Captain Alice Hook: What up!? Been a bit I know, one semester left woot woo! Finished the last one with a 3.5 so busting my butt paid off! Just got three more months to go before that degree is mine! Have a lot of papers/projects and a Thesis to do this semester so won't be updating again before it's over but figured I could get one up before things get crazy! Not the most exciting chapter in my opinion but necessary nonetheless. Enjoy!
"A gunshot wound?" Malik blinked, looking between the wound and Emma's scar.
Hand going towards her belt, she pulled out the Glock. "Did the weapon look like this?"
Altair stared at it for short moment, teeth clenched. "Similar. It was longer. I never even heard it coming."
A suppressor then. What little noise it made would have been lost in the noise of the city. How the fuck did that happen? There was only one explanation of course, and it both excited and terrified her at the implication.
She wasn't alone in the past. But whoever was here with her had been targeting the assassin. Given the only way (that she knew of) into the past was through the machine at Abstergo, the probability that they worked for those psychopaths was high. Still….there could be a chance they would be on her side, could be able to get her home.
"Hold up." She stepped forward, forcing Malik to pause in his attempt to start stitching. Altair's back proved to be injury-free, which meant it was about to get a lot more painful for him. "The bullet is still in there, we have to get it out before you can patch him up."
The terrible part of her couldn't help but think perhaps there was some justice in this world after all.
Malik paused, peering closer at the wound. "I see nothing in there."
Ejecting the clip from her gun, she held out a single bullet for him to see. "The top portion is what gets shot. Small, but goes far quickly and can cause a lot of damage. If it stays in there it will poison his blood and kill him slowly."
Both men closely studied the intact bullet in her hand before Malik stepped to the side, motioning for her to take his place. Emma balked. Blood didn't bother her much, but it wasn't as if she was an expert at pulling bullets out of living bodies. "This is something from your world. Neither of us know what we are dealing with."
Altair did not look entirely confident in Malik's choice to hand the reins over to her either. Sucking in a breath, she realized that the Dai was right. He wouldn't be able to remove the bullet with one hand, she knew what she was looking for, and she wouldn't be able to just sit back and watch a man die in slow agony. Even if said man was an arrogant ass.
Luckily, this time had what was essentially tweezers, otherwise this would have been made that much more difficult. "Get him some leather to bite down on."
"I do not need it." Altair snapped, his voice and posture tense. With personal experience at the pain he was going through, Emma knew he was just playing the tough guy.
"He's going to need it." Malik procured the item quickly, and with a ferocious exchange of glares, got the assassin to bite into it.
Right, now to pretend that she knew exactly what she was doing. Unfortunately for Altair, he was well built. It was all solid muscle that the bullet had torn through and was now lodged in. Not only was this going to hurt like hell, but it was going to be a bitch while healing.
Their trip out of here may have just been put off for four weeks.
Sitting herself on the floor next to him, she braced her left forearm across his chest so that she could still work with her hand while keeping him from jerking forward too much. He watched every move with hawk-like intensity. It was more than just a little unnerving. "Make sure he doesn't jerk back."
Malik sat behind the assassin, bracing his own arm across his back. Altair was as pinned as they were capable of making him at the moment. Taking another deep breath, Emma pulled away the rag that had been keeping the bleeding at bay. Blood came forth quickly, running tracks down his chest. A large jug of water was among the supplies Malik had grabbed, and she used it to flush the wound enough that she could see.
Every muscle in his body was as taunt as a bow string. Her eyes flashed to his face before she went in with the tweezers and a small iron prong. If he was lucky, he might just not die of infection. His teeth clenched audibly the moment she touched torn muscle. The shows always made it look easy. As if the bullet would be bright and shiny amidst clear tissue. It was all a bloody mess, one thing undiscernible from another. Sweat poured from the assassin, and it took both of their strength to keep him from moving too much. No doubt he was using every ounce of self-restraint to keep as still as he was. Emma had no delusions that they would be able to hold him against his will.
