Chapter Thirty-Seven

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that is UbiSoft related.

A/N: Okay, so new AC book coming out AND a new game? I'm one happy fangirl! Alright, back to fic.

Perhaps twenty to a half hour went by where we sat in silence before I heard footsteps on the roof then a shadow going over the dusk lighting coming through and finally the sound of something heavy falling inside. When I didn't see anything, I stood and went to the doorway, worried as to who it was.

My heart skipped a beat to find it was Altair. His back was hunched in his crouched position as a hand was to his ribs, panting harder than I've ever heard from him. "Altair?" The assassin's head jerked up and I could see that the man was tired. "Altair, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he snapped, sounding agitated. Backing in the bureau again, I lowered my eyes, intimidated by him. A few seconds after I did so, Malik lifted his head to the doorway, a look on his face I couldn't describe. Altair strolled through the door, his face composed from whatever pain he had, his breath calm and a smirk on his face as he lifted a crimson feather. "Jerusalem needs a new ruler," he said, triumphant with his victory.

Malik rolled his eyes, suddenly busying himself with a note before it was set aside.

Altair blinked, the smirk more prominent. "What's this? No words of wisdom for me? Surely I have failed in a spectacular fashion," he said, cocky and sarcastic. I shook my head.

Malik however, glared to the man, pointing a finger. "You performed as an assassin should; no more, no less," he said, slashing his hand in the air. "That you expect praise for merely doing as told however troubles me."

To me, it sounded as if Malik was scolding Altair and I suppose that it was to Altair as well, who merely lowered his head. "It seems everything I do troubles you."

"Reflect on that, only do so on your way back to Masyaf. Your work here is done."

The assassin nodded, the feather returned to his belt then backed out of the bureau. This struck me as odd; it was like he was afraid to turn his back on Malik. "Altair, what's wrong with your back?"

Both men lifted their heads, looking at each other. Malik in curiosity, hoping to know an answer, Altair in seeing if the Dai would react. "What did you do now, novice?"

"I am not a novice," Altair growled out.

Malik rolled his eyes, setting the quill aside, the empty sleeve once again empty as the kitten jumped out and was now rubbing against one of Altair's boots. "The way you are acting right now says otherwise. Let me see your back."

Altair lowered his hood. "I'm fine."

Watching the two carefully, I snuck around the two as they glared at each other, trying to see what it was for myself. What I saw was and yet wasn't a surprise. "It's an arrow!" Well, it wasn't complete but it was still there, hitting just under the sheath of the short blade, deep within the meat of his back. I would have to guess that Altair broke off the end and went through all that pain of running around with something sticking out of his back.

Malik threw up his hand, walking away. "An arrow, why does that not surprise me?" As he went through the doorway of the back, he barked an order to Altair. "Strip!"

A blush covered my face as I thought of what he just said. However, Altair huffed out a sigh before his hands went to work undoing the belt around his waist, just on top of the waist guard. "You shouldn't have said anything." He set this down carefully, not wanting to damage whatever he held in the pouches, the sword making little noise when set on the ground.

I glared at Altair, crossing my arms. "And then what? If you haven't noticed, it's nearly nighttime, you weren't going to leave until morning anyways and I don't know the first thing about medical care," I snapped. The waist guard was next to fall before the sheath of the short blade and throwing knives were set aside. "Besides, you could have gotten an infection."

Altair snorted as a gloved hand reached for the top of his hood. Now, I had always thought that the hood was part of his robes but it turned it, it was a cowl instead. His dark honey hair stood with what I like to call hood hair. It was wild and messy but it looked so soft to touch. "Infections are not a problem."

"They are if you don't get proper treatment." The red sash fell and this is where things got tricky. He needed some help, which was apparent, the outer robes holding the arrow still. "Hang on, you don't want to rip it anymore than you already have."

He glared over his shoulder and without the hood, it was intimidating yes, but it was also so raw to see his eyes uncovered from shadow. "I don't require your help." I rolled my eyes, grabbing the tails of the outer robes, gently pulling it up. He had sighed, reaching behind his head, grabbing the back of the robe's collar and pulled. It took some time but once it was free, all that was left was the tunic. The stain of red against the off white reminded me that he was just as human as I was.

There weren't any other stains on the tunic which probably meant that he didn't get hurt a lot or that he was supplied with different tunics. "Did you see who got you?"

He shook his head as he lowered himself to sit on the cushions, his back to me. "I couldn't see the details but their colors were that of Richard."

"You got hit by an English archer?" I cried out incredulous. I was truly surprised that he had managed to get hit, but to get hit by an English archer, it was sort of terrifying. They're legendary!

I heard the sounds of boots landing behind me, the sleeveless assassin having returned along with one of those playing chess. "Where's Master Malik?"

Altair peered over his shoulder, removing his bracers at a slow pace. "Not here, obviously."

The sleeveless assassin lowered his hood, glaring at Altair. "So, the Eagle of Masyaf got pegged, tragic." I noticed that his hair was cut short, like a buzz cut but how did he get it that short? Did he shave his head? The other slapped a hand on his companion's shoulder, the two of them entering the bureau. "Maybe this might keep you grounded, Altair!"

