Captain: Hey there folks! Look! An update within the same year! *nervous laughter*. Ahem, as I figured, this semester is thoroughly kicking my ass (whyyyyy did I have to like science?!) and most all of what little free time I have is spent with my puppers and research for my thesis. Soooo sadly, I haven't been able to write, well...much of anything lately. There was also some...ah...family stuff that came up. So I guess you could say stuff has been crazy, but I didn't want to give ya'll an update and then leave you hanging until winter break, so here ya go! Like usual, no promises for the next update as all current writings are for my classes, but here's hoping I get a little breather soon! Enjoy!
Two weeks passed in relative peace. Altair left the city just hours after his successful assassination of the slaver, and after a few days, the hunt for him was abandoned. Despite the publicity of the murder, the city moved on much the same has it had done before, as if nothing had ever happened. It was familiar, in a way. Death could never hold its grip over a city for long, not in the modern world, and not now.
It seemed some things didn't change…or never had.
Malik never once brought up her break down. Like the city, he simply moved on as if everything was as it was. Only, once the heat had died, he gave her more jobs to do. Easy tasks even for himself, but they helped distract her. For that, she was grateful. The currency was a pain in the ass to figure out, but eventually she had the gist of it down, and he let her get a few supplies on her own from the market. The only condition, of course, was that she remain in the Rich District, where several of the other citizens had the money and education to know bits of broken English. It made the haggling and purchase sometimes more difficult than she was willing to admit, but the challenge of it thoroughly occupied her mind for those moments.
It made her question if it was all for her sake, or if Malik had an ulterior motive to it. The things he was purchasing, or sending her out for, were not the usuals she'd grown accustomed to. More blankets, a pack, more salt than either of them count consume in a year. He even made a point to send her out for her own cloak and clothing. All in all, it reminded Emma very much of preparations for a trip.
But he never said a word about it, didn't appear to pack a single thing of his away. If anything, his shop grew more cluttered as the days past. The cop wanted to say she could trust him, that she did trust him, but as much as he seemed to do extra little things to keep her mind and hands busy, she couldn't stop the nagging feeling in her chest. Something was up, and she rather doubted she would enjoy it.
So she watched him with a careful eye, attempted to sneak peaks at the pigeon letters he received, and tried her hardest to eavesdrop whenever visitors dropped by. None of them were Altair, and so he asked she remain hidden when they were there, for the sake of keeping the knowledge of her existence to as few people as possible. If any of these other visitors were anything like the assassin, she was glad to be spared meeting them. Yet, for all her attempted snooping, not a single clue was ever dropped for what might be coming. When nothing happened for two weeks, she began to wonder if she wasn't seeing ghosts where there were only shadows. Perhaps it was nothing, she was simply reading too much into it. Malik had simply been stockpiling some supplies in the case of an emergency, or preparing for a possible eventuality that had nothing to do with her.
The one time she was able to bare the pounding head to focus all of her energy on him, he glowed the soft blue of an ally. That sense had never steered her wrong before.
She prayed there wouldn't be a first time for everything regarding this.
A thump from the entry room drew Emma's eyes up from the messy scrawls of her journal. Malik glanced up from his current map and screwed up his face as if he'd bitten into something bitter. He made no move to motion her into hiding, though. The cop raised a brow, before her expression quickly dropped to match the Dai's as none other than the white-robed asshole waltzed into the room. Two weeks was not nearly enough time to have free of him, nor had it dimmed any of her hatred for the man.
It took some fighting against her instinct to immediately open her mouth, but she kept her lips pursed and mum.
Altair, for his part, looked no more pleased to see her there.
"Safety and peace, Malik." He turned his back to her, lightly bracing a hand on the counter.
"Were it that the city was possessed of either. Why do you trouble me today?" Malik snipped back, the underlying intense dislike lacing his tone once again.
The assassin cast a single glance over his shoulder at Emma. She raised her brows expectantly, but made no move to speak or move. He turned back to Malik, "Al Mualim has marked Majd Addin for death."
The cop's pen made a sharp tap as she bounced the tip of the quill against her journal, but she forced her lips to remain shut. There had to be a reason for this Al Mualim to charge the man with a death sentence. The assassins only killed to ensure the safety and peace of the innocents in the city. They were the only form of true law enforcement. The blonde woman still ground her teeth at the flippant manner the statement had been made. Taking a life should be difficult, damn it, should weigh on the mind. It should never be handed out easily. And yet, here it was, particularly by this arrogant excuse for a man.
"What can you tell me about him?" Altair asked after a brief pause. She wondered if he'd waited to see if she would say anything. Well, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of being right. No matter how much she did want to say something.
