Captain: Le gasp! What is this?! An update without months going by?! Whaaaaaaaaat? Hehe I told ya last time my muse came in like a train. Was great, I love getting to write a bunch without having to remind myself what's already happened haha. That being said, this chapter became stupidly long. I had to change where it would end like four times because it was getting ridiculous. But I didn't feel like there was anything I could cut without the story suffering, so a lot that was supposed to happen in this chapter got pushed to next, but no worries, you'll get a nice Altair fix here and the longest chap yet ;)

Be aware that there are *two* Modern day scenes in this chapter. I didn't want to split them between chapters since they happen at basically the same time and I need both of them to set up the theme for the next chapter. One is at the start and the other at the end of this chap to keep from being confusing. Fingers crossed my muse keeps firing on all cylinders! Enjoy the latest installment of Firewall!


Present Day

"I want that boy dead. I do not care how, just get it done." Otto snarled, hands clenching to crumple the printed report that explained the cause for the utter failure of his security team to catch the Assassin last night. One of them had broken into his building, had stolen his files, and had left behind a catastrophic failure in his computers that made it currently impossible to know just what those damn Assassins now had their hands on.

Why had it been allowed to happen? Because every available stable field agent had been assigned to dig into potential Assassin allies and conspirators, watch them for suspicious activity and meetings. And why had their list of civilian targets suddenly grown so much? Because the one-legged Harp had decided that he needed to have a personal reunion with seemingly every person he'd ever come into contact with in his life. In a single week he'd met with almost seventy previously unaffiliated people. Otto's security, naturally, had assumed that something big must be going down for such an increase in activity and determined to find out what it was as quickly as possible using every agent at their immediate disposal.

And so nicely left the building unprotected.

"But Sir, we don't have anyone to send after him. With two gone to Italy, the rest are tied up with investigating Harp's contacts." Marcus informed warily, mindful to keep a respectable distance between himself and the Grand Master.

"You fool!" Otto snapped harshly, tossing the report aside in disgust. "Do you not recognize a snipe hunt when you've so clearly been sent on one? Pull my men back and forget about those people."

He turned away, paused, turned back, a thoughtful tilt to his head. "Leave him for now. Pick one of his decoys and send a Hunter after them. Make sure it does not look like an accident."

Marcus felt his palms sweat and clenched his hands behind his back to keep from fidgeting. "You want an investigation, sir?"

Otto narrowed his eyes, "I want to show that boy what happens when he messes with the Order."


September 1191, Masyaf

After being 'retired' to her room and provided another meal of porridge, Emma had only enough time to choke down half of the bowl before Ishana and Phoebe were retrieving her for a bath. A flash of concern whipped across the older woman's face, her hand going of its own accord up to her ear, pausing just before touching her and dropping back to her side.

The bathing room was surprisingly busy given the standard bathing practices of the time. Even the courtesans, who bathed more for their customers than for hygiene were not on a daily schedule, particularly with the difficulty of drawing up and heating the water. Today it seemed that everyone was doing some sort of cleaning and the chatter was certainly more excited than it had been since Emma's arrival.

Narrowing her eyes, she tried to concentrate on just one thing, one detail to drown out the rest as the noise raged against her skull. Stumbling against a muted grey tub, she frowned as the whole room quieted.

Since when were the polished tubs grey? Glancing up, she came to a jarring halt as every woman around her glowed a white-washed blue. Not the true blue of a trustworthy ally, nor the preening white of holding critical information. An in-between that she'd never seen before.

The breath whooshed out of her, true relief flooding every stitch of muscle and nerve as she looked around. The migraine was gone, erased like a bad memory that had no hold of her now. The conversation continued on easily around her, hardly any even noticed she was there, the sound muted by the Sense.

There was no pain using it, no growing pressure that demanded she let it go. She'd never been able to hold it for this long before, never felt actual relief at using it, as if something had snapped back into place that had been severely misaligned all this time.

With a sigh, she took a step forward, guided by Ishana who led her to an open tub. As she moved, the Sense melted away. It wasn't immediate like normal; it simply faded back into the full color spectrum, sound returning at a steady rise. As the vision left completely, the headache stayed banished. No residual from the Master's orb, no payment for using the Sense.

It was shocking and unexplainable but Emma could not be happier with this turn. It was something to give her hope, something that said it wasn't the whole universe against her.

As she stripped the blood splattered blue robe and took her place in the tub, she wondered at the damage that had been done. There was little to nothing that could be done about internal injuries in this century. The blood in her mouth, at least, was the result of a gouge in her cheek from her jaw clamping shut against the pain. Her ears worried her, but as there was nothing to be done, she resolved not to focus on it. She could use the Sense and it helped her recover from the orb. That would be good enough for now.

