Captain: Hey ya'll! Hope you've had good summers thus far! My eye surgery went off without a hitch so now I've got perfect vision, wahoo! Should really help here in a week when Archery season opens, but holy balls has it been fantastic these last few months! Now begins the search for graduate school, because I hate myself apparently and want more schooling :D. Anyho, for those of you still around, I present the next chapter of Firewall! Enjoy! :)


Emma looked at the spilled inkpot with intense disgust. There'd been hardly any ink left, but what had remained now ran across her crude sketch of Masyaf castle and the village below. While an artist she was not, the attempt had kept her from thinking about the amount of time she'd been left locked in here. It didn't turn out too terrible, it was recognizable for what it was at least. Or it had been. Now there was a stream of ink falling from the sky, cutting across the training ring and main gate like a bleeding lighting bolt. Some art historian in the future might find this and call it some hidden feeling about the place. Emma called it a surprise sneeze at exactly the wrong moment. What a pain in the ass.

The light coming from the window was dimming rapidly, harrolding the oncoming night. As far as she could tell, there was nothing available in the room to start a fire with. Not that she actually wanted one. The very idea of an open flame made her sweat more. Whatever ventilation design they did have was enough to keep the room from turning into an oven, but it was hardly air conditioning. At least it had a semi-proper bathroom so she wouldn't have to squat in the woods or over a bucket anymore. Well…..it was a hole cut into a bench that dropped into a shaft that led….somewhere. Emma decided firmly against that potential escape route unless there truly were no other alternatives.

A knock on the door had her jerking to her feet, swaying slightly as the sudden blood rush. How long had she been writing? Several pages were now filled along with the sketch. While it'd helped organize some of her thoughts to get down what had happened over the last several days, it'd hardly made any progress in answering the many questions she had about why her skull had decided to try to split open from the inside.

She'd tried sketching the object Al Mualim had touched right before the pain had started, but she hadn't paid enough attention to it. Next time, though she desperately hoped there would not be a repeat of that agony.

Hours had gone by and no new piece of the puzzle had revealed itself. At least the headache was finally gone.

The door opened, bringing with it more light from the torches that lined the hallway. It was Jamal, carrying a small platter of what appeared to be food. He set it on the desk without a word or glance towards her open journal.

"Can you leave it unlocked this time?" She called to his retreated back. The door clicked shut firmly behind him, the distinctive thunk of a turned lock following a moment later.

Growling, she glanced down to see what this Master fed his prisoners. Salted beef and bread. Hardly a dinner of champions, but at least it wasn't jerky.

Sitting in silence and growing darkness with her dinner, Emma found herself in an ironic twist of fate. She was wishing for the one man who she'd previously wanted so desperately to get away from. Altair could be a royal ass, but at least he was a familiar ass. His silences weren't stressful or awkward, they just...were. There was nothing meant by them other than that he had nothing to say. Even his stony silence would make the quiet of this locked room better.

No, who she really wanted here that was actually in this time was Malik. He suffered her questions with an act of patience most of the time and tried his best to understand where she was coming from. But that was impossible. He was in Jerusalem doing his duty. Her only 'friendly' face here was the assassin she rode in with.

Fate must think herself a humorous bitch.

Jamal never returned for the plate. As the sky outside her stone walls gave way to darkness, Emma resigned herself to the fact she was not going to be talked to again today. Perhaps tomorrow she may get answers, or at the least be let out of the room. She itched to explore her new surroundings, discover what she could of this Master. But there was no way out and nothing to do once she lost the daylight. So she settled for crawling onto the straw-stuffed mattress that was hardly more comfortable than the ground. Despite the odd lumps under her back, she drifted off quickly.

A stiff hand latched onto her shoulder, jolting her harshly from sleep and blinding her with a bright flame. Blinking heavily from the opposite side of the bed she'd been on, it took Emma several moments to comprehend it was Jamal standing over her, a torch in hand. He did not so much as twitch at her abrupt awakening and movement. "The Master requires your presence."

Requires. Not requests, not wishes, not even commands, requires. An intentional wording, one that left her on edge. It was still full dark, indicating she hadn't slept for more than a few hours at most.

