Captain: EEEEEEHHH I GOT MY PUPPY! He's half Labrador, half Alaskan Malamute. His paws are huuuuge! I decided to name him Hawkeye from the show M.A.S.H., it fit his goofy personality. He's just an adorable little shit and I love him, even when he's being a handful!

A lot goes on in this chapter and parts are done in a somewhat unusual way compared to how it's usually done, but I promise, it's all for a purpose! It's also the longest chapter yet and just *filled* with Altair so ah, enjoy our favorite grump :D


Emma had all of a few seconds to take in the details of this newcomer she'd caught off guard before he was moving. She registered he was coming for her and got her hand to knife in her pocket just before she was slammed rather harshly against the wall.

"OW Mother of fuck!" She groaned, stars floating across her vision as her head pounded from its meeting with the stone. Blinking, she realized the stars weren't going away and in actuality it was the shine of the afternoon sun reflecting off of the steel hovering against her neck. Nice, really nice. Asshole.

"Who are you?" The stranger growled, his voice deep and threatening. The pressure of the blade against her neck increased, pricking her skin.

Emma forced herself to swallow her spike of nerves, choosing instead to quirk a brow at him. Her lips twitched into a mocking grin as she tutted an 'Ah-ah-aaah' while tapping her own blade against him. He'd moved too fast for her to be able to raise it, but it'd been pinned rather conveniently between them, more specifically the crotch of his pants.

"Why don't we have this conversation like civilized people before we do something you'll regret?" She kept the mocking tone, like hell was she going to be afraid of him. This was hardly the first time she'd been held at knife point.

His lips pursed impossibly thinner, and from so close she could see his eyes flash downwards. Ha, he didn't expect that one. Suck on that pretty boy.

The pressure of the knife eased as his body shifted back. Score one for the cop! He didn't lower his blade that was, oddly, somehow attached to his arm with a weird contraption and….no ring finger. Well he was committed to his weapon she'd give him that. His right hand moved, her momentary distraction giving him the chance to get a grip on her wrist and pin it to the wall all while regaining his previous position. His grip was iron, and her knife fell from limp fingers. Shit.

"I will not ask again. Who are you? And where is the Rafiq?" His tone hadn't changed from gruff and threatening, nor had the scowl twitched a bit. Emma guessed that with manners like this, it was probably a permanent fixture to his face.

"The what? You're in the wrong place if you're looking for Rafiki. The hell do you want a baboon for anyway? Scratch that I don't want to know." She cocked her head slightly, winced at the bite of the blade and straightened again. Best time to be a smartass? No probably not, but she'd reached the point of no longer caring about the consequences of it. "Now that you've established your dominance can we please talk about this like normal people? Come on, use your words, not a compensating knife."

"You speak in riddles, make sense woman or I shall not hesitate to kill you." Really? Seriously? He was threatening to kill her over her not answering where the 'Rafiq' was?! The fuck was wrong with this guy?

"She is incapable of speaking sense." Ah mercy! Emma never thought she'd be so happy to hear the dry tone of the Sass-master. "And I warn you against killing an innocent in my Bureau."

The stranger shifted, dropping her wrist to look behind him at Malik and Emma was surprised at the utter dislike splayed across her host's face. That level was a first, even with all the times she swore or partially undressed in front of him.

"Safety and peace, brother." The words came stiffly from the newcomer. The cop had seen it enough to know when there was bad blood, and these men had it in spades.

"Your presence here deprives us of both." Malik growled back, stalking past to drop his basket of supplies onto the table. "Why are you here Altair? I had no word of your coming."

"Uh, there was pigeon-news stuck under one of your maps." Emma offered in an attempt to cut through the rising tension between the two men, but also (and more importantly) return their attention to the fact there was still a damn knife to her throat. While Malik found the slip, the cop turned her attention to the stranger, who was watching her with a mix of distaste and wariness. Yeah well, the dislike went both ways buddy. Throwing a pointed glance at his blade arm, she raised her brows, "Down boy."

He didn't budge.