"Has something happened?" She asked as she scrubbed the sweat from her skin while Ishana worked some minty-smelling concoction into her hair. It was not the usual hair wash Emma was given to use. This stuff was usually reserved for the ladies when they were preparing to work later. Expensive and certainly not intended to be wasted on the likes of her. Now that her other senses were cleared, she noted the heavy scents mixing in the bathing room. Every woman seemed intent to use her favorite and strongest-smelling mix for her skin and hair. Fruit and flowers were certainly popular. Emma was grateful Ishana had the sense to go with the calming and muted mint. She didn't feel much like smelling of a perfume shop, no matter what the mystery occasion was.

Ishana chuckled lightly, her voice soft and calm among a sea of excitement. "Altair has returned to the castle."

A flash of hope tried to spark to life. The cop attempted to squash it down before it could grow too much. He was hardly any more of an ally than any other assassin here. Hell, with his need for redemption he was just as likely to help her against orders as Jamal. Maybe, maybe if she could get him alone she might be able to plant a seed for him to consider, but….even if pigs flew and he did agree to help, what even could he do? A single man going against the leader of the Brotherhood, in the middle of a castle which only had one way in or out? Stomach twisting, she knew there really was nothing Altair could or would do to help her get out of here and away from his master. And then what? Malik couldn't help her any more than the assassin could. Attempt to make for Acre and then on to England? She couldn't stop the stilted sigh from escaping as she realized for the hundredth time just how hopeless her situation here was.

Raising an expectant brow towards Ishana to prevent any inquiries into her delayed reaction, she waited for clarification as to the relevance of Altair's return to the activity here. The dark-haired woman offered nothing more. "And? Certainly this is not all just for him?"

"Ah, but with his return and successes, he has been restored to the rank of Master Assassin." Ishana informed, tipping Emma's head back to rinse the lather from her hair.

It made sense, in a way. With the restoration of his rank, he once again had access to whichever lady he preferred. A….privilege he had been without for a few months. No doubt the ladies here were hopeful he would be eager to rectify such a lapse and willing to try something, or someone, new.

"He's really that popular?" Emma really couldn't wrap her mind around it. Sure he was handsome and the scar across his lip only added to the appeal, but he was still just one guy, famous only for being good at his job. It wasn't even like he was an entertainer like proper boy-band material.

Then again, she vaguely recalled one of Eliot's 'fun facts' about Roman gladiators being so popular fans bought vials of their sweat. Still, this many women hoping he'd choose them to blow off some steam? It was ridiculous.

Ishana laughed lightly with a slight shake of her head. "It is the fact that he does not visit us often, or vary in who he chooses, or reveal any real part of himself. It is his mystery that draws them to….this."

Ah, it was the excitement of the unknown, the fact that he was so 'hard to get' that made them practically ravenous. If he'd just opened up a little, or even made the rounds of the girls, they'd probably forget all about it, treat him just as they did every other man around here. It was the not being able to have him that caused this.

Still, Emma laughed, dunking her head completely before standing and accepting the towel to dry herself with. The young age of the women certainly wasn't helping, but there was no denying the humor in it. There really was nothing special about him; an exceptionally sized ego, very little patience for anyone who wasn't falling over themselves to fawn over him, reckless on a horse, annoyingly persistent, ferociously protective over those he considered under his protection, and stubbornly set to whatever mission assigned to him.

Pursing her lips, she chose to focus on the odd outfit that Ishana was offering to her over the fact some of those latter descriptions had been used against her once upon a time. It was a dress that she was holding out, a lovely red color that was only slightly more modest than the pink outfits they wore when working. It would cover her midriff at least, though the neckline was dangerously low.

Emma raised her brows at it, wondering why she was being suddenly gifted something else to wear.

Raising her hands up, she shook her head in denial. "Oh no, he's not coming for me while he's here. I already told you, we can't stand each other."

Not the exact truth but they didn't need that at the moment. What mattered was that she definitely did not need a sexy silken red dress to 'welcome' him in any way. Might not be terrible for drawing his attention in the hopes of being able to talk to him, but she didn't need him or anyone else getting the wrong idea.

Chewing her bottom lip, that traitorous blossom of hope couldn't help but attempt to open again. If he really had been raised back to his former rank, then perhaps it meant he had more pull over the other assassins here; could make his ability to help her in some way greater. Then again, if he'd just gotten back what he'd lost months ago, he'd most likely be loath to do anything to put it into jeopardy.

Ishana shook her head once, pressing the red garment into her hands. The silk was unbelievably soft and had to be expensive to obtain in this era. "The Master bids that you wear this for the remainder of the day."

A jolt of cold fear snaked down her spine before she could even attempt to rationalize the possible meanings of such an order. It was a different style and color than the working girls so it couldn't be…that. Did it coincide with Altair's return intentionally or not? At the least she figured it had to do something with the short session with the master this morning and his determination that his orb would kill her when next he used it.

Such lovely material in deep bloody red suddenly felt like the attire of a sacrifice more than a prisoner or guest.