Running her fingers through her hair, Emma wearily stood and followed the taciturn assassin. What could the Master possibly require of her so damn early?

The answer was obvious, once her frazzled mind had calmed enough to think about it.

Information.

There wasn't some emergency that necessitated getting her up before dawn. This was a plot to catch her unprepared; she'd seen it used before, she knew how effective it was against the unaware. This was an interrogation tactic.

A part of her wished she knew which of these doors Altair might be behind, even if she knew he would be no actual help to her. Gritting her teeth, she tried to steal herself for whatever might be coming. Jamal led her back to the study she'd been at the day before, lit only by a few candles. Al Mualim sat behind his desk in the same robes as earlier. The golden orb rested in front of him. Emma eyed it warily as Jamal left her to the man's mercy.

"Please sit, my dear." He gestured to the chair in front of him. Emma did not want to sit, not so close to him or the orb, but there was a tightness to his voice, an unspoken threat that he was in charge and she best do as he bid. She sat slowly, stiffly, spine pressed against the back of the chair, hands braced on the arms, ready to push herself off and away. Her eyes couldn't help but be drawn back to the orb, tracing over the strange lines carved around it in a seemingly random fashion. It twisted her stomach to be so close to it. While she didn't particularly believe in auras or the supernatural, there was definitely something this thing was putting off, something that made her feel sick just being in its vicinity.

She hadn't believed in time travel either, though.

"I trust you rested well?" It was hardly an honest question. What was he trying to do with this? Establish a rapport? That wasn't going to work with her. Not only were her alarms still going off with him, getting louder with every word he said, but she knew all these tricks, had used them. But he didn't know that, which could only work in her favor. A small advantage, but one she was grateful for.

"I was." She replied flatly.

His eyes sharpened at the insinuated reproach. Emma cursed herself. She had to be careful, had to mind her tongue. Above all else, she needed the Master to be on her side. It would be a lot easier if he didn't make her skin crawl.

"I wished to speak with you about where you are from. Knowing that is the only way I might send you home." He laced his fingers together in front of him, leaning his forearms against the wooden desk. "Certainly not England, nor any land known to us."

"Why would you say that? Is England not the only place I could be from?" Emma asked, arching a brow. The part of her desperate to go home wanted to open up and tell him everything, but it was drowned out by the cop, by the suspicion and the pain the orb had caused.

"Is it? I think we both know it is not your place of origin. This would be smoother if you simply answer my questions. You do want to go home, do you not?" She did. Gods above, more than anything, she did.

"I'm…." She would never get there by holding back, "I'm from across the ocean."

Meeting his gaze evenly, she tried to show that this was no lie. Right here was the truth.

"Impossible. There is nothing across the ocean but the end of the world." It felt like a probe, like he didn't believe it himself but wanted to see what she might say.

"I think we both know much of this world has yet to be discovered." Was she giving away too much by revealing where she was from? People here still believed the world was flat, didn't they? Some believed Jerusalem was the center of it all. If she said too much otherwise, might they kill her for heresy? Malik was one thing, but this was the leader of the entire league of assassins. Then again, the assassins didn't follow a particular religion, right? Perhaps they were more open to facts that contradicted what was their common knowledge. Maybe. It felt like a thin line to walk.

"Across the ocean then. How might you have arrived here? If you came on a ship, surely you could leave on one." Damn it all, she wished she knew how much Malik had told him. Did he know it all and was just testing her? If he knew when she was from and she tried to lie, he might not help her at all.

"I am not entirely certain of the logistics of that. It….I did not come on a ship, and it was done quickly and without my consent." How could she explain a time travel machine that she didn't even understand herself? How could she describe what brought her here when the materials that built it didn't even exist yet? All at once her whole quest to find a way home felt like a lost cause, like a race of desperation where there was no finish line.

"Either be truthful with me, girl, or there is no purpose in you being here." Al Mualim growled, dropping his palms flat against the desk. They were close to the orb, too close. Emma flinched, expecting him to reach out and touch it, for pain to overtake her again. His fingers did not make contact with it.

She released a breath of relief, feeling something inside shift and snap from the stress of being constantly on edge in this place.