"Release her already Altair." Malik snapped, and it was only then that the hooded man stepped back and lowered the weapon. Finally. "And you," She jolted at realizing he was addressing her, the slip clutched in his one hand, "This is precisely why I tell you not to touch anything."

Biting her lower lip, she ducked her head slightly in silent admission of that particular guilt. Lesson learned on that one, no shuffling the pigeon-news into everything else unless she felt like tempting bodily harm.

"Now leave us, there are things that need to be discussed." Emma frowned at the order, same as it always was when he had guests, though usually he never let them see her to begin with. But three weeks of the secrecy had worn down her patience and goodwill. There was only so long he could keep this up before she found out and she was tired of being kept in the dark. No more. The cop in her needed answers.

Hands planting on her hips, she gave him a simple and direct "No."

The silence that followed was deafening as both men stared at her. Perhaps not the best timing given the amount of anger radiating from Malik but she was done waiting for his convenience. "We will speak of this later."

His words came through clenched teeth, a clear demand that he not be refused a second time. The avoidance of the issue only served to spike Emma's short hold on her temper. "No! I am not some pet you can send away every time you have business! Three weeks I've let you keep your secrets but I'm sick of it! What the fuck is going on here?"

"You allow a woman to speak as such?" Altair sneered. Emma felt what little restraint was left snap.

"He doesn't allow jack shit because I am no one's damn property!" She snarled, advancing on the man and jabbing a finger into his chest. "I am fucking tired of the sexist remarks! Just because you have a dick doesn't give you rule over the rest of us! Now if I don't start getting some damn answers then someone's ass is ending up on the floor!"

"Enough!" Malik roared over whatever response the other man was about to deliver. "Go Emma, we shall continue this later."

It was the loudest and angriest she'd ever heard him, but it would give him the chance to stall and come up with some lame-ass cover. "Now! Unless you wish to try your luck on the streets again."

The cop snapped her jaw shut, fists clenched at her sides. That was a low blow and not a threat he'd ever made out of anything but amused annoyance before. This was different. There was an edge to his voice that said he just might do it. It only served to flare her anger more. A man she thought she could have counted as a friend after living together for nearly a month clearly hadn't felt the same. No, she was still just a nuisance guest he was growing tired of. Fine then. With a growl she turned on her heel and stalked away to the stairs and up to her borrowed room.

"Fuck them and fuck this god-forsaken city." She rumbled to herself as she paced in front of the stack of pillows they called a bed, too wired to sit still.

She was going to find out what they were hiding, whether they wanted her to or not. Forcing herself through a few deep breathes, her heart thudding in her ears slowly quieted to a dull drum. Silently slipping from the room, she made it partway down the walkway before she sank to the floor, back pressed against the wall and ears straining to pick up the conversation below.

"….endanger the Brotherhood by allowing this." It wasn't hard to discern the voice of the newcomer, his tone laced with a level of arrogance she'd run into more than a handful of times on the streets of the big city.

"Do not speak to me of the Creed novice. I am not the one doing Al Mualim's menial tasks in a pitiful effort to redeem myself."

"And I am not hiding a potential spy in the bureau."

"I owe you no further explanation. Now be out with what you want so you can leave." There was muffled movement as Malik came further into room, a thunk against wood as he dropped what was most likely a book onto it.

"Tell me all you know about the man called Talal." The entitled demand had Emma rolling her eyes. What the hell made this guy think he was so damn special?

"It is your duty to find and assassinate the man, not mine." Malik snipped back.

"You would do well to assist me, his death benefits the entire land." Wait, back up, hold the phone. ASSASSINATE?! These fuckers were assassins?! Well wasn't that just fan-fucking-tastic. Here she'd thought she'd gotten lucky getting help from One-arm, figuring at worst his deal was drugs. Oh no, she'd been living with hired killers. Just perfect. Really, how much worse could this damn charade get?

"Do you deny his death benefits you as well?" Even better, a dude that killed for himself.

"Such things do not concern you." Obviously, killing whoever he damn well felt like was only a 'concern' to himself. Made perfect sense.

"Your actions very much concern me!" Malik snarled. There was something there, no doubt the source of the bad blood between the men. Emma softly snorted, because it was such a surprise that a feud should erupt between killers.