The assassin at my feet growled out, returning to his work, muttering something I couldn't understand under his breath. As comical as this was, I was reminded that he was still in pain here and needed help. "Hold still, Altair." My hands went to the back of his tunic, pulling it up to hold the bunched material in one hand, the other going under it to feel around where the arrow had struck.

The feel of his skin was soft under my fingers marred only by a few scars but the muscle was firm and hard. As I felt the wood of the arrow, I slowly pulled the tunic up, freeing the arrow from the hold it made, letting the assassin take care of the rest. When he finally pulled it off, I was brought to a sight of his back, a very pretty feature for him, a few scars around his shoulders, some circling to the front. Altair peered over his shoulder, looking down once before looking back up at my face. "Go wash your hands."

I didn't understand what he meant until I looked down. His blood was now on my hands and I'm reminded of the dead from Damascus. Oh God. A breath caught in my throat as I shakily stood up and made my way to the fountain, relieved that the water was washing away the crimson life force, somewhat cleaning my memory of such a tragic and horrible event. I could still hear them all screaming, I can still hear them all beg for mercy, their death rattles before their last breath escaped their bodies. I was shaking and I knew it, having the blood remind me of what I had witnessed, what had happened. I feel my stomach roll as I put a hand to it, willing my body not to purge itself. Please, please, don't vomit.

I needed to get my mind off of the blood, off of the potential of my stomach winning. "I still can't believe you got hit on a mission."

"You try it sometime."

I looked at the armor he had, noticing it was one type only, save for the bracer of the hidden blade. "With only leather armor? No, thank you, I'd rather have the chain mail of the Templars even the Saracen's armor, as ineffective as it is. Or, I have a better idea, how about I don't, that sound good to you?"

Malik returned with one of the other assassins, carrying what looked like a small basket of some medical supplies while the other carried some fabric under his arm. The two set down their goods before Malik sat on his knees behind Altair, the hand going to the tip of the arrow. He wriggled it around and I saw Altair jaw turn tense as he held back a cry of pain. "It's in deep."

"It was shot by an English archer, of course it's going to be deep." I leaned against a wall, seeing the other assassin, the one with the stain on his shoulder, gave me a funny look and left us be. I ignored the look, turning my head away. "He might as well have been shot by the most famous of them," I muttered, remembering a very familiar story that may or may not be real.

"How would you know of English archers?" Malik asked, looking back at me as he grabbed a knife from his belt.

"They're legendary. They were said to be the best that ever was and because they were so feared for their marksmanship, archers were often captured by their enemies and have the forefinger and middle finger cut off so that they could never draw another bow again." I raised my fingers as an example. "Whenever the English won a battle, the archers would hold up their fingers like this, as if to mock their enemies by saying that they still had them. It's in fact a very derogatory thing to do, an equivalence of biting your thumb at someone."

Malik blinked at the information as Altair peered his head over his shoulder well, would have if Malik hadn't dug his blade in Altair flesh. The assassin grunted and once again, I drew near Altair. "Grab it and pull when I say," Malik told me, rotating the blade around under the arrow head. Nodding, I grabbed hold of the wood, feeling that it was harder and sturdy under my fingers, perhaps English oak but with the lighting, I couldn't tell. "Now, pull." Jerking my hand, I felt the arrow slide from Altair's flesh but it wasn't going to be a clean wound. Altair tensed his back to try to withdraw from the hurt and therefore, making the extraction difficult. "Stop for a moment." There was a look on his face of pure want as he glared at the back of Altair's head. What did he want? Well, I suspected it was to slap Altair's head.

Wish granted! I cracked up laughing as Malik lowered the knife and then smacked Altair's head. "You're tensing, making it difficult to pull this out!" Altair glared over his shoulder, his hand to the slap.

Putting a hand to his shoulder, feeling the heat of his body, I nodded to Altair. "The sooner this comes out, the quicker you'll be to Masyaf." And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that staying in Masyaf instead of traveling around with Altair would be better considering I'd be near the Apple more and I wouldn't have to worry about getting hurt anymore. No more blood, no more sore legs, no worries over messing with timeline; I'd be somewhat free…somewhat.

"Pull now." I grabbed onto the wooden stick and yanked hard, a little too hard because I suddenly fell backwards onto my ass. I heard the roar of laughter from the other room and I immediately knew that the other three were watching. As I glared at the others through the spaces of the wall, I turned to see Malik continue to dig inside Altair's back. "There are pieces of wood and stone in the wound. Grab that cloth, wipe up the blood," he ordered me, paying close attention to the wound at hand.

Grabbing the cloth that was next to a bowl, starting at where the blood started, at the small of Altair's back. I made sure the blood didn't get near me as I wiped what I could reach, following up his spine, pulling away to fold the cloth for a clean spot to catch more. The closer I got to the wound, the thicker the blood was and the more there was. "Do you see that?" Malik asked, moving away so that I could see inside the wound. When I did look on the inside, I saw that there were some splinters of stone glinting in the poor light that was provided. "Pass the tweezers," he said, setting down the knife. Doing as told, I passed what looked like a cruder form of tweezers than what I was used to back at home.