"You want truthful? Fine. I'm from the future, over eight hundred years in the future, from a city that doesn't yet exist in a country that doesn't exist. I was taken captive by some mad scientist who decided to test out a time travel machine on me and somehow it worked. It should have been impossible. We shouldn't have the technology for that even in my time. You want proof? Here. This is what shackles will become in the future." Slapping her handcuffs onto the table, she sat back with a deep, shaky breath. It was too much, too unbelievable. It was a horrendous dream that had gone on for too long to be anything but terrifyingly real. "Can. You. Send. Me. Home?"

Otherwise this was a wild goose chase, there was no point in her being here. If there was no way home….maybe….maybe there would be other options in what would become New York. Native tribes had their own beliefs and voodoo or magic. Maybe there would be something there. England might be the place to make a life, but she wouldn't, couldn't, think about that. There had to be a way home, even if it wasn't here.

"I believe…" he paused, and she held her breath, waiting for the blow. "It may be possible."

He eyed the cuffs in front of him, turning them over in his hands before setting them back before her. Emma couldn't believe her ears at first, thought she must have heard wrong. But hope swelled in her chest, beating in time with her heart. He could send her home. She could see her father, her brother, Eliot, her best friend, again.

"I will need more information from you, however. This is a complicated thing and I will need to know much, even that which you think is inconsequential." His fingers came close to the orb. Emma felt a flicker in her mind, a pressure. Then it was gone, forgotten by the overwhelming hope she hadn't been sure was actually possible to have.

"Of course, anything." Her eyes burned as she leaned forward, true relief flooding through her for the first time in months.

"What do you feel?" One hand was stroking his beard, a thoughtful pinch to his brows.

She blinked in confusion, wondering if she'd misheard. "What?"

"What do you feel?" He repeated, his free hand moving closer to the orb. Her eyes flashed to it, her sense raised a warning to run.

Too late. His hand grabbed onto the orb, fire tore through her skull like an exploding frag grenade. It pierced and hissed, digging through her mind and pushing out the other side, shredding whatever it could.

She could see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing but her mind going through a blender. It took everything she had to form what she thought were words. "Stop! Please, stop!"

"What do you feel?" His voice was calm, cool, she could barely make it out over the screaming in her head.

Could he not see what she felt? Could he not see the agony that she was in?

"Stop!" she begged again, trying to force herself away, trying to put distance between her and the damn orb, trying to block out the pain with her hands.

"What do you feel?" The voice was a roar that barely cut through the cursing and spitting of the voice that had no body.

"Pain! It hurts, gods it hurts, stop!" The pressure let up, the fire fading. The hissing remained for a moment longer to say again how she didn't belong before disappearing as well. Finally she was left with only the pounding aftermath that even the dim candlelight made worse. Her skin slick with sweat shuddered in the coolness of the castle, her chesting heaving in forced effort to breathe.

"What is that thing?" Her voice cracked, weak and rough.

"The only thing we possess that may be capable of sending you home. Fascinating that it reacts to you so." He wasn't looking at her, he was looking at the orb sitting back in its cradle on his desk.

Fascinating? Fascinating? She would hardly call that level of pain fascinating! What the fuck was wrong with this guy? And why did it attack her like that? It was far worse than being shot. If it could send her home, why didn't it just do it rather than spitting at her about how much she didn't belong here. She knew she didn't belong! That was why she was trying leave, damn it!

"What year, exactly, are you from?" Al Mualim asked, looking over the table at her prone form on the floor. Emma didn't try to get herself up, could barely stand to release the pressure of her hands on her forehead.

"I told you." She groaned, feeling bile burn her throat. The room spun around her while her thoughts slowed and muddle themselves. It hurt to think, it hurt to breathe.

"Eight hundred years from now or so. That would be 1991 then." His fingers crept back towards the orb.

Emma muttered a pitiful plea of denial. Please, please don't touch the thing again.

"No? Then speak up, girl."

"Two-thousand…..two-thousand…." Why couldn't she remember? She knew what damn year she was from, she hadn't been here that long. It was right there, why couldn't she get it out?