"Salahuddin's absence has left the city without a proper leader, and Majd Addin has appointed himself to play the part. Fear and intimidation get him what he wants. He has no true claim to the position." Malik tonelessly informed him.
Emma couldn't say there'd been any obvious change in leadership since she'd arrived, but if he was talking about the Saladin who led the fight against the Crusaders, then he'd most likely been gone quite some time. It was strange, hearing something actually familiar to her. A person she knew from history, who was alive at this very moment. Made her whole situation feel….just a little more real.
She chose not to let herself focus on it, and so made a note of the name of Altair's target in her book as he stated, "That ends today."
Evidently, hoping he'd magically get hit with a decent personality had been wishing for too much.
"You speak too readily. This is not some slaver we're discussing. He rules Jerusalem and is well protected because of it. I suggest you plan your attack carefully, get to better know your prey." If she could make herself ignore the fact that they were talking about murdering someone, even a terrible someone, she could believe they were talking about gathering evidence.
In a way, she supposed that was what it was. He gathered evidence against a known perp to find his whereabouts, only, instead of arresting him, justice was dispensed immediately. Or what they considered justice anyway. She was still unsure about that. Sure the city had improved with the death of Talal. People walked the streets a little more freely, talked a little more loudly and cheerfully. There was no denying that the man's death had improved things. She couldn't help but question what their standards were for their brand of justice, though. A slaver was a scum of humanity, but what had this Addin done, other than name himself the leader? Where did they draw the line? Too many important questions she couldn't answer, and that they were all too unwilling to go into detail about.
"With your help, I will. Where would you have me begin my search?" Emma blinked, torn from her thoughts at the words she couldn't believe had actually just come from Altair Asshat's mouth. Just what had possessed his body and graced him with the semblance of manners?
"What's this? You're actually asking for my assistance instead of demanding it. I'm impressed." It appeared Malik was just as surprised as she was.
"Be out with it…" Altair growled back. Ah, there he was.
A ghost of a smirk crossed over Malik's lips before he gave the assassin a few places to start. The church she'd seen from afar, but that was it as far as she went in knowing where any of those places were. She rather doubted she'd have the kind of luck she'd had before if she so decided to attempt to interfere again. She couldn't deny the urge was definitely there to do so, though, even if just out of spite.
"Thank you for your help, Dai." Altair nodded, moving to turn away from the counter.
"Do not foul this, Altair." Malik growled, all traces of his previous smirk gone. "Any of it."
The conversation was over. The assassin would leave to begin his information gathering and Emma could potentially find out what it was the target had done to warrant a death sentence. Malik was sure to be willing to tell her something, enough to ease her mind. Or at least keep her from actively attempting to stop Altair again.
"And you," She jerked her eyes up, having returned to a mindless doodle in the corner of her most recent entry. Altair was still there, his full attention on her. Malik was watching them both intently, though he made no move to say a word. His face had an expectant and wary look, one that said he knew exactly what the assassin wanted with her, and that she wouldn't like it. "Collect your things while I do my work. You will return to Masyaf with me when I am finished here."
She blinked once, twice. Her eyes narrowed as they flashed between the two men. The Dai remained annoyingly silent. "Excuse me? Like hell I'm going anywhere with you."
To his credit, the assassin remained impassive. "You will. The Master has ordered it."
"You will be safer in Masyaf than you are here." Malik put in, his voice equally placating and resigned.
Emma dropped the journal and pen onto the table next to her, slowly crossing her arms and drawing one leg over her knee. Her voice was a low growl. "He is no master of mine. And I am just fine right here, thank you very much."
Hell would freeze over before she'd go anywhere alone with the assassin. He tempted her far too much to attempt strangling him with her bootlaces. And she'd finally felt at least somewhat settled, and like she could develop a routine enough here that maybe she could start digging for ways to get home. Not that there had been any luck in that department, but damn it all she'd already had her world flipped on its hinges, she wasn't just going to let Altair drag her to wherever because his 'master said so'!
While the hood shaded his face, she could hear the mocking look in his voice. "You have been under the protection of the Assassins since you stepped foot in this Bureau. You are in our custody, and the Master has a say over whether you get to keep your life."
It was like a cold slap. He certainly pulled no punches with that claim. Emma balked under the imaginary chains of someone else being in control of her life. The Assassins were supposed to be about promoting safety and peace among the people, removing only those who threatened that. And yet this so called Master was really the puppet master of everyone. They killed who he pointed a finger at, it seemed. So long as the finger was pointed at bad people, they could keep their claim to their 'good cause'. And yet this one man who'd never even seen her face was capable of having her killed if she decided to make her own choices instead of blindly following whatever he commanded of her.