The prong hit something solid, Altair jerked. Ah-ha, there was the little bitch. Careful not to move the prong, she flushed the wound again. In the brief moment the blood was washed away, she saw the dark colored mass she was looking for. It looked intact and compact, which was a huge relief. She knew she didn't have to skill to attempt removing a hollow point. Carefully aligning the tweezers, she got a grip on the metal and slowly pulled back.
"Stay still damn it." She snarled as she lost her grip on it with a rather violent jerk from the assassin. His responding growl was borderline animalistic.
It took a moment to find and get it again, but this time she kept her grip and he kept himself from tearing away. Air fled her lungs in relief as the bullet came free. It landed in the bowl with a satisfying 'clink'.
"There, it's out, and I don't think it left any fragments." She was ready to back away and let Malik back at it, but instead found him holding the needle and thread out to her.
"It will be easier with two hands."
Damn it. A valid point, of course, but she hadn't exactly wanted to linger this close to the man for longer than absolutely necessary.
His blood was hot as it tracked down her arm, pooling onto the rags piled across her lap. He'd spit out the leather, and his teeth cracked against each other as the glowing needle pierced his skin. Emma really wished she was better at stitches.
"Tell me about the one who did this." She said after a painful silence. Malik busied himself with refilling the jug of water and fetching a bandage to properly wrap the assassin's shoulder.
Altair glanced at her, his expression carefully masked pain. "This has nothing to do with you."
His muscles flinched as she was less than gentle pulling the flesh together. "You were shot with a weapon from my world. I'd say this has everything to do with me. And they were specifically targeting you, which means that they studied you. They probably know when and where you're supposed to be for the rest of your life."
If he were currently capable, he might have shrugged flippantly. "Then I shall kill them."
Emma snorted, flushing the wound again so she could properly find the edges of skin to draw her needle through. "An enemy who's name and face you don't know, with a weapon you don't know how to face. Face it, you need my help. And I can't give it unless you tell me what you saw."
"What happened to the man who was willing to ask for my help just yesterday?" Malik questioned with a raised brow.
Altair's tone was less than flattering. "Asking you is one thing, she is another."
Emma pulled the string of his stitch tightly, his body flinched in response. "Are you seriously considering irritating the one who's patching you up?"
He gave her an annoyed look. "And for that, I thank you. But this is beyond you. My work is no business of yours."
The cop responded with a look that matched his own. "And yet going after criminals with exactly this kind of weapon was what I did for a living back home. You can't dodge a bullet, and if they have a silencer on their gun, you aren't going to hear it and be able to find cover. This isn't a bow where they have to go for center mass. A good shot will put a bullet between your eyes and you'll be dead before you know what hit you."
If the sole purpose of whoever was here was to kill the assassin, then it was entirely possible they had a rifle with them. All a sniper needed was a high place and patience. Given the number of towers in this city, the first requirement would not be difficult to attain.
"How do you face such weapons?" Malik finally broke in, glancing over at her bag of things left abandoned in the doorway. She'd shared much of what her things did, but she'd avoided details of the vest and her gun. For one, she hadn't quite trusted him yet, and she wasn't certain what the impacts could be on the future.
Evidently, whoever else was here gave no shits to that.
"The vest. It's called Kevlar, and in most conditions, it can stop a bullet from piercing your skin. At most you get a nasty bruise." Her fingers fumbled with attempting to make the final knot, the string made slick and hard to handle.
"And yet you've been shot." Altair responded dryly, eyeing the scar she'd shown off earlier. Emma rolled her eyes as she finally managed to get the damn knot secure. "The vest covers the vital parts. You were lucky your assailant was a bad shot. A few inches over and you wouldn't be here for this conversation. So, are you going to let me help or not?"
If she focused on the conversation, she could ignore the fact that she was forced to practically hug him to get the bandage wrapped in the right pattern to stay in place. Somehow, she didn't expect the idea of a sling to go over very well.