Quietly she edged back to her room as the conversation turned into locations of the city where information could be found. There was potential to intervene if she had a damn clue as to the layout but given the limited exploring Malik had allowed she only really knew the area around the bureau. No better time to learn than now. With any luck this whole thing was just part of the LARPing experience and no one was actually in danger, but given the very real steel that had been pressed against her, it wasn't a risk she was willing to take.

The weight of the gear belt on her hips was like the grip of an old friend. There had been no point in wearing it around the bureau, but now she had a case, finally. Any longer and she was about to discover the true meaning of 'cabin fever'. A well-worn dress Malik had acquired for her during her first week went over her completed uniform, a cut on the side giving her easy access to her gun without flashing it for all to see. Strapping her ankle holster on and sliding the six-shooter into place, she glanced around the sparse room. There was nothing left of hers to take. The journal she'd left downstairs would have to stay. A pity, she'd somewhat come to like the thing even after only one entry; but given the rather obvious wearing she'd done on her welcome and her current plans, she rather doubted she'd be allowed to come back for it.

By the time she'd finished lacing her boots it had gone silent downstairs, indicating that like most of Malik's visitors, Altair had probably left already. Good riddance to that asshat. Slipping onto the walkway, she held her breath as she listened for Malik. He was no longer at his desk but seemed to have gone to his own room. There was no telling how much longer he would be in there, so she had to move fast. Walking on her toes to reduce the sound of her boots against the wood stairs, she skipped the fourth and last steps that squeaked. Nothing indicated she'd been heard.

Her journal was there on the table but she bypassed it with a grimace. There was nowhere to carry it and keep her arms free. Besides that, there would be nothing to write in it with. Reaching the fountain without incident, she scaled up it somewhat clumsily, wincing as her boots slipped on a thin ledge. It'd taken three days to figure out how the hell to get out without losing her grip (Malik blatantly refused to install a ladder), but learn she had and so it took barely half a minute before she was standing on the roof under the blazing sun.

Parkour was still dumb and that was the furthest extent she would ever do it.

Pulling her hair back, she tied it up with a hairband that had somehow managed to survive three weeks of near-constant use before pulling a hood over her head. It was like intentionally putting herself in a sweatbox just to freely move around, but given the alternative, there was little choice.

With no idea where exactly the man had gone, Emma picked a direction and let the motion of the crowd set her pace. Strange looks were still thrown her way when anyone caught the color of her eyes, but no one made a comment against her. Her heart pounded, the familiar exhilaration of undercover work swelling within her. Ah she had missed this, missed doing her job. Three weeks had by far been the longest break she'd ever taken from it, and she didn't intend to do so again.

Keeping her head on a swivel, she searched for any sketchy behavior that indicated someone might have information the assassin could want. A few whispered conversations here and there, too quiet for her to hear, but mostly it was merchants attempting to make their products seem like the newest must-have. Advertising hadn't changed all that much it seemed.

As she wandered in her set direction, she let her mind mull over the facts. Three weeks she had been stuck in this 12th century Jerusalem and not one person had slipped up to indicate it was anything but. How escaped her. The machine the Abstergo bastards had shoved her into had given her one hell of an acid trip but time travel? Really? That was pseudo-science! It was as likely as astrology actually being legitimate.

What she couldn't deny was the evidence. Personal bias aside, nothing about the city was simply a prop, it had been built to last and the people were genuinely living in it, surviving off of the food they purchased in the markets and the water pulled up from the well (and promptly boiled). The biggest one was the noise, or lack thereof, overhead. In all her time there, not one jet flew overhead. Sure areas of the Middle East were relatively 'no fly' zones due to the warfare, but not even the thump of helicopter blades ever cut through the quiet of the night. No distant sound of bombs, no dull roar of passing Humvees, not a single sound to indicate the presence of modern warfare within the surrounding fifty miles.

But time travel wasn't possible! Shaking her head, she forced the ridiculous notion aside and focused on her surroundings. She'd reached a corner of the city, the wall looming large above her and stopping any attempts to continue in her previous direction. The chances of her finding one man in this city were pathetically dismal, as had been proven when she'd attempted to find Malik all those days before.

