Captain: Alright, if you've been following the TF fic, then you'll know that Covid has caused me to lose my job and I have struggled to get into grad school/find a job in my field. I now may or may not be going to Dog Training school to perhaps open a few other doors for me and give me a solid backup plan. Annoying for sure and I kind of got in a funk that made it hard to work on this fic given the tone of this chapter, but I got through it and I'll continue to...well figure out life as I go. At least I've got a solid plan for this fic? :D

Poll up on my profile! No, no I am not looking to start another fic, not until this one is complete, but I may play with creating timelines depending on what ya'll vote for ;)

As always I greatly appreciate your reviews and look forward to hearing what ya'll think of this installment of Firewall. Enjoy!


The two assassins talked for some time while Emma let her thoughts wander towards the far distant future, towards endings she may never see and events she'll never know about.

"I have yet to divine their true intentions for coming to the funeral," Altair's voice jolted her back to the past as he stepped through the doorway, Malik on his heels. Whatever they had talked about privately had lifted some unseen weight from their shoulders. Both men appeared more relaxed than Emma could ever recall seeing. The hostility was gone, replaced by….well she wouldn't call it friendship, but mutual respect. "The people are divided, many call for their lives, but others believe they come to parlay, to make peace."

"Peace?" Malik physically took a step back while Emma's brows shot up. Peace? How in the hell would the very men associated with tyrants and slave traders be after peace?

"I have told you, the others I slain have said as much to me." His eyes tracked over the cop, who frowned in turn. It made little and less sense. The men he'd killed had been terrible people, causing terror and strife wherever they ruled. What peace they might have achieved would have been through fear, a mob's rule.

"That would make them our allies and yet we kill them." Malik sounded confused, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Make no mistake, we are nothing like these men. Though their goal sounds noble, the means by which they would achieve it are not. At least, that is what Al Mualim told me." A snake of ice slithered down Emma's spine at the name of the Assassin's Master. It would seem that he was trying to do good, to prevent the mob from taking over and ruling the countryside in whatever manner they saw fit.

And yet, it still sat sour in her mouth. Emma could not believe the Master would do something like this simply for the good of the people. He did nothing to help those targeted by the raiders, he tried extracting information from her with torture simply to gain a potential edge over others of this century.

Yes, Al Mualim was convincing his best that the enemy was the Templars and while Emma could find no fault there, it all still rather conveniently focused the assassin's sole attention on the enemy in front of him. Just what was the endgame here?

"So what is your plan?" Malik asked, leaning against the doorway. No matter what Al Mualim was up to, they did have a bad guy that needed dealing with now. Whatever the leader was doing, they could face later.

"I will attend the funeral and confront Robert." Emma blinked, raising a brow at the short answer. That was hardly a plan. As Eliot might have once said, that sounded like one of her hair brained plans. It was too easy, too simple, too much fanfare over Robert attending this little event.

"The sooner the better." Malik handed the assassin a white feather and Emma couldn't help but disagree with them. It all sounded….too put together. If all of his targets had really been a part of a single group, then there was simply no way said group hadn't noticed his work yet, not with such public figures, not when their leader was attending the funeral of one of his men.

"I don't think it's a good idea," she interjected, chewing her bottom lip. Both men turned to look at her, a silent question in their regard. "They know you're here or suspect you to be. I think they might have set a trap."

She'd put money on it being a trap, but she didn't have any actual proof. Just the words of an annoyed soldier and a gut feeling.

"Even so, I cannot risk missing this chance. There may not be another before it is too late," Altair tucked the feather into his belt. "They will not be prepared for me to expect a trap. The advantage is still on our side."

Not exactly the most comforting logic, but it was no doubt the best they had at the moment. It would have to do.

"Just...be careful." He paused a moment before tipping his chin down in agreement. Emma pursed her lips, "And let me check that bullet wound before you go."

His brows hiked up. "I assure you, it is healing fine."

Her own rose in challenge, "Humor me."

His gaze went to Malik in a silent plea for help.

Malik's lips twitched as he held his hand up. "She does know more about injuries sustained from her time's weapons. You do want to ensure you are at your best tomorrow, do you not?"

Altair shot him a hard look that promised retribution before releasing a defeated sigh. Methodically he began stripping off his weapons, laying them neatly to the side along with the feather. He took more time with the robes than she'd seen in the past, obviously putting it off for as long as he could.

Without a pressing injury or a looming threat hanging over her head, Emma had nothing to distract her mind from the man's physique as he removed the under shirt. Candlelight danced across his injury and an impressive display of muscles intersected by scars.

Their first encounter flashed in her mind and she had to concur with her initial assessment.

Hello studmuffin.

Damn it all, she was so not letting her brain travel down that particular rabbit hole.

And he was watching her with a raised brow. Fuck.

"It...ah...looks a lot better than I expected." Hardly a great save but it was all she could come up with. It wasn't totally a lie either, now that she was actually looking at the injury. Stepping closer, she reached up and gently ran a finger over it without thinking. At least he'd remembered to take the stitches out before the skin healed over the top of them. The skin was pink with rivets of scabs where the thread had held the skin together, but otherwise it looked well healed, really well healed.

Her eyes found his as she jabbed her thumb directly into it. Not even a flinch. Either his pain tolerance was ridiculous or it really was barely superficial anymore.

Pursing her lips, she crossed her arms over her chest. "Fine, you're fit as a fiddle."

Something like amusement danced across his eyes, probably at the phrase that wouldn't come into use for another…however many hundred years.

"I still don't think it's a good idea to walk into a possible trap alone. You can't stop Robert's plans if you die before reaching him." As selfish as it was, she knew if something happened to the assassin, she was well and truly screwed. Malik might do what he could to help, but he was limited in both ability and prominence among the assassins.