Altair was silent until the moment she fastened the bandage and leaned away. "There were three of them that I could see, though I suspect there were more. Each one of them held a weapon similar to your 'gun'. They attempted to use the chaos of my success to get close to me, I used it against them. I should have been out of their range. No bow can shoot so far. I was hit when I turned to determine if they were still following me."
Emma chewed her lip. Three or more of Abstergo's goons, for there was little doubt that was what they were, were here in the past with her. And for whatever reason, they had it out for the assassin.
She suddenly had the nagging sensation that this fight was larger than had been let on, and perhaps went on for longer than anyone had any idea of. Just what the hell had that crazy couple in her apartment gotten her into?
"Guns have a much farther range than bows. The bullet can go further and faster than any arrow. If you can see them, you are not a safe distance away." Even if he couldn't see them, but she wasn't going to attempt discussing rifles unless absolutely necessary. If all of the goons only had handguns, then it may work in their favor. At least they would have to be closer and within sight to have any chance at accuracy.
If Altair held any suspicion for her, it seemed to grow tenfold with her words. "It is sorcery."
Ah the magic claim, she wondered when that would come up. No doubt her technology certainly seemed like such. She was suddenly glad her phone had been taken. Any claim of being from the future would probably be ignored with something like that. She much preferred her skin un-crispy, thank-you-very-much.
"It is science and technology. It's what eight hundred years of brilliant men can come up with to make people better at killing each other."
Altair stared hard at her. "Eight hundred years?"
….Shit. "You didn't tell him?"
She raised her brows at Malik. Would have been nice to know that she needed to mind her words.
Malik raised a single shoulder as he tossed her a clean towel to wipe herself off with. At least the assassin's blood hadn't gotten into her clothing that she could tell, but her arms were covered in it. Jeezus, it looked as if she'd been elbow-deep in him or something.
"He is a novice, it wasn't his business to know details."
"Well he knows now." Emma huffed, regaining her feet and stretching out her back. She'd been hunching over the man's shoulder for longer than she'd realized.
"I know nothing, speak sense." Altair growled as he moved to his feet as well, shedding what was left of the previously white robes. His eyes were on Malik. "You said that she was from a strange place and potentially important to the brotherhood, not that she was addled."
Emma growled. "Hilarious. And here I was thinking all of you were addled for wanting to play pretend in 1191."
"This is hardly pretend." The assassin made a slight motion to his recent addition to his collection of scars.
Emma pursed her lips, holding up the Glock. "And this is obviously something far more advanced than anything you have in this time."
"It took some convincing for me to believe her." Malik interjected, leaning against the doorway while he rubbed at his stump with a frown. "And while it still seems impossible, we are far more advanced than our ancestors. It is possible that our descendants will somehow master what appears to be magic to us."
"Time travel is supposed to be impossible in my time, too. The kind of thing invented only in stories to amuse people." She still had a hard time wrapping her head around the fact that this could actually be the past. Science was not her strong suit, particularly physics. Like hell was she even going to attempt figuring out how the machine sent her here. There were times she still questioned that it actually had.
Seeing a GSW with a victim who didn't rush for a hospital made it seem just a little more real.
Still, she wondered at who else was here. Perhaps they would be less aggressive towards her. Perhaps they would even know a way home.
If they worked for Abstergo, the probability they'd be willing to help her was slim to none.
"So you are from the future," Altair hardly sounded convinced and he glanced between the two with a look that suggested he wondered at what was in the water. "where they have these weapons and vest. How does one defeat them without the vest?"
It was less a question and more of an attempt to humor her, or at least that was how his tone came across. Emma gave him a pointed look. "By not getting shot."
The look she received for that remark was less than friendly. Worth it.