Pausing, she idly listened to a man prattling on in Arabic. Only one or two other people were genuinely listening to him, the rest passed by without a second glance. She was about to move on herself when she recognized a single word. Talal. The man the assassin was after.

A possible informant if she'd ever seen one. Too bad he probably didn't speak English. Even if he did she couldn't approach him with two guards posted on either side. She'd have to wait until he left and attempt to interrogate him them.

His speech lasted several minutes longer before he finally quieted, waved his hand in dismissal at the non-existent crowd and came down the steps. The guards did not follow him as he made his way towards the back of the building. Emma gave him a head start before she moved to go after him. Her steps halted when she noticed she was not the only one with that idea. It wasn't someone dressed in the usual colored wool of the citizens, but a man dressed in white and armed to the teeth. Altair.

Looks like her luck was finally turning around. Behind the building they slipped, into a narrow alley formed by the wall and partially populated by other armed men who were extraordinarily easy to provoke into brawls. A few women passed through towards a hidden garden, so her presence went uncontested. The speaker followed the ladies into the garden and Altair close behind him. Emma picked up her pace, a feeling in her gut saying that whatever the assassin was going to do was going to happen here.

Sometimes she hated when she was right.

Breeching the corner and entering the small cove revealed Altair smashing his fist into the informant's face while making rough demands in the native tongue. Emma moved on trained instinct, jumping forward and yanking back on his arm before he could deliver another blow. Twisting it behind his back, she shoved him up against the wall. Surprise worked to her advantage, and his body was completely under her control for those crucial moments. She only loathed the fact the cut in the dress was for the gun and would be awkward to use to reach her handcuffs, otherwise she would have slapped the restraints on before he could get a word in edge-wise.

"Your ass is under arrest for that. I'd read your Miranda Rights but frankly I don't think those exist in this shit-hole." Somewhat difficult though it was, she pulled the cuffs free and slapped one onto his right wrist as his target scrambled away. The vambrace was just thin enough the cuff latched. "Other arm asshole."

There was a strange schink as his arm came around too fast and forced Emma to jump back, pain flaring across her right forearm. She had only a split second to see the blood welling through uniform and dress sleeve before she was yanked around. Solid brick met her back, the shiny silver blade now flecked with her blood once again pressed against her throat. Fuck.

"You are trying my restraint woman." He growled, pressing the steel harder against her skin before pulling back. Right arm raising, he let the handcuff dangle in front of her face. "Remove it."

Emma narrowed her eyes, clenching her jaw. "No. I'm not about to just let you go kill someone because it's beneficial to you!"

Altair gave her a sharp look, his eyes flashing around. Oh, so he didn't want the world knowing then? Good, she'd scream it from a damn tower if that's what it took to stop him. "Do not interfere in matters that do not concern you."

Just like that he dismissed her, turning on his heel and stalking in the direction his victim had torn off in, handcuffs dangling from his wrist. Emma followed, not bothering with discretion or keeping her voice down.

A large body jostled her from her blocked peripheral, an irritated voice snipping something in Arabic. Annoyed with the limited field of vision, she yanked the hood down, sparing the disgruntled thug a middle finger salute as she went after her bigger concern. "I'm a cop! Trying to murder someone is very much my concern!"

Many faces turned to face her as she came out from alley only a handful of steps behind Altair. It was absurd this 'conversation' was even happening, how such a thing could happen was a little beyond concerning. The simple fact she hadn't shot him yet—or at the least threatened to—said a lot about how off-balance this situation had her. No training in the world would have prepared her for how to handle this one.

Her hand hovered over her gun but she hesitated to pull it. No one's life was in actual immediate danger in this moment. The only damage that had been done was to her arm and the speaker's face. She wasn't in the habit of shooting innocent men.

No matter what the media said.

"Hey!" Altair hadn't bothered to acknowledge the fact she was following him, had simply kept his pace as he headed in a set direction. How he knew which way the other man had gone she had no idea, but her gut said he did somehow. "There are ways to interrogate people without harming them! What the hell is so damn important about this Talal anyway?"