She didn't remember standing, but suddenly she was, glaring up into the dark hood at the hard amber eyes.
"Keep my life?" She hissed, "Does your creed only qualify innocents as those who follow your precious master's every word?"
Altair opened his mouth, but it was Malik's voice that cut through the rising tension, putting water over the growing fire. "You are going, Emma. It wasn't just an order to you that you go to Masyaf. You can refuse, but I cannot continue to house you if you do so."
Her teeth clanked as she snapped her mouth shut, her gaze turning to the one-armed man. She wanted to call him a traitor for siding with the enemy, for agreeing not only with this asshat but a man in a different city. And yet, she could hardly blame him. If this man really was the one who ran everything, then disobeying could mean bad things, especially to a man who didn't have many other options for work with only one arm. Malik's hand was tied. He'd helped her as much as he could, more than was ever expected. But now he was at his limit. She would have to go with Altair. She would have to leave the only familiar thing she'd found for complete strangeness.
"Fine." Her original goal had always been to leave the city, after all. She'd simply been unable to find a way to do so. Now one was being handed to her. Perhaps the answer to her getting home was out there, beyond the massive walls. Altair was only one man. She was a cop who knew how to survive in desperate situations. No doubt a moment of escape would present itself. And if it was really all a choice of remaining in the protection of the Assassins, there would be no incentive for him to come after her. He'd be glad to be rid of her presence no doubt. Just maybe, if luck could find it to side with her, she might even find some real help and get home.
Altair eyed her, as if suspicious of her giving in. It wasn't as if she could really fight it anyway. She'd already proven living on the streets of the city was far too tempting a thing to her nonexistence self-preservation.
He finally settled with a stiff nod before he left the room as abruptly as he'd arrived. No doubt off to terrorize the citizens into giving him whatever information he needed.
Emma let herself heave a sigh after he was gone.
Her suspicions about Malik's motivations for his strange purchases had been well founded after all. To his credit, he did not look particularly pleased with everything.
"My apologies, Emma. I was unsure of how to tell you, and I did not think he would bring it up in such a way." He cast a sour look the way the other man had gone. "But given your strange circumstances, I could not keep your existence from the master. He is a wise man. Stern, so mind your tongue, but fair. You have nothing to fear from him."
"I can't blame you for telling him about me." It wasn't as if she would have been able to keep quiet about someone claiming they were from another time. "Although a little warning would have been nice."
Malik gave her a loose shrug. "Would you have been any more agreeable about going?"
"Probably not." Especially if he had told her who her traveling companion would be. Like hell would she ever be pleased about that. But could he really expect any different? She'd finally felt like a routine had developed, like she'd gotten her footing back. Sure she was still in the wrong bloody world, but she'd created some familiarity with the immediate area. There was a reason she hated traveling.
"Despite his many faults, Altair is the best we have, he will see you safely there. And Al Mualim is knowledgable about many things. Perhaps there is something he knows that might help you get home." He didn't sound completely sure the Master would have the answers, but that he would be the most likely to have them.
"If you say so." Emma was already wary of this so called Master. Power had a remarkable ability to corrupt. She'd seen it enough for herself. Hell, gangs were originally started with the intent to protect where the police couldn't. Now they were public enemy number one. Could she really trust a man who had the power to order death on a whim? Malik trusted him, Altair seemed to trust him (not that that meant much), but damn it all if it didn't rub her wrong that there was only one puppet master behind all of this. Who kept him in check? Who made sure he followed their so-called Creed with every death he ordered?
It felt a lot like they were asking her to walk into a dragon's den and believe that the dragon was friendly.
At least Bilbo had home waiting for him on the other side of his dragon. There was no telling what awaited on the other side of hers.
Altair returned as the sky turned a brilliant shade of pink. He spoke quietly to Malik for some time. Emma managed to catch only a few snippets. Evidently Addin liked to flaunt his power by executing whoever he pleased for the smallest crime. Petty theft, prostitution, lying, assault of a city guard. He abused his power and people paid for it with their lives. Again, a man the world would be better without on the streets. He was certainly worthy of the death penalty, but still. No trial, no chance to defend himself. Emma would never get used to the idea, never wanted to get used to it.
The two men briefly discussed an unusual commotion by the western gate that left the streets rather devoid of guards for a time. Whatever had caused it was speculated on for a breath before Malik gave the assassin a feather and permission to end the target's life on the morrow.