"We'll have to investigate discretely, find out how many of them there are, what they want, and what they're planning next. They'll have to be taken by surprise, when they're separated from their weapons. We won't win if it turns into a shootout and I need them alive." She idly tapped a finger to her chin, wondering at the best way to go about it all. They knew Altair's face, but it was impossible to know if they knew hers. Perhaps a disguise would work, cover the hair and she'd just be another face in the crowd.
"Nothing I do not already know how to do." The assassin had procured a clean rag and was using it to wipe away the blood that had coated his chest.
"I'm not talking about pummeling some poor bastard in an alley." Emma growled in return. "They are hunting you and know your face. This will require undercover work, wearing a disguise and blending with the rest of the crowd. You're injured too, they'll be looking for that."
"Just what are you suggesting?" Malik raised his brows, regarding her with a look that suggested he already knew and was preparing to argue against it.
"If they're as prepared as I assume they are, then they know your face as well, they may even know where this place is. I should go out. I can disguise myself well enough and I know what I'm looking for. Unlike some, I also know how to get information without drawing attention to myself." Her pointed look went ignored by the assassin.
"And how do we know that you are not in league with them? How do we know you will not bring them straight to our door?" Altair snarled, the apparent mistrust in her growing ever more.
"I would have shot you myself by now if I was with them, and I certainly wouldn't have spent the last hour saving your ungrateful life." She shot back, planting her hands on her hips. "We all know we don't have many options here. The people have gotten used to me, I can blend in and they don't have history to tell them what my next move is."
"They could be hunting you as well." Malik spoke quietly, his face pinched in thought.
Emma chewed her lip. "I know, but that's only if they knew I was even still alive. If they do, I doubt I'm a priority. They didn't come to the past to do what they could have done in my time."
No, killing her might be a bonus, but she was not their target. They might not even know if she survived the trip, or if she was here at all. Time was a fickle thing, and playing with it was an unpredictable endeavor.
"I do not need help doing my work." Altair growled as he slowly attempted to move his left arm. Emma scowled, if the idiot managed to tear his stitches, she would not be redoing them.
"Altair, you cannot even use your blade arm." Malik raised his brow challengingly. "Do not let arrogance cloud your judgement again, you are in no condition to investigate."
"And you trust her to?" Emma crossed her arms over her chest. Why oh why couldn't have she been dropped in with the Amazonian warriors? At least then she'd be around those that didn't disregard her abilities for the sole reason of her being a woman.
The Dai glanced between them, and the cop was not entirely thrilled with the long pause before he answered. "As she said, we do not have much of a choice. We either go in blind, or we trust her abilities."
"Thank you so much for the vote of confidence, Malik." Emma stated dryly.
"I may have more confidence if you ever demonstrated the ability to hold your tongue." He snapped back.
The woman rolled her eyes but made no comment. It wasn't as if it wasn't true, and it had gotten her into her fair share of trouble. Honestly, she was trying to work on that! Sometimes it was just…impossible to keep quiet, especially when confronted with the extraordinarily irritating. Grabbing the drab robe she'd used for venturing out in the city, she pulled it on, taking extra care that the hood completely covered her hair. As much as it made her cringe to do so in the oppressive heat, she pulled around the face cover, leaving only her eyes clearly visible. The people may have gotten used to her unusual looks, but it would take one glance for the Abstergo goons to notice a foreign face.
"What are you doing? You cannot go out there now, everyone is on high alert, the guards will be wary." Malik frowned, as if wondering how she could forget such a simple thing.
"It hasn't been long, the sooner I get to where it happened, the sooner I might discover something. The shooters might still be out looking to finish the job. This is when they'll be more likely to make a mistake and will be easier to find." Assuming, of course, that they weren't professional killers that had already disappeared into hiding. Professionals didn't like working with groups, that was how things got messy and complicated. Their redundancy would only help her. Looking for a single man in a crowd could be a challenge, looking for a handful less so. "Besides, the guards are on the lookout for a man, they've no reason to bother me."