There was hardly a choice, much as there hadn't been since she'd arrived in this damned century. Unless she was willing to traipse down the halls buckass naked to her room, the only other option was the blood-stained robe she'd come in with. Glancing at the floor proved that option was already swept away with the rest of the laundry.

She wanted-no needed-out of here. Even if she had not yet been able to come up with a plausible plan, her best chance would rely on Al Mualim believing she would be obedient.

The dress was heavenly soft against her skin. Why in the hell had the master given this to her? To show Altair that she was being 'taken care of'? Pursing her lips, she wondered if there would even be an opportunity to speak with the assassin in private or if some circumstance might keep him away for his entire stay. Given how little he stayed when he dropped her off despite his injury, she doubted he would be in for very long. Was there more work he had to do to finish his redemption? Or would he be given leave to rest for a time?

Somehow she doubted 'vacation' was even in his vocabulary. He seemed as likely to take a day off for himself as she had once been.

Once the dress was draped correctly, Ishana led her to sit while she claimed a brush. While most of the women already working on each other's hair twisted and pinned into intricate styles, Ishana left her blonde locks down. It was a strange feeling to not have it pulled back and she couldn't help but purse her lips as she recognized the beacon that it would be. It might catch Altair's attention, but it was just as likely to catch someone else's as well. Once finished with her task, the copper-skinned woman led her from the bathing room and down through a hallway they'd yet to traipse before. Emma watched the woman carefully, noting the way she dipped her head and kept her eyes low the moment another woman appeared. The other was clearly a local, wearing a dress of similar fashion to Emma's, though in a deep blue that would not stand out nearly so much as red. Emma felt a flash of envy for the color. The woman held her head high, looking down her nose at Ishana before dismissing her with a sharp tilt of her head. Ishana dropped a brief curtsy before turning her back on Emma and returning the way she'd come.

The cop frowned as she looked between the two women. This local gal was unfamiliar, which meant she wasn't in the castle for pleasuring the assassins.

Whatever she'd been told of Emma didn't appear to put her in the woman's favor, as she kept her nose pointedly in the air.

"Al Mualim ordered you to spend the day with us." She sniffed, as if something vulgar touched her nose.

Emma found it humorously ironic that whoever this woman was who thought herself so superior to the others had a much heavier accent and a lesser grasp of the language than any of the girls she'd met thus far.

"Who is us?" Emma asked, following a step behind the woman as she swept her way down the hall.

"We keep this castle. Some of us are assassin wives." She answered curtly, hands smoothing out the dress that Emma now noticed was definitely not silk.

Around a corner revealed a fair sized group of women in similarly modest dresses. She dimly recognized one from the kitchens. Cooks, seamstresses, launderers, everything the men did not do for themselves, the women here took care of. Emma regarded them uneasily. Other than cooking, the whores did all the rest for themselves. Given the air of superiority here, that was intentional. These two groups of women did not intermingle. Her being among them had to be a stain on that record, if only for her association with the others.

Almost as one they turned and began a leisurely stroll through the castle, Emma uncomfortably shepherded into the middle. It was the polar opposite of the company she'd been keeping. Here conversation was stilted and filled with false laughter. Ages varied more dramatically, with a number closer to her own age. All of them were beautiful, but Emma felt a dangerous edge to that beauty that was lacking in the entertainers.

The oldest women led the way, a slight ease in their body language that stated they had little ulterior motives to be working at the moment. Or were more accustomed to hiding it.

As Emma studied those around her and the reactions gathered by those they passed, including the first sign of assassins other than the master or Jamal that Emma had seen since her arrival, she realized what the difference was. The most relaxed in the herd were those already married; wives of assassins, secured in their place in the castle and in this private society. The rest were unmarried, jockeying for the best available positions and laughing just a little too loud in order to be noticed by whichever man they thought would make the best match.

Little of what was said was spoken in English and she had a feeling it was intentional. They did not try to draw her into their conversations and she did not offer any words in turn. Ironic, she mused, that the ladies they looked down upon would have been the best source of information for discovering how to catch their chosen man's attention. Occasionally she caught a name she recognized and had to hold back a bemused smile. Even she knew some of the things those men liked after overhearing it so many times. Altair, of course, was the hottest topic among the unwed and she had to cover a snort with a cough when she heard his name. Certainly a vulture more interested in securing an advantage for herself would hold little interest for him. Despite his previous disgrace, it seemed he still held the most prestige in the castle, second only to the Master himself.

Attempting to keep in the middle of the cluster did little to keep the eyes from falling on her. Her height and blonde hair were spotlights enough on their own and the red dress did not help in the slightest. Even the brighter colors around her were muted yellows and oranges, deep blue or indigo, a light lavender and pale pink that might have been red in another life. Literally any other color would have helped her blend even a little. She doubted it was unintentional.

