
It's then that my stomach decides to make its presence known. After all the food is neatly put away for tomorrow, it lets out an embarrassingly loud growl. Reminding me that I haven't eaten since before we arrived in Jerusalem.
'I hate you,' I whisper to my stomach as Malik turns an exasperated look my way. I just shrug back at him, unable to do anything else as my stomach lets out another equally loud growl.
"The least you could have done was tell me you were hungry before we put the food away," he says with a huff as he turns away to grab the loaf of bread from tonight's ruined dinner.
"I didn't want to bug," I tell him as he sets the bread in front of me. Handing me a knife, he motions for me to slice the bread as he grabs more things to fix up a small supper.
"Grab one of the small bowls behind you," he tells me as he pulls a small clay pitcher off a shelf. I grab said bowl, placing it on the table beside the sliced bread just as he fills it with what looks like olive oil.
"It is the best I could in such short notice," he says as he places a plate of small slices of cheese next to the bowl and bread. "The food I had prepared for tonight would have taken much too long to heat up."
"It's perfect," I tell him as I grab a slice of bread and dip it into the oil. It's not an amazingly delicious meal by any stretch of the imagination, but it fills my empty stomach just as well and I'm more than grateful for that. "Thank you, Malik."
He says nothing to my thanks, just nods his head and picks up his own slice of bread and cheese.
We eat in silence for a beat, munching away on bread and cheese.
This is my moment, I know. The chance I've been fighting for to tell Malik about Juno and Minerva and the Apple and time traveling roughly nine hundred years into a past that isn't my own.
But I don't.
Instead, I gaze around the room, taking in the clay pots and vases and the fire pit and furnace. I take in the homey, peacefully—if a bit lonely—feel of the bureau so much more different than the chaotic, indifferent feel of The Masyaf Fortress and realize that telling Malik won't do him any good.
That, after having lost his whole world and having his way of life ripped from him once before, doing it again won't do him any good.
That stealing whatever measure of peace he might have found here, miles away from Masyaf, won't make him feel any better. It won't take the bitterness away.
Kadar will still be dead and his arm will still be gone and I can only—possibly—give him one of those back. Though that's still a very far off possibly. So instead I eat in silence and think of a way to make it better.
I try to come up with a way to help Malik heal instead of forcing him to accept a reality he shouldn't have to. At least not now when all his wounds are still fresh and there's nothing but pain in his heart.
"We need milk," I tell Malik instead, the taste of bread on my tongue has me longing for something sweet. "Do you have any milk?" I ask as I fish out the lump of melted chocolate from my backpack.
Nothing soothes a broken heart better than hot chocolate.
At least, in my opinion, that is.
"I believe I do," Malik says. He sounds a little cautious but goes to fetch a jug of milk from the chest anyways.
"Do you have something we can boil it in?" I ask as I take the jug from him. He nods, as he goes to pull a metal pot from the shelves and places it on the fire pit.
He lights the pit as I pour enough milk for two into the pot. Grabbing a wooden spoon, I mix in a few lumps of chocolate and stir until the milk comes to a boil.
"Cups?" I ask as I pull the pot off the fire and place it on the table. He places them on the table with the same cautious look as before. I just smile at him as I fill his cup and nudge it toward him.
"Try it," I encourage him as I pick up my own cup and blow on it before taking a small sip. The chocolate flavor is weaker than I would have preferred but it's the feeling of the hot milk sliding down my throat and warming my chest as it goes that I'm after.
"It is sweet," Malik says, confusion in his voice as he pulls the cup away from him and looks down at it curiously.
"Well. Yeah," I say as I pick up a slice of bread and dip it into the chocolate. "It's hot chocolate."
"Cha-co-let?" he says, the word unfamiliar on his tongue and it's then that I realize I might have messed up.
When was it that chocolate was discovered?
"Hot Chocolate," I correct him as casually as I can while internally cursing myself for exposing Malik to futuristic technology. If you can consider chocolate futuristic technology, that is. I'm only 30% sure you can since there really isn't anything technical about it. "My mother always made it for me when I was feeling down."
"You think I'm upset?" Malik asks, tone civil, if a bit curious as he takes another sip of his hot chocolate. Meanwhile, I thank whatever higher being is looking out for me as Malik changes the conversation for me. I do not need an interrogation over chocolate right now.
"A bit," I admit as I take a bite of my bread. Savoring the flavor of it only for a few seconds until I swallow so I can say, "but I don't intend to pry considering it's none of my business anyways."
"But you still want to ask," he guesses at as he follows my lead and dips his own slice of bread into his milk.
"I do," I agree with a nod as I drink the last of my hot chocolate. "But I won't because I respect your privacy," I tell him as I scoop up the now empty plates and place them into the sink. "Though that doesn't mean I'm not willing to lend an ear if you find yourself wanting someone to talk to."
He says nothing to that, just stands there watching as I begin washing the dishes from tonight's failed dinner and unexpected supper. He's no doubt weighing his options.
To tell or not to tell.
His answer becomes obvious though, as the time goes on and he says nothing. In fact, he's so quiet, I'm so sure that he's left that. Expect that, when I finish up the dishes, I'm surprised to find him still standing by the table.
"Let me show you to your room," he says, voice quiet and thoughtful as he leads the way out of the kitchen, past the dining room, and down the halls.
I follow after him, pack once again thrown over my shoulder. There's a slight skip to my step at the thought of finally sleeping in a real bed.
"We have quite a few rooms here," he says as we continue down the hall. We're going in the opposite direction from the reception area and Assassin's entrance. "One never knows how many Assassins might find themselves in your city on a mission, so we make sure to keep a few rooms ready for guests."