The name was barely past her lips when he was whirling on her and for the third time she found herself pinned with the same blade against her skin. She gave him a flat stare, "This threat is getting really fucking old."

"How do you know of Talal?" He demanded.

"First of all, back the fuck off." Emma growled back. Tipping her head in the direction of a group of guards behind him, she added, "Or I'll scream."

He barely spared them a glance before making a pointed look at her hair that was falling loose from its restraint, "They will not assist you. Answer the question."

"Bite me." Screw him and his arrogant ass, she wasn't going to tell him a thing.

"You try my patience…"

She cut him off with a mocking "And I will not ask again. Please, we both know you won't do a damn thing so cut the high-and-mighty crap. Why do you want him so bad anyway?"

That was a total bluff based solely on a gut feeling that she was inwardly pleading was right. There was no telling just what this guy would be willing to do, but she was really hoping 'shish-kebob the cop' was not on his list.

"Go back to the bureau." He ordered, "Malik will have a more useful purpose for that tongue."

Emma blinked, his insinuation taking a moment to sink in. "I am not a fucking prostitute!"

Several more heads turned in their direction and the guards slowly began to inch their way closer. Good.

Altair unfortunately also noticed. Growling low to himself, he retracted the blade and grabbed onto her arm, roughly yanking her in the opposite direction. The cop dug her heels into the dirt, pivoting to swing her fist towards his face. Lightning-fast his other hand came around and clamped onto her incoming forearm, fingers digging into the bloody gash he'd so kindly gifted her with.

Emma swore, body hunching in a vain effort to protect the injury. His grip as tight as shackles and as unrelenting. "Come quietly or I promise you will not enjoy the consequences."

Instead of returning his pull on her left arm, he switched to her other side, keeping his hold on her injury and adding pressure when she hesitated to follow. There was little she could do but move forward, jaw clenched tight against the pain rolling up her arm. His hand was coated in her blood; he paid no attention to it as he forcibly led her down the streets.

A long string of names for him passed through her mind that would have impressed Eliot, yet his grip kept her lips sealed. It did not keep her from enjoying the mental image of him being hit by a bus however.

After too damn long of being led around by him, she began to recognize the streets and buildings. He was taking her back to the bureau. Gritting her teeth, she braced herself and yanked her arm against his thumb. It was enough to break the hold, but fuck that hurt. Pinning her arm against chest, she silently dared him to go for it again. "I'm not going back. I'm getting out of this crap-fest after I make sure you aren't going to kill anyone."

Even with the hood blocking most of his features, she could see the cold arrogance rolling off of him. "You cannot stop me. And you are going. Climb."

Glancing to the right, she realized he'd gotten her closer than she'd originally thought. They were right outside of the building. Damn. "I am not some wayward pet you get to drag wherever you please!"

Turning on her heel, she started to stalk away from him. She made it only a few steps before being yanked back, weight hitting her abdomen before the world inverted itself and she was granted a close-up view of leather and red. The bastard had slung her over his shoulder like some rag doll!

"You stupid son of a bitch put me down!" She struck his back with her left hand, her right bracing herself and smearing blood over his white robes. The ground quickly dropped further below as he climbed the ladder with apparent ease despite her additional weight. It was a detail that made her irritation and spawning hatred of the man grow. The relief of reaching the roof was short lived, as he did not yet see fit to put her down. A scream worked its way out when he suddenly dropped through the entrance, the impact of landing against his shoulder cutting it and her oxygen off violently. He released her then, and distracted as she was attempting to breathe, her body hit the floor with little grace. The list of things she would have called him had she been able to suck in enough air to do so grew tenfold.

"What is the meaning of this Altair? Half the city must have heard the noise! There are already rumors of a plot against Talal going about! Are you so inept?" Malik snarled as he came into the room, the momentary shock of the scene quickly turning to annoyed anger.

"You can thank your guest for that, she interfered with my interrogations. I suggest securing your entertainment better." Altair snapped back, turning to leave again.

"I have told you why she is here. You allowed her to interfere. Be prepared for anything novice." Malik knelt beside the woman, taking stock of the damage done to her arm, "Was this necessary?"