Al Mualim did not do anything by accident, which made her question why he was practically parading her about with women she'd never seen before.

The sun as they stepped out through the main door was hot and heavy, immediately causing the silk to stick in a less than pleasant manner. Their sandals clicked against the stone, drawing any eyes that were not already drawn by the low din of conversation and pearly, hollow laughter.

The women spoke and moved in well-practiced formation, as if this were something they did every day. Various assassins made comments as they passed. Assassins of some standing received a comment back or batting of lashes in their direction. Others received no such response. None of them could draw a single woman from the herd. Apparently there was an importance in being interested but not appearing too interested.

The training master's voice rang sharp as he scolded his students for getting distracted. Emma couldn't help but think of sheep led before wolves as curious eyes held onto her for longer than the others. She was a new face to most of them and the last time she'd been out in this courtyard was the afternoon Altair had brought her in, her features covered by the ratty brown robe.

They walked a leisurely lap, pausing for an extended time outside the practice ring where established assassins were sparring with various weapons. A few were even going hand-to-hand. Most of them were shirtless, their eyes unwavering from their opponent even with such a distraction close by. The women were not quiet to each other in their appreciation of the show. For all the look that the men were not paying any attention, Emma couldn't help but notice a little added ferociousness to the boughts, an extra tautness to the muscles as they flexed. A smirk pulled at her lips. Even assassins were still affected by the desire to show off in front of a pretty face.

A tick at the back of her mind had her glancing over her shoulder. There were eyes on her that weren't particularly friendly. Her gaze traveled up, finding the large window that overlooked the entire yard. Behind that twisted iron was Al Mualim's study and no doubt the man himself. A flash of white behind the thick glass caught her attention. Altair, maybe? She frowned, hoping this wouldn't be the most she might see of him before he left again.

She needed to find him, which meant getting away from this cluster of scheming women and not being caught by anyone else. Easier said than done in literally any other color than red.

This courtyard was a lost cause. Any attempt would just reveal her intentions. Whenever they went back into the castle, that was when she had to slip away. No matter how tempting the open gate was with the single assassin leaning in the entryway.

Casting a coy glance over her shoulder, she looked at the gate again. The lone man there was making no attempt to hide the fact that he was staring at her. With his hood up there was no telling who it was for sure, but his gaze made her skin crawl. She remembered the hateful look of Abbas when she arrived at Altair's side, a fact he probably wouldn't soon forget. It could be her imagination, or it could be him. Whichever it was, she was suddenly grateful to be in the dead center of the cluster.

Despite how it looked with her mixed with the ladies of the castle for the rest of the day, Emma felt more the outcast than she had with the working girls. A few words were thrown her way but otherwise there was no real attempt to draw her in. She was to look a part of them, but they had no interest in actually making her a part of them. It didn't make it any easier to actually get away from them, however. Whatever orders they had been given, it evidently included never leaving her alone. Not even when she excused herself for the bathroom, or attempted to fall back and walk away. At least one of them would corral her, linking an arm with her as if they were best friends until the moment she was back in the fold.

Clearly it was to keep her from Altair, or keep him from her; show off that she was having a grand time with the women of the castle. Show him that she was well taken care of, fitting in, settling into life here; show him a big fat lie.

Perhaps the Master did not trust him as well as she thought.

The blossom of hope that refused to die curled open, throwing sparks. A smile pulled on her lips. All she had to do was find a way to talk to the man in private.

Right.

First she had to escape the harpies, who seemed to be paying her more attention now that they were back in the castle, particularly whenever a white-robed assassin walked into view.

She snorted to herself, ignoring the disgusted looks it drew her. Honestly, they could be a little less obvious about their hopes of catching Altair's attention.

Whether he was actively attempting to avoid them or was just lucky, the man stayed well out of sight, much to the frustration of her forced company. With fake smiles and promises to see her on the morrow, Emma feigned exhaustion to return to her room once late evening fell. Cursing silently to herself as the ladies escorted her all the way back to her door until it was securely shut, she knew they would be awaiting her the moment the sun rose, until the moment Altair left the city.

The hours she waited until the castle quieted seemed to stretch on for an eternity. Running her fingers over the red silk, she pondered changing back into the blue robes her single drawer was filled with. Blue would not stand out, blue was easy to overlook.

Brows pinched, she wasn't sure which would help her in her mission. Blue was probably the safer option for running into anyone else, but he'd seen her in red, he might be looking for red. If he was looking. If he'd even taken note of her when he'd looked out the Master's window. If that had even been him.

So many damn if's.

Blowing out a frustrated breath, she left the red on while packing her things into the bag she'd brought with her. Couldn't hurt to be prepared if he actually would be willing to help her. Last time they'd left somewhere together, the window of opportunity had been very small.

Finally, it was well past full dark. There was always the chance that Altair would have already gone to bed, that she'd have to wait until dawn to go looking for him, but she couldn't not try tonight. Sending up a quick prayer to whoever might be listening, she hoped her search would not be in vain.