The cop cast a glance over to the corner of the room where the leather bag that was supposed to be filled with her things sat empty. Amusedly, she wondered how willing Altair would really be to take her all the way to Masyaf if she wore her uniform. It would certainly be sure to draw attention at every turn. It was tempting to wear it. It'd definitely be easier to travel in than the excuses for clothing the women here wore anyway.
Despite the volatile air that seemed to strangle the atmosphere, the evening went relatively peacefully. Most likely due to the fact that no one said a word. The assassin seemed content to ignore their existence and spent his time in the other room doing whatever it was he did at night. Emma didn't know what to do with herself, and so went back to scratching into her journal, though her enthusiasm for it was greatly diminished.
Depending on how much of a mess Altair made, by this time tomorrow she could be gone from this place.
The feather tip tapped noisily against the pages, leaving light dots smattered across a dimly recognizable sketch of the New York City skyline. Nervous energy filled her at the thought of what the next day would bring.
"Emma." She glanced up at Malik. He gave her a dead stare, and it took a moment for her to realize her pen tapping had been loud enough for him to hear.
Feather freezing in place, she sent him a sheepish grin. Feather and journal were set aside. It was getting dark anyway, and the few candles were hardly enough to write by.
It was time for sleep, and then see what the dawn would bring.
Sleep, it turned out, was an elusive bitch that night. She tossed and turned for what felt like hours before rolling to her back with a huff. It was pitch black in her room, with no window to let in the light of the moon. It was also dead silent. Even after over a month in this world, the silence was still unnerving. New York was never quiet or dark. Of all the things that made this place a different world, it was this that made it the most alien.
She growled, cursing to herself as rest remained out of her reach. Sitting up, she rolled her head until her neck cracked. Even any sort of night vision was useless here, but she'd learned her way around well enough that she could shuffle her way to the door and down the stairs. Here there was the barest hint of light creeping in from the other room. Enough that she could walk half confidently over to the doorway. The hard stone floors were cool against her bare toes. The air was dramatically different from the day, so much so that her bare arms were almost chilled.
Malik still made comments whenever he happened to see how she'd cut the sleeping clothes he'd procured for her into something a little more comfortable for desert weather. Really, a little shoulder and leg was not that big of a deal, she'd made an effort to keep them from being too 'scandalous' for his sake. Still, it was amusing how pointedly he'd not look at her when she made the mistake of stumbling out of her room in them. At least he'd be asleep right now.
Tiredly, she rubbed her face in her hands as she crossed the threshold into the other room. The fountain dripped cheerfully, the sound a pounding thunder in the otherwise silent room. Moonlight glowed off of the ripples, the brightness such a shock to her eyes it was temporarily blinding. She walked to beneath the hatch, which was open to the cool night air. The moon was full, blocking out the shine of all but the brightest stars around it. She could almost believe for a moment that it was the light pollution keeping the stars at bay, if she ignored what all of her other senses were telling her. Heaving an exhausted sigh, she resigned herself to the long hours before dawn, and what would no doubt be a trying day.
Turning, she started at finding herself being blatantly watched. Damn, she'd forgotten all about Altair sleeping out here. He hadn't moved an inch, didn't even seem to be trying to pretend to sleep. He had his back and head propped against the wall, one arm resting on a bent knee. His weapons were neatly laid to the side within easy reach. More surprisingly, the robes and hood were gone, tossed carelessly by the sword.
The moon cast a glow on his skin, making all the more dramatic the amber of his eyes. He watched her carefully, though his face was a neutral mask.
It was the first time she had seen him without the hood, could see the scars that crisscrossed across his chest. His hair was almost bordering on shaggy and stood out in every direction, as if it had been run through more than once.
Sleep, it seemed, wasn't coming to him easily either.
It didn't make her like him, but perhaps it meant that he couldn't brush off what he did as easily as he made it seem. Just maybe, he really was human.
Almost unperceptively, she tipped her head. She didn't expect him to respond as she started her return to her own bed. As she passed him, he returned the gesture.
Would they be on friendly terms come morning? Hell no. But at least in this brief moment, they shared the irritating inability to sleep when they so needed it.
The brief stint in the moonlight did not magically call upon the sandman, and it was the wee hours of the morning before she was finally able to catch any rest.
Morning dawned far too early. Her body was slow and sluggish to respond to her commands. The loss of her precious coffee every morning had been a hard one to bare. Malik had attempted to give her whatever their version of the drink was, but it had failed to have the same effect. While the worst was over, she still greatly felt the absence.
Altair was long gone by the time she managed to haphazardly pack the bag that had been provided for her. The Kevlar vest was strapped to the outside, like hell was that going to be left behind. Her uniform had certainly seen better days, but at least she'd had the chance to wash it.