His tone suggested he knew it wasn't and Emma silently seconded that opinion. Altair raised his still-cuffed right hand, "She attempted to shackle me."

A pained look crossed Malik's face, as if he'd much rather be anywhere else in the world, like a volcano, or shark infested waters. "Emma, remove your….cuffs from him."

She was a little surprised he remembered what she'd called them given it'd been three weeks since showing them off to him; didn't mean she was going to comply. Breath mostly back, she huffed, still flat on her back. "And let him run off to kill someone? I don't think so bucko."

Malik's eyes narrowed as he cast a glance between the two. "Wherever did you get the notion he was going to kill someone? His job is to gather information."

"She did not hear it from me." Altair defended with a low growl.

"You told him it was his job to get intel and assassinate Talal, whoever the fuck that is." Emma pulled herself into a sitting position, glaring hotly at her host.

"He is not targeting anything other than knowledge today, you have my word. Now release the shackle and I will tell you all I can."

"Malik…" There was heavy warning in the voice of the other man, but the dark-robed Dai was hearing none of it.

"Another word Altair and I shall have her leave it. You allowed her to put it on in the first place, now be silent." Turning his serious stare to the woman, he raised his brows expectantly.

Emma chewed her bottom lip with a frown, pondering her choices. He was offering potential answers and so far he'd come through with every promise he'd made, but there was the chance he was using that fact to bluff his way through this one.

Freely-given information had a better chance of being true than if she tried coercing them from him though.

"Fine." She growled, pulling herself to her feet. Tugging the stupid dress off, she stepped up to the arrogant ass, palming the small set of keys. "No one dies."

He simply glared at her order and remained silent, not even flinching when she let the cuff pinch his exposed skin as she unlocked it and pulled it free. Without another word he left, scaling the fountain wall in seconds. Emma made no move to comment on the blood still smeared across his back. Turning to Mali, she raised expectant brows at him, utterly unsympathetic with the sigh he released. Motioning her into the other room, he sounded as if all he wanted was good stiff drink. "Come, I shall need some tea for this."

Some hours later and with new stitches in her arm, Emma sat tapping a feather against the newly-filled page in her journal. This entry looked more like her usual cops notes, short-handed lists of all the information she had been given; which, despite Malik's obvious attempts to make it seem so, was not everything. There was still important pieces he'd left out of his explanation, but for now she let it go.

Based on what he'd told her, they were vigilantes who targeted those who abused their power at the expense of the people. The guards, of course, were all paid off to either ignore the activities or help with them. It was why they had to resort to assassinations, because arresting them wouldn't do any good when they were in control of the city. When she questioned who decided who died, he alluded to a leader that overlooked everything and set rules that protected the innocent.

It created a hollow feeling in her gut that this group was a lot bigger than he admitted. There had been no less than six who had visited in the three weeks she'd been there and given that their 'master' was not in the city, there was little doubt that they acted in other cities as well. All in all, too much for one cop to shut down.

Damn she needed coffee.

If—and that was a big if—things really worked like Malik claimed, then she was conflicted about what to do. She was a supporter of the death penalty for those that committed serious crimes but she also believed in the right to a trial. These supposed criminals were protected by what passed for the law in these parts, the only justice was dealt by these men. She refused to believe that was the only option. There had to be something else they could do, real justice and not this retribution.

Figuring out just what that was with a corrupted system was an animal all its own, but surely with so man, they could come up with something! All they needed was a little inspiration and willingness to look beyond the use of deadly force as a first resort.

A thump heralded the return of Altair as he landed just feet in front of her. Damn, and here she'd been hoping for quiet for a while longer. She stayed where she was lounging against the pillows by the fountain as he went into the other room and spoke to Malik, who replied with extra snarky comments. She barely suppressed a snort when he suggested crying in the corner.

Evidently the man Talal was a slave trader, one who got his supply from the citizens themselves. There was little to like about the man from the sounds of it, the kind of scum she'd love to lock up and throw away the key. If everything went according to the visitor's plans, he would be dead by this time tomorrow.