"We?" I ask, suddenly expecting someone else to make an appearance. I take a quick around the empty halls, just barely stopping myself from peeking into the rooms in search of another person
"We the Rafiqs," Malik clarifies, shooting me an amused look at the curious tone of my voice. "We are in charge of accommodating The Assassins, after all."
"Right," I agree, cheeks slightly pink as Malik stops in front of a wooden door. Pushing it open, I find a plain room. Same as the ones in Masyaf, there's only a bed, an empty dresser, and a wooden desk with its own rickety chair. "Thank you, Malik."
"Think nothing of it," Malik says, dismissal clear in his tone as he turns and heads back down the hall. "It is simply one of my responsibilities to house you."
"Thank you all the same," I call after him.
Turning my attention back to the room, I do nothing more than toss my backpack onto the chair and face plant onto the bed. Too tired to do much else than wiggled around until I find a comfortable position to sleep in, I don't even bother to get under the covers.
Or even change out of my clothes. Instead, I'm asleep almost as soon as my head finally ends up on the pillow. Curled around another pillow, I'm lost to the world as it darkens and shifts.
As it takes on the familiar red glow as the world is engulfed by fire. As it burns and sizzles and fills the air with smoke and ash.
The sight of such a familiar dream is almost comforting after a week of nothing but unfamiliar surroundings. (The game might be spot on some points but it definitely struck out on the traveling aspect of this world.) So I sink into the dream, let it lull me into a strange sense of peace as I watch the world burn.
As I watch the fire rise and engulf cities and watch buildings crumble and burn.
And it's not until the fire starts to dwindle that I realize I'm not alone. It's not until a hand, small and delicate, wraps around mind that I notice the person, being, god, next to me.
She's a small thing. All lean limbs, thin frame, and long, wispy, blonde hair that falls wavy and loose around her and long past her waist. She really is small, the top of her head just reaching the height of my chin, and she glows. Just like Minerva but the glow isn't orange. No, it's pink and the soft color only makes her seem smaller, younger, all the more delicate as her bottom lip quivers and tears run down her round cheeks.
The hand not in mine is balled into a fist in her robes, but soon they both come up to pull the flower crown from her head. With trembling fingers she takes the crown into her hands, reaching up, as she beckons me down with a tip of her chin. I oblige her unvoiced request and duck my head as she places the crown on me.
Her hands, small and trembling, trail through my hair and down to cup my face. The kiss against my brow is so unexpected. So out of the norm given that she appears so much younger than me but it's not as strange as the words out of her lips.
"I won't let you suffer too."
I wake with a start, gasp uncontrollably falling from my lips as I struggle to remember where I am. The warmth of small hands and soft lips linger against my skin. So much so that I expect to find Altaïr in bed next to me as the culprit of such warmth.
But the bed is empty except for me.
"Is everything alright," Malik voice filters in through the closed door. Something like worry leaks into his voice as he stands there, no doubt awkwardly deciding whether or not to enter if the soft knocks that follow his words are anything to go on.
"I'm fine, I'm fine. Just a bad dream," I choke out, voice thick and definitely not 'fine' sounding in the least but Malik doesn't ask again. He just lets out a small hum before the sound of his footsteps lead away from the door.
"Breakfast is ready," he calls back, voice faint.
I don't answer, the lump in my throat is too firmly lodged for me to even think about answering. Instead, I scramble from the bed and grab my pack. Unsure of what I'm actually looking for I just grab the tablet from it and power it on.
"I don't know what the fuck is going on," I say after the glasses are powered on and recording. Setting them on the dresser, I make sure I'm in the shot as I begin to ramble. "Aphrodite, her name is Aphrodite, it has to be. Minerva said her name last night, but why, how? I dreamt of Aphrodite last night."
I fall quiet as I pace the room for a bit.
Realizing my words are nothing more than a jumbled mess of starts and stops, I take a moment to gather my thoughts. After a few deep breathes, I've calm, enough to make a little bit more sense, though I'm pretty sure the next words out of my mouth will still be pretty senseless.
"I'm doing this now, because I have a feeling things might not go the way we want them to go. If my dreams from last night are any indication. So Aphrodite has taken an interest in me," I talk to the camera, hoping with everything in me that I'm just being silly and this recording will never see the light of day.
Hell, now that some of the panic has abated, I feel pretty silly.
"She came to me last night, like Minerva has so many time before. I don't know what she wants, but it isn't malicious. She said she wouldn't let me suffer so that's a good thing right?" I ask, the camera, cheeks coloring as I realize there's no way I'll get a response. Still, even as embarrassments begins to paint my cheeks pink, I say, "Ken, Alexis, Mom, Dad, if I don't make it back, look into Aphrodite."
I shut off the camera then.
Tossing the tablet back into my pack, I leave it on the bed as I scramble out of the room to escape my own embarrassment.
Talk about being overdramatic.
I find Malik back in the small kitchen, a plate of more bread and cheese on the table. Though now it's joined by a pitcher of water and a small variety of fruits. Despite last night's supper, my stomach begins to awaken at the sight of food.
"Thank you, Malik," I say before diving in to join him.
We eat in silence as I spend my time worrying about last night's dream, Jupiter's screams for Minerva, and Altaïr. Though I will admit that Altaïr does manage to occupy most of my attention as I realize he didn't come back at all last night.
If the empty sheets and the lack of a warm body next to me were any indication that is. I briefly entertain asking Malik if Altaïr did return last night only to leave before I woke up. But I only entertain it for about three seconds before thinking better of it.
Nothing sours Malik's mood faster than the thought of Altaïr.
Instead, I worry in silence while I munch away on grapes.