"Master." Another voice, a savior! Who was it? She knew the voice, knew who it belonged to, but couldn't recall his name. Who was it?

She forced herself to look, to uncurl far enough to see behind her and confirm what she knew. It was the assassin standing at the top of the stairs, frowning down at her.

"Altair." The Master's voice was hard as iron and grated against her ears. "You should know better."

His eyes left her to flash to the man in charge, his stance solid and unapologetic. "I came only to seek your permission to leave and carry out my next mission."

Al Mualim looked from his assassin to her before waving his hand lightly, leaning back in his chair. "Permission granted. First, escort our guest back to her room. I fear she has taken ill after such rigorous travel."

Altair nodded stiffly, his eyes lingering for a moment over the cloth covered orb. The assassin took her arm with a gentleness she didn't expect and pulled her to her feet. Her head spun, stomach flipping as vertigo stole every ounce of balance from her. He grunted in surprise as she fell against him, an arm coming around her waist in support.

She wasn't aware of the trek down the stairs, or even sure how he made it to her door with no help from her. She struggled to speak, to say anything, to beg him not to leave. Words wouldn't come, the air escaped her only in pants. He got her to her bed in the dark, turning to go.

Desperation made her will to move enough to overcome whatever the orb had done to her. Her hand lashed out, finding his vambrace and gripping with what little strength she had.

"Take me with you, please." Her voice wavered, strained. "Get me out of here."

He paused and regarded her, something flashing behind his eyes, gone before she could attempt to decipher what it was. He laid his hand on hers. "You are safest here. Al Mualim is your way home. I thought that was what you wanted?"

"It is but…" How could she explain that despite the hope he gave her, he also terrified her? That he set off every warning bell and had a magic orb that caused her more pain she'd ever felt in her life without ever touching her skin? How could she make him understand that even if the Master was her only way home, she still wanted to get as far away from him as possible?

"What we want most will require sacrifice to achieve. Stay strong. He will get you home." Hardly a comfort, but then the assassin was gone, the door closing securely behind him.

"Wait!" She lurched up with false energy that deserted her almost as quickly as it'd come. The room spun, stone bit her knees. She groaned, slow to pull herself up from the cold floor. Altair did not come back.

It was at least midday before she came to again, quietly and on her own this time. Somehow she'd gotten herself into bed, but she didn't remember how. A heavy headache still lingered, her body slick with sweat that chilled her despite the warmth already in the room.

Her stomach demanded she rise and find some sort of sustenance, she was starving. There was nothing on the desk to indicate Jamal had stopped by while she was out. Something she could at least be grateful for. Not much else could creep her out more than someone silently coming and going from her room while she was asleep and unaware.

She couldn't stand just sitting and waiting though. Waiting to be fed or waiting to be called upon like a chained dog, especially if all that awaited her was more sessions with that damned orb. If she had to break the door down with her bare hands, she would find a way.

Raising a fist, she paused, swaying slightly as she tried to decide if she should pound on the door or not. Altair was supposedly the last one through it. Was it possible…? She lowered her hand, trying the handle.

It twisted smoothly, the door opening a crack easily.

Her lips twitched up at the small victory. Whether he'd forgotten, done it on purpose, or simply hadn't known the door was supposed to be locked didn't matter. It was open and she was free. Kind of anyway.

Somehow, she was going to have to avoid any and all assassins while in the middle of their stronghold, otherwise she might risk her longer chain for a stiff escort back to the kennel. Slipping back to her pile of belongings, she grabby the ratty robe Malik had acquired for her so long ago and pulled it on, raising the hood over her hair. Certainly no one around here would think twice about a hood, even if the color of the robe itself was wrong.

Now she had two options. Attempt to explore the inner castle and hopefully get lucky enough to find the kitchen, or attempt an escape from the castle to the village below. Neither seemed promising in their probability of success, but it was better than nothing

Gripping the door again, she swung it open.

Everything came to a grinding halt at finding a woman on the other side where there had just been no one before, her hand raised to knock, a key dangling from the other. She looked just as surprised to see Emma as she was her. She looked an older woman, grey hairs spotted throughout dark locks that framed a copper-toned face that was no doubt once claimed as the most beautiful in the land. There was a sternness to it now, once the shock wore away, and it did so quickly. Much faster than it did for the cop. She barked something in Arabic, light grey robes swirling around her feet as she brushed past Emma to stalk into the room.