Not that it was any great loss but the idea chaffed. Vigilantism wasn't the answer, it was too easy to begin targeting whoever was perceived as bad instead of relying on concrete evidence. Where was the proof the man captured people and turned them into slaves? Where was his trial and conviction by a jury?

With a low growl she tossed the book aside and leaned her head back against the cool stone. This whole situation was a convoluted cluster fuck.

Altair walked back into the room with a scowl on his face, his focus down on the straps of his vambraces. Emma blinked at realizing his hood was down and he had yet to notice her presence. His short, dark hair and chiseled features couldn't distract from the rather vibrant red splatter across his front. One, she knew, was most certainly not from her.

It only took a cursory glance to see the blood ran the length of his sword as well. Lurching to her feet, she ignored his obvious look of dislike and growled, "What did you do? I said no one dies!"

"Remember your place woman." Altair snapped back, freeing the straps and tossing the vambraces into the pillows piled to one side.

Emma narrowed her eyes, hands coming to her hips. "It's right here, between civilians and killers."

"It is to be seen and not heard." He gave her a once-over with a sneer, "Though you are better off hidden as well."

Why that arrogant, sexist, son of cow's bitch. Taking a step closer to him, her fury was further fueled by the mockingly challenging raise of his brow.

"Listen here you little cocksucker…" That wiped the condescending look right off his face; his left hand flexed, but he'd already shed the blade. Ha.

"Curb your tongue Emma, or God help you." Malik's voice cut over her oncoming rant, his tone thick with command and irritation. Her gut was telling her to follow his orders and escape the quickly rising tension in the room, to put as much space between her and the assassin as possible. Her temper told her otherwise.

It took a great deal of self-control to reign in the fire and listen to instinct, but her pride refused to allow a defeated retreat. Snatching up her journal, she passed the man in white with a steady glare, intentionally ramming her shoulder into his on the way by with a snarled, "This isn't over."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"Three weeks! How is it not a damn thing has changed yet? She's still alive yes?" Otto fumed, pacing back and forth in front of the long table where, once again, all of the staff on this project were gathered.

Robin glanced down at her tablet, "According to the machine yes, it is the 26th of July and she is still in Jerusalem. In theory."

Because damn it all they still had not a single shred of concrete evidence that the woman was actually there. Otto turned his attention to Kevin, his lips pursing at finding the theorist utterly disinterested with what was going on. "Mr. Byron?"

Kevin idly taped his pen against the table, staring at nothing for a long moment before slowly turning his gaze to Otto. He gave him a lazy shrug. "I rather doubt that she's in some alternate dimension. Time travel this machine is capable of, but dimension splitting is an entirely different animal. Given that absolutely nothing has changed, I'm leaning towards the theory that history rights itself despite whatever she affects back then."

Given the stiff way Otto was grinding his jaw, it really wasn't what he'd wanted to hear. Oh well. Operation Firewall had been an unlikely success to begin with. The fact the machine even appeared to work was more than he'd ever hoped for. "We could still be working with the other theory and she's simply laid low these last three weeks and so hasn't changed anything yet. What is happening in Jerusalem around her?"

The head historian on the project pulled his nose away from his book, shoving his glasses back up his nose as he finally addressed the group. "On this particular day Altair assassinates Talal, I can only believe he has been in the city for a few days gathering information."

Otto nodded down to the few Codex pages on the table. "Has anything changed on them?"

Paul shook his head, the glasses sliding down again. "There is nothing different."

"There is the possibility that the woman was thrown into a prostitution house and will never come across any of the important men and be made note of." Kevin added, "She was thrown into a Saracen-held city in the middle of a war, they wouldn't take too kindly to her. Not to mention if we won't see the changes until they happen in her time, then the Codex won't be written for another few months. Even then it will only matter if she happens to come across the Assassin and make enough of an impression that he would take note of it."

Otto pinched the bridge of his nose, "Is there anything actually useful we've learned in all this time?"

"Well, Sir." Marcus pulled out a file he'd had tucked under his arm. "The officer's blood test came back with some interesting results. It seems she owed her remarkable arrest record to something other than pure skill."