One by one, little shards of stone were extracted from Altair's back until finally, it was cleared by Malik. The Dai grabbed my hand, holding it under Altair's wound. "Hold it here." Without warning, he poured a bottle of strong smelling wine over the wound, making Altair arch his back like a slug to salt, crying out from the pain. "Don't be a child."

Altair turned his head and glared and that honey gaze looked so dangerous but the intimidation washed over Malik without a problem. The Dai busied himself with something inside a basket, fetching whatever else he needed while I smirked at Altair's misery. "You big baby."

"You're as bad as Malik."

"Nah, I haven't done anything to make you feel pain, assassin."

The Dai smirked holding out a needle, already attached with a thread, a small grace for the one armed man. Stitches, that's something I can't handle and yet, I'm the one mopping up the blood. Blood, I looked away as I felt Malik's hand brush against mine, the sharp piece of metal entering Altair's skin as stitches grew tight, fusing the two pieces of skin together. A gruesome task and I was thankful that I didn't have to do it, I was also thankful that I wouldn't be hurting Altair.

"Dai!" I turned my head to see one of the men who were playing chess, the one with shaggy hair, come through the doorway. "Ishmael's not feeling well, he can't keep anything down, not even water," he said, his eyebrows knit together in worry. "He might have been poisoned."

Malik swore under his breath, passing the needle to me. "Finish this," he said before he stood, rushing to where the other was.

My hands shook as I suddenly realized what I was dealing with. I can't stitch up Altair, I can't even sew! "I don't know what to do," I whispered, trying to calm my nerves.

Altair looked over his shoulder, catching my gaze. "Still your nerves and don't get distracted. Follow the same path as Malik and don't worry about giving me pain," he said calmly. "I can take it." The curved needle glinted menacingly in my fingers, parts red due to Altair's blood but it still so sharp to stitch his wound closed. "Keep your hand steady. It's like sewing."

I shook my head, scared of what to do. "I have never sewed a stitch of thread in my life," I replied back. This wasn't life or death; I just have to be careful. "I don't know how deep to make the stitches." Biting my lower lip, I put a hand to the wound, pinching the skin together and with an achingly slowness, I began my road to being a medic. I worried how tight I made the stitches but after a small error, I learned that there was such a thing as too tight and that it was just as dangerous if they were too loose. "How long would you have to keep these in?"

Altair's head went up, to see the grating above. "Until it heals. A few days, perhaps a week. However long it takes."

When I no longer needed to hold his skin together, I let my fingers follow a scar. "How did you get this?" As long as he talked, it got my mind off of the task at hand.

He turned his head, looking at my fingers before turning back to view in front of him. "Training. The instructor was teaching how to dodge. I spun in the wrong way and my flesh met with his sharp blade."

"And this?" It was small and irregular, not like a clean cut from blades. "Where's this from?"

"Wrestling. My first outside of my birthing." My mind flew to what happens when giving birth. The removal of the cord and for religion, circumcision. "I landed on a sharp rock; lost a tooth, got a black eye and that. The other was bruised and had a similar wound on his arm." A sudden smile, an honest genuine smile, appeared on his lips. "My opponent was Malik."

It must have been the time that they first met, like Kalil said! What could have caused them to set them off and to fight one another? "I'm curious, you don't have too many of these. You're very good at what you do." Realizing I was nearing the end, I smiled. "However, scars are like badges for men, badges of honor, shows their skill and ultimately, that they're strong."

His back tensed up in the middle of a stitch, showing that he was uncomfortable. "That word is thrown around a lot." Altair then set a hand to his stomach, to a wound I knew very well. "My honor and life were taken from me, and these missions are the result of it."

The man was growing again but this time, I could see it as clear as day. A hand went to his head, ruffling his hair. "Well, I for one am thankful for this, after all, if you hadn't found me, I probably would have been dead long ago."

"…Malik's brother, Kadar, died the mission before this," Altair said, his voice so full of remorse that it broke my heart into a thousand pieces. "The boy looked up to me and I led him to his death."

My fingers, no longer busy with his stitches, were now tying off a knot to make sure it didn't unravel, making it a squared knot. "There was nothing you could have done, Altair, Robert threw you from the room. While you were flying, you hit a pillar which caused a cave in, after that, you couldn't control what was going on in the other room." Altair's head turned and was looking at me with wide eyes. "As I said in Masyaf: I know a lot more than you can imagine, assassin." Finishing the knot, I cut the thread off using the knife Malik left behind.

"How do you know?" he asked with so much hesitation.

"You will never know," I said, cleaning up, never once looking back t him. "There are some things in this world that you will never know, Altair." Standing, I turned and left him sitting in the courtyard, going to find what was wrong with the one Altair saved.

-.-.-

Tweezers are one of the many, many things that were founded in ancient Egypt.

The information stated up above was true of English archers and to this day, you'll still find those living in England to throw the two fingers at someone.