Even the assassin's brows rose at that one, but the cop elected to ignore it. Yes the guards were corrupt and many were perverted and would take any chance to harass a woman, but the bell continued to toll, and that put their priorities on stopping the one who was lightening their pockets one death at a time.
"I'll be fine, I'll be back before sundown." Her heart pounded against her chest and her veins thrummed with excitement. Finally, real work to be done, something she was comfortable with and knew well. It was too bad that some of the usual tricks like fingerprints wouldn't be useful here, but she didn't mind that too much. Identity would hardly help them here, they already knew who the culprits were, the only other people in this time with firearms.
Making a final adjustment to her cover, she headed for the fountain and the pain of an exit. Reaching for the first hold, a hand on her arm forced her to pause. Malik's look was one of concern, and his voice was low despite the fact that Altair had already gone to the other room. "Be careful, Emma. We cannot help you if you get into trouble out there."
She grabbed his hand, giving it a thankful squeeze. "I know."
He released her, stepping away to collect the assassin's bloodied robes with a barely concealed curse.
Emma hauled herself up to the roof, easily finding the handholds she'd practiced a hundred times. The sun was as unforgiving as always, heat radiating from the stone beneath her. The clothing was not quite as restrictive as she'd once thought, and there was a level of freedom in the anonymity of covering her face and hair. She was just another woman in the crowd to these people, no one to pay any attention to.
The guards were on alert, walking with their hands on partially drawn swords. Citizens gave them a wide berth and walked just a little bit faster to their destination. Emma eyed them all for a long moment from above before dropping down the ladder and joining them.
Patrols thickened in one direction, so the cop headed that way, weaving between people and swords with an ease born on New York City streets. The further she went, the greater the activity. Citizens became fewer and more skittish while the guards crowded every street and alley.
The longer she walked, the poorer the people appeared. Fine silk was exchanged for ratty cloth, vibrant colors disappearing into dull browns. This was territory she hadn't explored. Every path lead to somewhere new. Care would have to be taken to prevent getting lost. It'd do her no good to aimlessly wander among the poor district, where crime among the people and the guards grew exponentially. She paused at the rapid increased activity in the open square just ahead. Access was blocked by a line of guards with swords drawn. Beyond them, a horse-drawn cart already loaded with several bodies creaked in protest to the adding of another. So, this was where it had all gone down.
Reading footprints was pointless, the mass of citizens that had fled the scene had already trampled whatever tracks may have been made at the time of the shooting. Now it was just a matter of figuring out which alley the man had been shot in. This one was the main road, somehow she doubted that would be his preferred method of exit. Backtracking, she found a side alley wrapped in darkness from the shadow of the wall that surrounded the city. Definitely an ideal route for an assassin.
The guards blocking the entrance to the square watched her carefully, their grips on sword pommels adjusting in preparation. Emma hoped she appeared harmless enough, lightly running her hand down the wall. The stone was rough and warm under her fingertips, sand and dust sliding away at the disturbance.
Her fingers hit a cool spot, little flecks of moisture. She looked closer, finding a high velocity back splatter. This was Altair's blood, and this was the spot where he'd been shot. It was closer to the guards than she would have liked, and she was careful to attempt to disguise her snooping. She didn't know her history enough to know if these people were anything like the English, and she wasn't particularly interested in finding out by being accused of witchcraft.
Sharp commands rang out, a flurry of movement and activity, and the guards turned their backs to her and walked away. They flanked the cart with the bodies as it left the square, followed by the other guards from the alleyways. Only two remained behind, though as soon as the procession disappeared from view, the two men leaned against a building and began speaking quietly to each other. Emma blinked, cautiously stepping out into the square. They did not react to her presence, and other citizens soon began to trickle back. Death was shocking when it occurred, but it was quickly forgotten.
At least this made her investigating a little easier. Standing next to the blood spatter, she gauged where the line of sight had to be. They had been out of bow range, which as far as she could guess was somewhere around sixty yards depending on the archer. That meant that the gunmen had been on the opposite side of the square, in the only alley with a clean firing lane to this spot.