"I don't understand." Emma managed to spit out finally. Who the hell was this woman? And why was she looking at everything like she owned the place, with equal parts interest and distaste?

Come to notice, Emma realized, the woman was looking at her with equal parts interest and distaste.

"The Master said you are not English. He did say you are strange." The woman nodded once to herself about something Emma could only guess about. The language flowed off her tongue evenly, that if not for some odd verbiage and starting in Arabic, she might have assumed the woman was a native speaker.

She barked again in the twisting tongue Emma couldn't hope to comprehend. All she could do was stand there dumbfounded, wondering what the hell was going on and what this woman wanted with her.

Evidently the command was not for her, as several younger girls came filing into the room. The oldest of them other than the matron was probably close to Emma's age, the youngest still clearly a teenager.

"He did not say how filthy. Come, my girls will make you presentable." Emma eyed the woman as they practically surrounded her, urging her on and through the door. Their robes were soft blues, and as the fabric brushed against her skin, she realized it was softer than anything she'd felt here.

Was there something special about these women? She hadn't seen any here beyond the village. Wives of assassins maybe?

Oh.

Oh.

It really was the oldest profession.

"I'm...I'm not…" She planted her feet in the doorway of a room she didn't recognize but that hosted a large fire and a tank that was probably supposed to be a tub.

Al Mualim didn't expect her to join these women, did he?!

The matron tsked lightly, giving Emma a thorough look over before turning up her nose. "Of course not. I would not take a woman of your…..stature. The Brotherhood and I have high standards for my girls."

Now what in the hell was that supposed to mean? Emma wasn't sure if she should feel insulted or relieved. She kept herself in good shape damn it, but then, these girls were petite to the point of looking fragile and delicate. Emma was certain 'delicate' had never once been used to describe her.

Well, at least they didn't expect that of her.

That did beg the question of just why the Master had sent them to her. Surely not to help her bathe? She was filthy, yes, but she sure as hell did not need help with that, even more so from six.

Hands tugged on the brown robe she'd thrown over her clothes; she allowed them to take it after shedding it herself. It itched and rubbed painfully against her sunburns anyway. Wasn't as if she'd be able to go exploring with them surrounding her so might as well let it be hopefully cleaned. The hands returned, tugging on her tank top hesitantly, as if unsure the best method of removing it. Eyes flashing to the large basin of water, Emma recoiled from the women, finding an aggravating lack of someplace to get away from them. They had her effectively surrounded and the door had been shut while she'd been distracted.

"I can bathe myself, thanks." She stuttered out, momentarily overtaken by shock at these particular turn of events. Did they really think she needed an entire team just to get clean?

The matronly woman tsked again, hands grabbing her arms firmly. It took effort not to react immediately to escape the hold. These women were harmless, unarmed, there was no need to respond to them with police maneuvers. "Many hands make light the load. Come, the water cools quickly."

This woman was very much in charge and unused to her orders being questioned or ignored. Emma wondered if that power was just over the other women, or if it extended to some of the assassins as well.

"Ah, where I'm from, women wash themselves….alone." Emma tried again, batting away at the hands that hovered over her. It made her feel claustrophobic to be surrounded so, to be trapped with nowhere to go. She tried to chide herself at reacting so to these women who offered no real threat. Even her sixth sense was quiet about them. Still, she couldn't turn it off, couldn't talk herself out of the desire to deck one and make a run for it.

"You are not there. You are here. Now come girl and get undressed, you have nothing I haven't seen before." Evidently the reasoning, polite route wasn't going to work on this woman. She stepped back towards a short table the cop had otherwise ignored before. The things on it had seemed harmless, brushes, clips, a pair of pruning sheers that was probably their edition of scissors. It was those the matron picked up.

No how, no way in hell was she about to allow this woman to destroy the only sensible clothing that existed in this century.