Taking a deep breath, she left the room and entered the darkened hallways. A few torches crackled merrily, creating more shadows than they banished. Pausing, she closed her eyes, focused on an image of Altair. She thought about everything she knew about him, his height, his build, the bullet wound in his shoulder, the ruffled dark hair he kept hidden by the hood, burning amber eyes that rarely showed the man beneath, the scar raked over his lips. She pulled all her memories of his voice, his demeanor, the way he walked, even the mixed emotions that he called out in her. Releasing the breath slowly, she called the Sense to the surface, feeding it the man in her mind, marking him as the goal, as the target. A shift in the Sense and her lip twitched up. It wouldn't matter if he had his hood up or his back to her now, he would glow like a lighthouse the moment he made her line of sight.

Opening her eyes, she picked a direction and started down the hall. It would probably only be sheer dumb luck if she did manage to find him, but it couldn't hurt to give luck a chance.

The halls were empty, the rooms equally so. Every robed assassin she came across, a quick calling of the Sense revealed it was not the one she was after. Most of them ignored her, a few cast a comment at her that she couldn't understand. She pretended not to hear them and kept on her way.

Feeling that little blossom of hope start to curdle in her chest as the night got later with no sign of her target, she decided the last place she could check would be the training yard. A last ditch effort. Stepping out onto the terrace, she glanced down at the rings where a single body was moving through a series of moves in rapid succession. A few other men loitered about, probably on post or something. Little light from the torches reached the ring and the full moon did little to reveal a face that was turned away from her.

Focusing and bringing back to mind the details of the one she was after, the figure in the ring blazed in gold. Altair had his robes and shirt draped over the fence of the ring, sparring an invisible foe with a ferocity she had yet to see in action. Moonlight glistened off the sweat coating his exposed chest as he spun into a strike, revealing in sharp definition the planes of his muscles. The Sense faded but she continued to watch him, leaning against the rail, her head tipped slightly. He seemed oblivious to everything around him, stuck in his own world, fighting his own enemies. Pale light glinted coldly off steel as he whipped a dagger around his body. Only his vambraces remained in place, catching the blade as he slid it across the leather to carve into the ribs of an invisible enemy. The weapon sliced through the air as if it were an extension of his arm. The longer she watched, the more her eyes pulled from his strikes and footwork to the way he moved seamlessly through each exercise; to the way his muscles flexed with each lunge. He twisted around the ring in practiced ease, his chest rising sharply with every breath. It was a dance that she doubted any would be able to withstand. He made the men she'd seen sparring earlier look like beginners; clumsy and awkward. The blade was a part of him, deadly and graceful.

"So this is Altair's pet." Emma jolted sharply, turning away from the assassin's practice to face the voice behind her. His hood was down, the torches casting sharp shadows across his unfamiliar face. He stepped towards her out of the dark of the doorway, quickly invading her space, backing her against the rail.

"Excuse me?" She asked, eyes flashing behind him for some kind of escape. There was none.

His hand reached up, twisted a lock of her hair tightly around his finger. "I do not see what draws him to you."

Emma stiffened as he leaned into her, his hot breath fanning over her exposed neck. "And yet he has not made claim to you. Perhaps I shall. Perhaps I will claim you and make you mine."

Hands balling into fists, Emma threw as much force as she could into a punch to his gut. While she couldn't move into the swing, it was enough to send him back a pace, hunched over as his diaphragm struggled to regain its normal rhythm.

"I am not property." She snarled.

He launched at her in a fury, hands wrapping tightly around her wrists and twisting her arms behind her back, pinning them to the stone rail. She whimpered as the hold put intense strain on her shoulders. Struggling just might dislocate them.

His voice rolled dangerously as he glared down at her, his body crushing against her. "You are a broodmare to be bought and broken in. I will not claim you. I will break your spirit and your body. And when I have tired of you, I will cast you to the gardens to be used by the rest of the Brotherhood."

Fear spiked ice cold down even as anger raged hot in her belly. The plain hatred in his look told that he spoke the truth. He would do what he said, if she was left here to his mercy.

"Release her, Abbas." Altair's voice growled low from behind the assassin.

Abbas released her wrists to turn and face his rival, but did not back away.

"Come to rescue your pet, Altair? You should take better care of your things." Emma ground her teeth as Abbas fisted his hand into her hair, dragging her tightly against him. "Or you might lose them."

Maybe it was because of the meekness of most women in this century, maybe he thought her strike had been a one off, that he'd cowed her with his threat. Perhaps he even thought that with the other assassin there she would leave defending herself to someone else.

Whatever it was, as he used his grip in her hair to force her head back and uncomfortably slam his mouth over hers, he left himself unguarded.

Catching his bottom lip in her teeth, she bit down hard, ramming a knee up to his groin as his head reared back in pain.