Ducking her head and careful to keep her hands covered by the sleeves, she slowly, almost aimlessly walked across the square. Her eyes scanned quickly, looking for anyone who seemed interested in the area, or who headed for the place that the assassin had been hit. No one did. Reaching the target alley, she let her eyes drift over the turned up sand, shifting back and forth so that the reflection of the sun might cast differently. There! Light glinted off the ground in the way only metal shone. She scooped it up quickly, continuing with her walk as if she'd simply tripped. There was no telling if someone else may return for the very same purpose.
In her palm was the cool brass metal of a bullet casing. The shooters had fired from there and that was about as much information as she would be able to glean from here. This was the poorer side of the city, and as unfamiliar as she was with these streets, it was the people that were the problem. None of them had the money or the leisure to learn another language and Emma was still rather helpless at Arabic. Hopefully it was a similar case with the shooters, in which they'd be heading for the rich district, where some, particularly merchants, had a grasp of the English language.
It was remarkably uneventful on the way back to familiar grounds. The guards had begun to relax, keeping an eye out for an injured man in white but otherwise making no great effort to look for him. The market was as busy as ever, if a little more so. Voices were louder than they'd ever been, cheerful and exuberant. The death of Altair's target seemed to have lifted a weight from the city.
Finding a spot that gave a good view of the entire plaza, she squinted, focusing hard until the pressure behind her eyes built and pounded. The world faded into dull shades of grey. Little marks of red showed where the guards were moving among the crowd, but no other colors revealed themselves. Squeezing her eyes shut, Emma cursed and massaged her forehead, a weak attempt to release some of the pain that gathered there. The light was a little brighter when she looked out at the people again, the sound a little louder and all of it just a bit more grating. What a waste of using the sixth sense.
Men were not so willing to start a conversation with a strange woman in this place unless he was trying to tempt her into buying whatever junk he was selling. Women, however, were just as they would always be, gossips. She could see the gatherings of wives and daughters, talking amongst each other with little care who overheard. Most of them were speaking their native tongue, but a few confused words and an apology from the foreign wife of a soldier, and they were all too willing to switch to the English they knew and pull her into the conversation.
The assassination was the topic of choice, and the details were as reliable and ever changing as any eye witness account could be. He was tall, he was short, hair of spun gold, hair as black as night, his eyes were blue, his eyes were red like a demon, he was Muslim, he was Christian, and on and on. There was one thing that they could all agree on, it was definitely a man that killed Majd Addin and released them from the man's reign of murder, and he'd been injured by a group of guards that arrived late, cutting off his escape and wounding him with a foreign bow.
The opinions on it varied, as they would when it came to vigilantes in the future. Some thought he was just another killer, while others praised what he did and claimed that he had just saved countless lives. One woman told of being assaulted by the guards once and what could only be the same man saved her from them. She had ruby red cheeks as she confessed to the giggling ladies about what a fine looking man he had appeared to be, and how she wished her own husband was so well built. Emma quickly turned a snort into a cough.
Once satisfied with their gossip of the mystery assassin, their focus turned to the new girl, asking about her husband and if perhaps they knew him. Emma scrambled to find an escape, before the youngest, the one who 'admired' Altair, mentioned seeing her before with a one-armed man.
Hello escape, so nice of you to drop by. "Oh yes, that is him. Oh! Oh no, I was supposed to meet him at the fruit seller's stall. Dear me he will be quite cross. I apologize, I must go."
The women quickly shooed her away to fulfill wife-ly duties and Emma sighed in relief at putting distance between her and the horde. There was only so much submissive pretending she could take before she'd start twitching. Glancing up at the sky, she figured it was close enough to head back. The sun was slipping towards the horizon, casting long shadows and encouraging everyone to finish their business quickly. The crowd had begun to thin, and it would be dusk by the time she made it back to the Bureau.