"Alright, alright!" Emma conceded with her hands in front of her, fully prepared to ward off the crazy woman. Hands returned to her clothing which she was quick to shrug off. Some things she would not budge on. Letting these women strip her was one of those things. "I can undress myself."

The matron gave a single, stiff nod, then waited with an expectant brow.

'Choose your battles' Emma reminded herself. An all-female audience for cleaning herself up was one she could afford to take a loss on if it meant potential victory in another arena. It was hardly any different from changing in the department locker room, after all. Only, back home there was not such obviously open interest, as if she were some toad in a high school lab about to be dissected.

Pride kept her head up as she pulled the tank over her head. There was nothing she was ashamed about, after all. Her scars were badges of honor, marks of all that she'd survived on the force. The scar on her forearm from her first days here was just another to the pile, another story she got to walk away from. Bedding assassins for their living, no doubt these women had seen their fair share of scar tissue before, even if they did seem to show more interest in hers than she'd expected. Resigned to this fate, the rest came quickly before she stepped into the luke-warm water of the tub. She tensed as the women practically surged forward to take up scrubbing the grime from her skin and hair. As strange as the feeling was, it did feel good to have the mounds of sweat and dirt stripped away. Some sweet smelling concoction was massaged into her hair. It could have been heavenly had they left her to clean herself, but there was no denying that she began to feel more like herself than she had in a long time.

The towel to dry herself was like sandpaper against her sensitive skin, but at least they let her handle that one on her own. Her clothes were gone, along with the matron woman, but they gave her a soft blue robe like their own to slip on. It was blessedly soft and light.

Hopefully she'd still see her own clothes again.

"They won't...ah….mistake me for….being one of you?" She tried haltingly, gesturing down at the color that matched the other young ladies' and hoping she'd worded that delicately enough. Being mistaken for a Lady of the Night by an assassin who might not speak English was not a battle she needed to add to her plate.

The matron stepped back into the room with a raised brow, as if unable to quite believe she was so ignorant about their customs. "This is not the uniform of an available lady. They may speak to you, but they will not touch. Do not speak to them. Our duty is to be seen and not heard. Only answer a question if you are asked. You are not one of mine so I will not train you proper, but the Master has given me leave to deal with any indiscretions of behavior. He has not informed me what has given you a special place in Masyaf, but you are not to tell anyone what it is. Is that understood?"

"Understood." Emma stated, feeling as if she were back in the Academy, at the mercy of a man who's job it was to weed out those not cut out for police work. Wasn't as if she was going to go shouting from the rooftops that she was from the future anyway. That would only be a good way to secure more trouble for herself. She had plenty of that already. As much as it would push her self-control, it was probably wise to attempt to avoid talking to the other assassins as well. Too bad she didn't count on that one lasting very long.

"My girls will finish making you presentable." She nodded to the surrounding ladies before marching out of the room, shutting the door firmly behind her. Emma frowned. Presentable for what? The Master? He'd already put her on the ground in agony twice. She very much doubted he gave a single fuck what she looked like.

Emma blinked as a switch was flipped the moment that door was closed. Once demure and quiet, the women broke out into chatter in both languages and what Emma suspected might be Italian or something similar. They spoke so quickly and over each other that she could only catch every other random word. Pushing her towards a stool, she sat in somewhat stunned silence as something was said that had all women falling quiet and looking at her.

"What?" She asked, wincing as a comb began to work through her tangled hair.

"Is it true?" The youngest spoke up from beside her, eyes alight with wonder about...something.

"Is what true?" Emma hadn't a clue what the topic could even be on. Just what had these women heard in the short time she had been here? Gossip had spread quickly in Jerusalem, no doubt it spread faster in the home of the assassins.

The comb hit a particularly nasty knot. Emma reached up to relieve the girl of the duty herself, only to have both of her hands snatched by two women with files. Now there was a lost cause for sure.

"Is it true you were escorted here by Altair?" The one of her left clarified, pausing in her attempt to fix Emma's nails. Even the comb came to a stop in her hair, as if they were holding their breath waiting for her answer.

"Uh…." She couldn't see any harm in that particular tidbit of information, and if it could potentially win them to her favor...well, it couldn't hurt anything. "Yeah, he's the one who brought me here."