Her bag hit the floor with a thump as she reached the bottom of the stairs. Malik glanced up from his book, raising a single brow at her choice in dress of uniform pants and her black tank top. She rolled her eyes as she wiggled the drab robe in her hand. "Don't worry, I'll cover up before I leave."
A rock sunk to the pit of her stomach at the thump from the other room. Belatedly, she realized the bells that had been ringing against her skull had not been in her head. Altair had done his job. It was time to leave.
Malik, having a better view of the other room from where he stood, scowled. "You are bleeding all over my bureau, novice."
Whatever the assassin's grumbled response was, Emma failed to catch it. It was enough to force Malik into moving, as he grabbed what was essentially his equivalent to a first aid kit and went to the other man's aid.
Perhaps they wouldn't be leaving so soon after all.
"What did you do, get hit by a blunt arrow?" Malik's voice snipped.
Emma's curiosity got the better of her. Following the Dai's path, she stepped through the doorway, scanning for this apparent strange injury.
Blood had soaked through the left half of his robes, stemming from the clean hole in his shoulder. A very familiar kind of hole.
She froze, staring at his injury as Malik cut away the stained robes. "How the fuck did you get that?"
The two men glanced her way, Malik raising a brow. "This type of injury is familiar to you?"
Altair hissed as the man prodded too close to the torn flesh. "I've never seen such a weapon before."
Emma pulled the strap of her tank aside, revealing a circular scar in much the same shape and place as Altair's. "It's a gunshot wound."
XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxX
Otto was pacing….again. Marcus was steadily beginning to fear for his life with every instance that he had to interrupt said pacing.
Operation Firewall was proving to be more of a headache than anyone had anticipated. While their team had successfully made the jump into the past (theoretically), nothing had changed. Either they had missed their chance when Altair left the city after killing Talal, or, as Kevin was so reliable at reminding everyone, history simply found a way to right itself.
Marcus always figured the Assassins were more like a hydra than a snake. When you removed a head, a new one simply replaced it. If Altair fell before his time, perhaps there was another that would have taken his place in history.
And yet, it was still Altair's Codex, it was still his name plaguing Robert's journal.
Idly, Marcus wondered if somehow history was changed and it effected this timeline, if they would even realize it. How could they know if history changed when, if it did, it would have always been their history? If there were no assassins, there would be no Operation Firewall, there would be no time machine, and there would be no sending the hapless cop into the past. If their history changed with the successful assassination of Altair, what then, would prompt them to build the machine, so that it could be accomplished?
It was thoughts like this that plagued his mind at night and gave him monstrous headaches.
"Why are you suffering me with your presence?" Otto snarled, turning on his heel to face the intrusion to his inner ranting.
Marcus snapped his back ramrod straight, offering the file in his hand. "No news from Jerusalem, but we've discovered something interesting."
Otto took the file, glanced at it, and scowled. "So, the Harp men have decided to do their own investigating and we have another nosey cop to keep an eye on? How, exactly, is this important enough to bring to me?"
And it was moments like this that made Marcus warily eye the shadows of the room, waiting for Cross to end his life. These people had never heard the saying 'don't shoot the messenger' evidently.
"We managed to get ahold of the Harp men's medical records and ran analysis on their blood structures. They both have the markers for Eagle Sense. David's appears to be the sharpest of them all." He also had an impressive career as both a cop and a detective. He closed more cold cases than anyone Marcus had ever heard of. And he was sticking his nose into Abstergo's business.
He couldn't help but hope the man might get wise and look for his missing daughter elsewhere.
And yet….Marcus had his own daughter at home. Only five years old and already redefining how he saw the world. If anything happened to her….not a threat in the world would stop him from finding her.
Not for the first time, he found himself conflicted.
"We will deal with him if he becomes an issue. If you have nothing about the operation, leave me." Otto commanded, carelessly shoving the files back.
Marcus collected them and gladly left, more than ready to collect his things and go home to his family. What they were doing here….it was a necessary evil to make the world a better place, to make the world a safe place for his daughter.
He passed the room with the machine, glowing an eerie blue in the moonlight cast through dark windows. A man's daughter had been sent through it. A father would never see his little girl again, and he didn't even know it. He wondered what the last thing they said to each other was. He hoped they hadn't fought.
Forcing his eyes away, he continued on. Family was his life. He would have to live with sacrificing someone else's family to keep his safe.
Captain: There we be! More...ah...drama for ya :D Yes, our favorite assassin was shot, mwahahaha. So, so many questions for our confundled cop, and answers so unwilling to be shared...for now. Please drop me a review to let me know if ya'll are still into this! Happy Halloween!