Slipping towards the edge, the cop began making her way down familiar paths.
"It wasn't a lethal shot."
Emma froze, scant inches from passing into view of a tiny alley rarely ever occupied by more than drying clothes.
"I'd like to see you do better when the bastard is in a dead sprint." Another voice growled. There was no mistaking the American accent.
The cop had found her shooters. Or at least two of them.
There was no telling where the others might be, if they were watching from somewhere that she was in plain sight to. So she slid down to rest on a bench, leaning her head back against the wall. An impatient wife waiting for her husband to finish his business.
"Doesn't matter, he'll either die from infection or we'll get him when he leaves the city." A third voice, luck just may be on her side.
"He'll be heading to Damascus, we can take him out on the road if he makes it that long." The second voice came again.
"He goes to Masyaf first, you idiot, and he was supposed to leave tomorrow morning, but I doubt he'll be moving quite so quickly now." First Voice returned, markedly gruffer than the rest.
"How the fuck are we going to know when he leaves? He's not going to stick to the same schedule we know anymore, and I don't particularly feel like sitting here until we get word he's killed another target." Third guy had a lighter tone, with the hint of a more western lit.
"We'll have to slip into the patrols on the gates, we'll take him when he leaves the city."
"And the woman?"
Every muscle in the cop's body went stiff, locked hard and prepared to bolt for her life should the need arise.
"What about her?"
"Otto was surprised she made it this long. Should we do something?"
"What the fuck do you think she's going to do? Bitch is probably locked up in a brothel. Letting her live is a worse fate than just killing her."
Well, that answered a lot. Somehow Abstergo knew that she was still alive, but they had no idea exactly where she was or who she'd been around. They'd written her off and cared nothing for her, she was not their target. Only Altair was in the crosshairs, and they knew exactly where he was heading next and who his target would be, including how the assassination would take place.
"Enough of this, we need to rejoin the others and get our plan into motion. The assassin won't be moving tomorrow but we'll need to be ready to join the guard the day after."
Footsteps crunched against dirt, coming closer. Emma jolted up and away, moving to stand next to a pair of women deep in conversation. They ignored her, which suited the cop just fine. Three men stepped out of the alley, dressed as common guards. Of course, that was why she had missed them! She'd just dismissed them as the average, threatening soldiers. Damn it all it was so obvious that that would be their best disguise.
The swords at their hips looked real enough, but the bulges under the robes at their sides indicated that they were armed with far more. Their faces were unassuming. Dark hair, dark beards, and tanned skin, the perfect recipe for allowing them to blend with the other guards and to make them nearly impossible to pick out when mixed with the others.
Well it was a good thing for her and bad for them that she had seen their faces and had her sixth sense. Uniforms and the right hair color wouldn't be enough.
Eyeing them, she contemplated following, to see where their hideout was. No, it was nearing full dark. If they went out of the rich district, she'd never be able to find her way back before daylight.
She did stay long enough to watch where they left from, tracking their path until they rounded a corner and disappeared. In the darkening quiet of oncoming night, she pulled off the face cover and hood and made her way back to the Bureau.
"What delayed you?" Malik's voice was tired as it reached her before she'd even steadied herself from landing.
"I have good news and bad news about our bad guy situation." She grinned, rather pleased with herself as she stripped off the rest of the robe.
Altair raised a brow at her from his position reclined into a stack of pillows, still shirtless with his robes now hanging over the fountain. They were soaking wet, but appeared to have been cleaned of most of the blood.
"Bad news first, they know he's hurt and exactly where his next targets are going to be. There's also definitely at least five of them, if not more, and they're disguised as guards." It was Malik's turn to raise his brows.
"And the good news?"