The silence was over the moment the words left her lips. The chatting continued, conspiratorial and excited all at once, as if this were something simply extraordinary. Almost as if...as if the man was some kind of celebrity around here or something. He'd certainly been arrogant like one, but the man at the gate had acted as if he hated him, and Malik had definitely called him a novice more than once. Maybe he was just popular with the ladies. After all, a handsome face was usually enough to drive even stern women to giggles and fantasies. Eliot had sure caused such plenty, much to the satisfaction of his bolstered ego. Even if Emma didn't like Altair half the time, there was no denying that he was an attractive man.

"You mean he picked you?" The women on her left asked in a tone that she wasn't sure how to take.

"Well he doesn't really visit us, so maybe this is what he likes?" The brunette on her right shrugged, frowning at Emma's broken thumb nail.

"I say no one dares come for her once it gets out."

"Except Abbas. They hate each other. He'll choose her for spite."

"Woah, woah, he did not pick me and I am not here for that! He was as unhappy about bringing me here as I was. We can't stand each other. He only brought me here because of...extreme circumstances." She probably revealed a little too much in that, probably should have let them go on believing she was here just for him. Too late now. She'd opened the door and the interrogation could really start now.

"Did you not hear our Lady? She is not going to be trained to join us." The copper-skinned woman closest to Emma's age stated flatly, an annoyed but affectionate expression coloring her face. If the matron was their boss, this woman was the one who took care of the girls younger than her.

"You….do not enjoy him?" The youngest at her shoulder tilted her head in confusion and surprise.

Emma blinked. That was what they were interested in? That she claimed to not be infatuated with the resident beefcake and not the reason she'd been brought to Masyaf and the Master of Assassins? Well….she wouldn't look this gift horse in the mouth, she supposed. "No, I do not like him. He's an ass."

"Ass?" Right, mind the cursing in front of the common people. Didn't need to add 'origin of fuck' to her resume.

"Donkey's rear end." They almost seemed scandalized. Clearly none of them had spent any real time around the man. Or maybe standards here were that low. Hopefully he wasn't actually the best this century had to offer.

"But he is so strong." It had to be the second youngest sighing dreamily now, her hair bordering on dirty blonde. Possibly English then?

"And skilled with a blade." Another winked with a giggle.

"When he does speak, his voice like…" The youngest struggled to find the right words for whatever it was his voice did to her. Emma barely resisted rolling her eyes. Teenagers didn't change at least.

"Steel against steel?" She offered. Behind her, one of the ladies working on her hair snorted. Ah finally, there was another woman with sense in here.

"You really don't like him do you?" The sensible one asked, amusement thick in her tone. The youngest looked up at her with what might be jealously. Perhaps the speaker was who Altair visited in his spare time. "Most of what we know of him is what the other men say of him."

"It was a long road here." Emma supplied as way of answer.

"The others are mostly jealous, as they should be. Youngest man ever to reach the rank of Master Assassin. His skills are unmatched!" Oh yeah, the girls still in their teen years definitely idolized him; he was their version of a boyband evidently.

Unmatched huh? She wondered how they would react if she told them she got a handcuff on him before he'd been able to stop her. Granted she caught him off guard, but if he was really so good, he shouldn't have an off-guard. Even Malik had said as such. Besides, he'd had to have done something horrendously wrong to go from master to a novice.

Emma tipped her head slightly in thought. He and Malik had a lot of bad blood, a missing limb, and a dead brother. Maybe….maybe whatever had happened to lead to all that was the reason behind his demotion. That would be enough for such a fall.

"First time we met, he held a knife to my throat and I held one to his ...business." She gestured below the belt, taking some satisfaction to the gasps she drew. "Our relationship has hardly improved since then."

That wasn't totally true. She couldn't say that she really hated him. Not anymore at least. There were times she certainly disliked him, but they had reached some kind of understanding on the road here. He did get her here in one piece, after all, despite everything. And he wasn't as emotionless as he tried to let on; she'd seen the rage in his eyes over the village, the sorrow that he'd been able to do nothing to help them. In some things, they weren't so different from each other.