"Whore!" His hand raised to strike, the other still holding her firmly in place by her hair. She flinched, bracing for the blow she couldn't dodge.

It never came. The very air froze as Altair's voice seethed closer. "I said release her. I will not ask again."

Peaking her eyes open, Emma found Abbas' hand still in the air, motion halted by the bare steel against his throat. Altair's dagger did not waver.

Abbas snarled wordlessly in reply, shoving her roughly away from him. "Take your wench then. I would hardly want to sully myself further."

The force of his push and the dress tangling her legs sent her crashing into Altair's chest. His left arm caught her about the waist to steady her, his right keeping the blade up for a moment longer before dropping to his side.

Abbas scowled and twisted back the way he had come, disappearing into the dark. His thunderous expression made clear that this would not be the end of it if he found her alone again.

Emma released a shaky breath as he left, hating how utterly helpless she was here. Oh she might have escaped the man on her own, but there was no protection of law here. No one would twitch if he came for her again; no doubt they would believe him justified in beating her if he did so.

"Are you alright?" Altair rumbled as he looked down at her.

Emma blinked before nodding slowly, feeling the question vibrate his chest. He was still shirtless, skin slick with sweat. Taking a cautious step back, his arm fell easily from her waist. She was dimly aware her body was trembling from the adrenaline still coursing her veins.

"Believe it or not, I heard worse in my own time." She released a humorless chuckle, rubbing the back of her head where Abbas had yanked more than a few hairs free. Yes, she'd heard much worse and more...descriptive when walking the beat in New York, but never had it been a threat the man would get away with enacting. It shook her more than she cared to admit.

Altair frowned down at her. "I understand that you are from a time very different than this one, but you do not help yourself by acting as though you are still there. If you wish to survive here, you must conform to our ways."

Emma's brows pinched down at him in turn. "I don't think conforming is going to help me at this point."

Either Abbas would have his way, forcing her to be his bride or join the whores to get at Altair, or Al Mualim would use the orb and it would kill her.

Altair tipped his head marginally. "Did something happen?"

She opened her mouth, promptly snapping it shut and looking around. She couldn't see anyone in immediate earshot, but that didn't mean they weren't there. "Is there somewhere we can talk and not be overheard?"

He blinked once, twice, in apparent confusion before slowly nodding.

"Wait here." It was hardly an appealing command to follow, but Emma kept her feet rooted to the ground as Altair turned and descended the stairs back towards the training ring. He was back in less than a minute, robes slung over his shoulder and blades in their sheaths hanging from his loose grip. Tipping his head in a silent command to follow, she fell silently into step beside him.

As the adrenaline faded, Emma knew she should be worried about the new enemy she had made, should be concerned about how quickly he could make things turn for the worse for her here. Altair may well disregard every word she said, could refuse to listen to her speak ill of his master. He could decide that he was done with her and that she deserved whatever came her way. Should, but all she felt was relief that he was there next to her, that there was finally a chance.

He led her down a corridor she swore Ishana had stated was for the assassin's, but could see nothing truly identifying in the sharp shadows. Seemingly picking a door at random, he swung it open and stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter first.

Emma eyed him as she passed, wondering where this newfound….whatever it was had come from. The whispers of the castle were that he'd done two jobs while away and she couldn't help but ponder if something had happened to make him so….different. Calmer almost, or...no that wasn't quite right, but there was something different.

Stepping in after her, he closed the door securely. Tossing his robes carelessly onto the bed pressed against one wall, he dropped his weapons onto a desk before tossing a log onto the dying fire. Sparks flew to briefly banish the shadows. It was his bedroom evidently, only slightly larger than the one she'd been given, and with a pair of chairs set before the fireplace. It was here that Altair sat, gesturing for her to do the same while he worked the laces of his vambraces.

It was hardly cold yet, but the flames greedily surrounded the dry timber and provided much needed light. The warmth it cast was not totally unwelcomed, as she shivered with nerves, knowing how she worded things would be the difference between rescue and abandonment.

"Al Mualim said you were settling well, that the women who keep the castle had accepted you into their fold. He said I should leave you be, to not upset the stability you had managed to find." He barely looked at his vambrance as he pulled it off, immediately working on the other that held the hidden blade, his eyes locked on her.

Emma couldn't hold back the snort, barely resisting the urge to state what a load of shit that was. His brows rose.

"Do you believe him?" She asked instead, meeting his amber gaze straight on. He had to believe what she told him, she could give him no doubt that she spoke the truth. But if he had total trust in his master then it was going to be an uphill battle.

"Is there a reason I should not?" He countered evenly, turning to set the vambraces on a small table behind him before laying his full attention on her.

She narrowed her eyes with a huff, that was hardly an answer. Time to change tactics. "Do you trust me?"

He hesitated for a breath, finally dipping his chin in a single partial nod. "Enough."