"It didn't sound like they knew about this place. They know he's heading to Masyaf next so they're plan is to slip into the rotation of guards on the gates to the city. They're reluctant to attempt taking him on on the road. Get through the gates and they shouldn't be a bother until he goes for his next target in Damascus." The robe went into a messy pile next to the pack that hadn't been moved from where she dropped it earlier that day.
"I go to Damascus next then?" Altair spoke, his voice holding…something that she couldn't name to it.
She looked down at him, cocking her head slightly. "Yes, according to my history, anyway."
Perhaps now he wouldn't, perhaps he'd go somewhere else and she would have completely destroyed history just by telling him. Or maybe it would all happen the same anyway. Time travel was too much of a mind-fuck to ever attempt deciphering.
"That did not sound like good news." Malik mused, a flaming stick in his one hand as he used it to light more candles.
"The good part about it is that they know they shot him, they expect him to be laid up for a bit, so they won't be on the gate until the day after tomorrow." Her eyes met the assassin's. "Which means you have a twenty-four hour window to get out of here before it becomes a lot more difficult."
"Which means we have a twenty-four hour window. I cannot return to Masyaf without you." His tone was flat as he sat up, almost managing to suppress a wince as he moved his arm just a little too much.
Emma planted her hands on her hips. "You're hardly in any condition to get anyone but yourself out safely."
"He is in no condition to get anyone out. Altair, you should stay and heal before attempting to make the journey to Masyaf." Malik eyed the other man, giving a pointed look as another grimace passed over the assassin's face.
"If I stay to heal then they will have guns on every gate, and the Master is expecting me with the woman. We should leave at dawn, when the gates are opened." If he had planned on standing, he didn't follow through with it, rather, he shifted to lean his back against the wall, muscles straining.
"Or you stay long enough to heal and they'll think you somehow slipped past them and head to Damascus and you can explain to your master why there was a delay." She knew very little of the man, but what little she did she did not like. In her experience, whoever was referred to as the 'master' was not nearly so selfless and good-intentioned like their followers believed.
"Or I find them and kill them."
Emma didn't bother trying to disguise her snort. "Please, you couldn't beat a toddler in this state, let alone well-trained mercenaries."
He gave her a once over, seeming to find something amusedly lacking. "I could beat you easy enough."
She rolled her eyes. The arrogance of men knew no bounds across time or space. "As much as I would thoroughly enjoy proving you wrong, I don't make a habit of fighting the hobbled."
Malik heaved a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is going nowhere. Get some sleep, the both of you, and we will discuss this in the morning."
Emma didn't want to wait, she was too wired to just leave it unresolved and sleep. Altair was injured, for once she had the advantage and he just might be receptive to some sense. A slim chance, but more than usual.
Malik was right though, and he did look exhausted. In some attempt to keep the peace, he was always sure to be the last to bed.
The blonde chewed her lip for a moment before giving a little nod of defeat. "In the morning then."
She waited a tick longer before breaking her gaze away from the assassin and headed for the other room. Pausing in the doorway, she sent a grin to Malik. "Oh, one other thing. If the women here spread rumors like they do in my time, then by the end of the week the entire district will think I'm your wife. Sweet dreams, dear."
Her hand rose and pat his chest while she gave him a cheeky wink before heading towards the stairs and her own room. To his credit, Malik simply rolled his eyes and batted her hand away.
"Even I would not wish such a fate upon you." She heard Altair's voice as she reached the bottom of the steps. There was a note of humor to his tone that actually made her pause. What was this? The man actually possessed a sense of humor? When the hell did that happen?
For a moment she did not think Malik would respond, but when he did, she could hear the grin that was stretching his lips. "I may for you."
Perish the thought.
Captain: Yeah, no modern section this time, but it will return as the plot moves forward, and we're finally getting into it! Yep, our dear short-tempered lady and our favorite assassin will be leaving Jerusalem next chapter! That's when things will get really fun ;) As always, please drop me a review to let me know what you like, what you don't like, what you hope to see, or what you think could be improved! Now to dive into this final semester... *takes deep breath*