Still, he did leave her here at the mercy of his Master who wielded a supernatural orb.

He wasn't all bad, but she certainly didn't have to like him.

"Are you hungry?" The eldest asked, Emma blinked out of her thoughts, realizing that her hair and hands had finally been released.

"Starving." She admitted openly. Really, she was surprised her stomach had yet to imitate the sound of a whale, but it was only a matter of time before it would.

The other woman smiled softly, pulling Emma up from the stool and looping an arm through hers. It was familiar; it punched her in the gut like a freight train. She used to walk like this with her best friend when they would hit the town together. Arm in arm, swapping amusing stories and catching up from the last time they'd spoken, teasing each other about men and causing trouble.

"Come then, the kitchen is always open to us." She had a soft face, open and friendly. Her hair was almost black, so far from the red that Emma missed so much. Shaking her head, she tried to force back the emotion, withdrawing her arm from the woman but following obediently through the door. The woman let her go, staying at her side but not reaching for her again.

Not for the first time, Emma wondered if there really was any chance of seeing her best friend again.


Present Day

"Are you insane?"

"Depends on the day."

"You're as bad as your sister, you know that?" Eliot shook his head, pushing the empty glass away. Within a minute, it was replaced with another beer by the cute bartender who flashed a smile every time she passed by.

"We need to know if Em told her anything. She's her best friend and we know they met up the week before she disappeared." Matt spun his glass between his fingers, still half full and quickly reaching room temperature. The bar probably wasn't the most secure place to be talking, but they'd both needed a drink and frankly he didn't trust that Abstergo or the Assassins didn't have his house bugged.

"You really think Catherine might know something but hasn't said anything after all this time?" Eliot raised his brows with a slight shake of his head. "I talked to her when Em first disappeared. Said she had some crazy idea for getting evidence but didn't give any details or why. We have the why, we have her files."

"We have the files, yes, but we still have no idea how she got the information on there that she does. The Assassins don't even know. Maybe Cat does, maybe Em let something slip about it." On reflex, Matt scanned the room, checking who had moved, who had left and come in.

Eliot still couldn't believe that the grand conspiracy of Abstergo being some big bad wolf was actually true, and that there was a secret organization of assassins fighting them. While he could believe Emma of all people would get mixed up in it and that Matt and David would take a flying leap into it after her, he didn't want anyone else to get involved. "We can't lead either side to her, they might think she knows something too. Emma would kill both of us for getting her friend involved in this mess."

"So we be discrete about the visit. We'll make sure she stays safe."

Emma's partner raised his brows. "Can we really? We've never dealt with shit like this before, we don't even know if we can keep ourselves out of trouble. We're already being followed."

Matt snorted. "So you noticed the tail we've grown. Too bad we can't tell which side they're on."

"I'm willing to bet both." Eliot sighed, knowing that said tail was probably still outside the bar. They were good in that they never came that close to see a face, changed vehicles somewhat regularly. If he wasn't used to checking his mirrors and Matt didn't have some sort of sixth sense, they might have gone unnoticed.

"Well," Matt slapped his shoulder, "guess that means we should step outside and have a chat with our little followers."

Eliot lifted his eyes to the ceiling, letting out a long breath before knocking back his beer in one go. Dropping cash to cover his drinks and a tip, he stood with Matt. "You are insane. How David survived raising both of you, I'll never know."

Matt grinned toothily, "Oh he's as crazy as we are, he's just better at hiding it."

"I knew it would be a Harp that would be the death of me."

Matt laughed and Eliot was glad that this man was on his side, for that sound was from a soldier at war, from a man who was at home fighting for his life. A part of him might have felt sorry for the poor sap who was about to meet this man, but this sap, no matter which side he was on, was why Emma was gone. His lips stretched in a feral grin, a chuckle pulled from his chest.

It was always a good feeling, to be the hunter.


Captain: Ah keep your head up, Emma! Things might improve! Maybe...possibly...we'll see ;). Matt, Matt, Matt, Matty, gonna poke the bear there a bit are we? Well, seems to be a family trait anyway mwahaha. Until next time, please drop a review to let me know if you're still out there and what you'd love to see in the future!