This was going nowhere. She couldn't gauge what he was thinking and so couldn't figure out how the best way to start would be. Shifting, she frowned as she tried to unbunch the dress enough to lay comfortably. Altair's eyes flashed down the length of the fabric. "You have not worn that before."

It was hardly a question, but it was enough to give Emma a place to start. Blowing out a breath, she twisted the silk through her fingers nervously. "No. It was shoved in my hands this morning after a….session…. with your master; before I was herded into the claws of women I've never seen before."

Vultures more like, but she didn't imagine he would find it agreeable for her to insult the women that was their selection for wives. At least not anymore than she already had.

"Have you been alone all this time?" He asked, his voice quiet, brows pinching in some thought.

She lifted one shoulder in a partial shrug. "Not for all of it. Mostly I was with the ….off duty girls. Wearing blue with them so I was overlooked by everyone else."

A fact she was infinitely more grateful for after today, after seeing what it was like when she wasn't overlooked. She'd much rather go invisible. Far less trouble that was.

Altair shifted, his frown deepening. "And your quest to return home?"

Emma blinked, tearing her eyes away from his to stare into the flames, fighting the burning in them. She hadn't said it out-loud yet, hadn't let herself think too long on the events in the Master's study, especially this morning. Sucking in a deep breath, she tried to stamp down her roiling emotions, to list the facts as they were.

"Impossible." Her voice cracked, grief shattering the bonds she'd wrapped around it. The truth, reality, finally sinking its terrible teeth in. Her world, her time, was lost to her. There was no way home. No way to see her friends or family again. She was trapped in this century where she didn't belong, with no power or control over her own future. The uncertainty of what was next terrified her. There was little to suggest it would be pleasant, let alone happy. A single hot tear cut its way down her cheek as she forced herself to look back at the assassin, the fear almost palatable on her tongue. "He's going to kill me."

His back straightened sharply. "Abbas will not harm you. I will ensure it."

She shook her head, fighting a tremble in her lower lip. The bottle had burst and everything she'd tried to pack away over the last few weeks was pouring out. All the pain, the fear, the despair, and loneliness raging like a stormy sea.

"Not him." She choked out, swallowing thickly around a growing lump in her throat. She couldn't lose it here in front of him, not completely, she had to hold something together. "The Master."

She could see the disbelief race across his face, felt her hope wither in response. The lump was nearly gagging her now and it took considerable effort to force the words out, to make them discernible. He had to understand. "He questions me about the future. About weapons and tactics, inventions that changed the world."

She raised a shaky hand to her head. "He uses his orb on me when I don't want to answer. It...it forces me to tell him and I can't remember later what he even asked. It...it hurts me, when he uses it. I can't think, I can't breathe. This morning, he said if he used it again, it would kill me."

More tears followed the first as she was overcome by true desperation. She wanted to fight, she wanted to be strong and able to stand against the world; but she didn't know what she could do if she was left here, if there was any way she could fight back if her only hope turned his back on her.

"I think he will use it again." She couldn't read his expression through the haze. Blinking harshly, she turned her gaze back to the fire, watching the dry log be consumed by flames. Her arms wrapped tightly around herself. "I know he'll use it again and it will kill me when he does."

Her throat closed, refusing to allow her to utter another word. So she sat in silence and waited for his judgment, waited for him to determine her fate.

He was quiet for a painfully long time. She did not raise her eyes from the flames to see where he was looking, could not bear to see disbelief or contempt on his face.

So she waited.

And waited.

Until she feared he might not answer at all.

"What would you have me do?" His quiet words pulled her to look at him, at the grim set of his jaw. "What are you asking of me, Emma?"

"Get me out of here." She begged. "I don't know what I'll do beyond that, but please, get me away from this place."

She couldn't read him, couldn't determine how he might respond. Releasing a long, shaky breath, she knew it was completely out of her hands now. She'd said what she could, it was all up to him. Later maybe, when she was better under control of her emotions, she might be able to say more, to describe what she could remember of her sessions with the Master. But right now? Now she could say nothing, do nothing, but wait for his verdict.

He stood slowly, returning to his bed to sling his robe haphazardly over his torso. He offered his hand to her. "You need rest. I will escort you back to your room."

Her heart clenched tight, fear building as hope wilted. It wasn't an answer one way or the other, but she wished it could be. She was drained, could feel the exhaustion of the last weeks in her bones. Al Mualim may not have to break her after all. Altair might just do it himself.

Unable to speak past the lump in her throat, Emma numbly let him take her hand and help her up, gently leading her down the hall. The castle was silent and they came across no one as he took her back to her room. It past in a blur of unrecognizable shapes and colors. After the turmoil of emotions that had roiled inside, she now felt hollow and numb.

Blinking, she realized dimly that he'd led her back to her room and pushed her back to sit on the edge of her bed. Her packed bag taunted her from the corner she'd shoved it into earlier.