Otto raised a brow at his man, "Out with it then."

Marcus chose instead to pass the file to his boss as he announced to the rest of the group, "She is a descendent of Edward Kenway. I believe the blood to be on her father's side given the long history of soldiers and law enforcement on that side. It would not be a stretch, given the strength of the markers in her blood, to conclude the possibility of her having some type of Eagle Sense."

Otto wasn't sure whether to swear or laugh. This could either be good for them or decidedly not. "She is alive then, no doubt about that. Those with the Sense have always been harder to kill. Is there any way of knowing which traits she inherited?"

Marcus shook his head, "Our scientists say no, there is no distinct marker for the Sense itself and it has a habit of manifesting itself in different forms. If she was unaware of how to properly train the senses, they may be weaker as well."

"Look into her family, find out what you can." Otto turned from his disappearing assistant to Robin. "Prepare the machine. We will send a team to Solomon's Temple and destroy Altair when he is most vulnerable. Robert has his journal there, they will write of their success in it and we shall know for certain which theory we are dealing with."

The frown that came over Robin's face was the warning to the potential speedbump she was about to throw at them. "The machine is still following the cop's genetic markers, it is how we are monitoring her location and time. I have no idea what may happen to her should I break the machine's lock, or if I can."

Otto scoffed, "You will find a way and what is one cop's life? I would gladly sacrifice the entire New York precinct if it meant ending those damnable assassins."

Robin nodded, Paul buried his nose back into his book, and Kevin closed his eyes.

Otto dismissed them with brisk instructions to be in the testing room within four hours. It was past time to begin the reign of the Templars.

Six of some of his best field agents stood before him as the clock wound closer and closer, armed and lightly provisioned. These men were trained to survive in any circumstance, and they were willing to do whatever it took for this mission. They were dressed in the Templar armor of the Crusades so as to prevent Robert from mistakenly attempting to attack them. No they needed the Grand Master alive to complete his schemes with the two armies. Without Altair, it would take less than two months for the armies to destroy Masyaf.

"You know your mission men. Succeed, mark the journal, and you shall be greatly rewarded upon your return home." The men saluted sharply before cramming into the machine. Robin had only been able to enlarge the platform a few feet but they managed.

The shout of 'Clear the room!' went out and everyone sans the agents filed into the viewing room. "Start the countdown."

Otto let a small smirk peek onto his face as the lights dimmed when the power was transferred to the machine. Sparks flew, light grew so bright it blocked the men from view and he could feel the heat even through the thick glass. It lasted only a handful of seconds before it died and the machine room revealed itself empty of the six men. Once again Robin had come through, it was a success.

"Begin monitoring Robert's journal immediately." He ordered, turning to leave the room to begin his own preparations for the changing future.

"Sir, there is a problem." Robin's words were the last he wanted to here. Slowly he turned to face her, hands clasped firmly behind his back and lips pressed into a thin line.

"Problem?" He clipped shortly. He'd given her a task and he was going to be sorely disappointed if she'd failed.

"I set the time for Solomon's Temple, but it refused to break from the cop's time. It stayed locked onto her. I'm afraid our agents ended up on the same day she is experiencing, somewhere outside the walls of Jerusalem."

Kevin's brows quirked, "Altair will leave the city if he hasn't already. If they don't intercept him then they will have to wait until he returns, or risk following him into the world he knows best. Dressed as crusaders I doubt they will be able to enter the city under peaceful terms until Robert's ploy at the funeral."

Otto nodded sharply. "These are professionals, they will do what they must to get the job done. Continue to monitor Robert's journal and alert me of any developments."


Captain: Aaaand the plot thickens, mwahahaha! So I'm super nervous here, I really hoped I caught Altair right. I mean he's at the one-third mark of his 'recovering from asshol-initis', kinda. I know most stories have him as the 'silent moody' type but in playing the game...he's somewhat more talkative than that at moments unless dealing with lower assassins. Anyway, I hope he was believably himself, and everything that he and Emma know about each other *will* get revealed in due time when it becomes pertinent. Thanks for hanging around and please drop me a review to ease my nerves or give me tips on how to do better! Until next time!