"Emma." She tipped her head back but could hardly make him out in the dark, fireless room. "I will speak to you before I leave."

Coldness wrapped around her as he left her there, quietly closing her door behind him. He'd given her a promise to see her before he left, he hadn't given her an answer one way or the other. Even so, she had little confidence in her prospects. Not bothering to change out of the silk dress, she curled up tightly on the straw-stuffed mattress and let the exhaustion pull her under.

That night, she watched him walk away a hundred times.


Present Day

"You found something on her." David greeted as he approached where Miles lounged behind a large desk. Matt stepped evenly with him, much to the irritation of the door guard who'd tried to deny the son entrance to the safehouse.

He'd known his plan to get someone into Abstergo's secured floors would work, especially after how well Matt's diversion worked at flooding the streets with their men. But William had been unwilling to speak about what was found or taken from the building over the secured line the Assassins had set up.

"I have not yet had time to go through everything that was collected, it was quite a successful mission." Miles intoned, a subtle gesture of his hand sending the Assassin on their heels backtracking out of his office.

David felt the familiar ringing at the back of his mind that labeled the statement has hardly the full truth.

He raised his brows expectantly, refusing to take a seat. Matt leaned almost casually against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. "You know something."

Miles glanced between the two men before conceding with a barely perceptible nod. "I have found evidence that as far as the Templars are aware, your daughter is alive."

"As far as the Templars are aware?" He didn't need the Assassin's thieving abilities to find out his girl was still alive, he knew she was still breathing. It wasn't just hope, it was more than that. There were no remains to be found because she wasn't dead. But what the hell had gone on that the very ones who took her were no longer certain of her condition?

Whatever it was, it meant she wasn't in the building, most likely wasn't even still in the city or anywhere near it. They'd moved her off site and were not in constant communication with their people who were there. A factor that could only raise the odds of rescuing Emma, once they uncovered where it was.

"They sent her far away, but something went wrong during the transport. As far as they have been able to track, she is alive. They sent a team after her, whether for recovery or not I am unsure, but they do not seem to be able to communicate with their team to inform them of their whereabouts." There was no ringing. Miles was telling the truth as far as David's Sense was concerned, but the detective's instincts shouted that it was not the whole truth. The man was holding something back, something critically important.

"She got away?" Matt breathed, a relieved smile pulling across his lips before twisting into a frown as he worked the idea around. "Why hasn't she contacted us?"

Why indeed. David had a gut feeling that Miles knew exactly what the why was, but for some reason was not volunteering it up. A number of scenarios offered themselves. Perhaps she was far away and had escaped out into the wilds somewhere, no phone, no people, and no way to get word back to civilization. Perhaps she'd been captured by someone else, to use against the Templars or for their own nefarious purposes. Was she still even in this state? Was she still even in this country?

"I am relieved to hear that she is alive." David kept his voice even, gaining a raised brow from his son. "Is there anything else that you can tell us?"

This was it, this was Miles' chance to offer whatever he was holding back, whatever critical intel that had caused the worried crease etched into his forehead.

The head of the Brotherhood paused for only a moment, but that moment was all David needed. "I wish there was. I still have much more to go through and decrypt. I will inform you immediately if I learn something more about your daughter's whereabouts."

David inclined his head in false thanks and turned for the door. Matt hesitated for a long breath before pushing himself off the wall and following. He waited until they were well away from the safehouse before opening his mouth.

David cut in first. "I believe we now must begin our own private investigations."

Matt snapped his jaw shut, frowning with a brief glance back the way they had come. "I thought that's what we were doing? Using the enemy of our enemy as a friend?"

The elder Harp nodded once. "Until now, that has been enough."

"What changed?"

"Miles knows more than he was willing to share about what he's found on Emma's condition and whereabouts. Whatever he won't tell us I feel is critical." They reached Emma's old Camaro David had taken to driving, pausing to lay a hand on the warm hood. "We are in this fight to find Emma, nothing else. If they are going to keep things about her from us, then it is time we start digging into them, and find out what they don't want us to know."

Matt nodded, fingers tapping a beat against the black car's roof. "I think I know just where to start."

Tipping his head, he turned to regard the empty road with a frown. "But first we've got a new tail to lose."

David raised his brows, not bothering to look for something he couldn't see. "Same as usual?"

He knew it wasn't, not if his son was sensing it. Matt shook his head, eyes scanning the windows of the surrounding buildings. "Less friendly. I think we may have finally pissed them off."


Captain: I know, I know, ya'll probably hate me for leaving it off like this, hehe. This one was kind of a downer but hey, a little shameless shirtless Altair for ya'll ;) Next time, Emma shall get her answer and the adventure continues! Almost getting to the end of the game *finally*, and I'm so excited for it and what's going to happen beyond mwahahaha. Please drop a review and thanks so much for the love ya'll continue to give this story!