Altair glanced at the doorway where the one-armed Dai had disappeared without drawing either of their notice. "Malik may still have his sword arm, but the lack of the other puts him unable to properly defend himself and I lack the time to search the city for other assassins who may or may not be there."

Emma doubted the others could be wholly trusted either, but it wasn't the only option left to them.

"I could be your backup." Yep, she could hear Eliot and Cat protesting now and knew this was probably going to make top ten for her famously bad ideas. Altair's brows dropped into a frown as he appeared to temporarily struggle with how to gently word just how against that he was. Holding up her hands to cut off his outright denial, she continued, "I know I can't fight with your weapons and I don't intend to try, but I can watch your back for anyone trying to stab it. Plus, I do have my own tricks to fall back on should we need it."

She tipped her head towards the bag she had stashed earlier, where her gun was tucked securely along with her other future things. The assassin did not appear entirely convinced, still on the edge of arguing.

"There's still the mercenaries from my time to watch out for too. You could be against two traps instead of one and needing all the help you can get." Of course said mercenaries had had a lot of time to prepare and figure out how to perfectly blend in. They might still be dressed as the usual guards or they might be among the civilians. Hell, they could have infiltrated Robert's men, or taken their weapons to him. There really was no telling what Altair could be walking into. And she did owe him for getting her out of Masyaf.

"Those men know your face, you would be as much a target as I am."

"Then I wear a hood," she supplied dryly.

He eyed her carefully before shaking his head once. "No."

Her hands landed on her hips as she shifted to stand directly in front of him when he moved to get past her. "No? Altair you don't have to do everything alone. Backup can only help you not end up dead."

"Not if I am distracted ensuring the backup does not get themself killed."

Her scowl deepend. "I can handle myself if things go to shit."

"Can you?" He snapped back, stepping forward and completely into her space, using every inch of his height to tower over her. "Your gun is useful from a distance, but what will you do in close combat? Can you make an escape when you are surrounded? Can you handle yourself without a weapon?"

Emma refused to back down or away. If this was the game he was going to start, then she was going to play it. "Are you asking for a demonstration?"

He paused, blinking in surprise for a brief moment before determination set his jaw. Backing off, he stood in the center of the room, stance relaxed. Emma eyed him warily.

"Your task is simple, reach the other room."

She arched a brow. "What?"

He gestured to the open doorway. "If you can get past me and reach Malik, I will allow you to attend the funeral."

Alright, it'd been a while since she'd properly grappled, but it shouldn't be too terribly difficult. He'd be underestimating her, after all.

She didn't move for a long moment, slowly shifting her weight back and forth as she plotted the best avenue past him. His eyes tracked the miniscule motion like it was as subtle as a 747. Even if he didn't know how she was trained, he was ready for her.

Okay, maybe this wasn't going to be easy.

Feinting left, she shot right. He was there to meet her, forcing her to adjust and backtrack. Her body was stiff, movements slower than they used to be. Altair had no such issues, meeting each of her attempts with practiced ease, but he wasn't attempting to wrap her up, he let her retreat again and again.

He was toying with her.

Gritting her teeth, Emma rolled left. The longer it went on, the more it came back to her. The pace quickened and the retreats lessened. It was like a dance, the way they moved around each other, a violent dance, one that could injure if they weren't careful.

He was taller, stronger, and more adept at this choreography, but she'd been trained for it.

"Do you yield?" he asked when she paused, panting with the exertion.

Emma scowled, biting the inside of her cheek to keep the smirk down. "Not a chance."

There was no going around him, she'd have to go through him. They clashed together again, dancing like they'd done it for weeks. Emma claimed her opening, ducking under his reach while letting him roll off her hip. He was behind her, the doorway unobstructed ahead. She dove forward, intent to claim her victory.

His arm caught her waist, yanking her back against him. She twisted, felt him catch her hands before she could escape. His body moved into her, forcing her to backpedal or fall.

Her back struck the stone wall, his grip pinning her hands above her head. A smirk pulled at his lip as he looked down at her. The firelight sparked across amber. "Now this looks familiar, does it not?"

Oh he was going to bring up that now was he? Smug bastard.

"Oh I don't know," she mused, dropping her chin to look up at him through her lashes. Leaning into the miniscule space between them, she slipped her leg around his, lightly dragging her heel across his calf. His eyes flashed down, surprise laxing his grip. "I don't recognize it."

Planting her foot behind his, she shoved roughly off the wall. His hold tightened on reflex, dragging her down with him. They crashed to the floor, dumb luck cushioning the fall by the pillows strewn about the sleeping mat. Clamping her knees against his hips, Emma sat up with a victorious grin. "But this seems right."

"Certainly not," he growled, bucking his hips to launch her forward. Recapturing her wrists before she could catch herself, he rolled, pinning her beneath him, a knee forced between hers to keep her from wrapping him up again.

Emma huffed, struggling fruitlessly under his weight.

"This," he rumbled, the vibration in his chest rolling through her and bringing any and all movement to a screeching halt, "is much more natural."

Emma's mind stuttered and blanked, blue eyes locking onto amber. Why was it so hot in here? Her tongue wet suddenly parched lips. His gaze dropped to follow the motion and she swore her heart rate doubled.

"Altair," Malik's voice dropped over her head like a lake of glacier water. The assassin jolted, releasing her wrists as he sat up. "I would suggest getting your rest."

The stoic look she was so used to quickly reclaimed his expression as Altair nodded once and stood, his hand finding hers and pulling her up with him. "Sound advice, brother. Emma, I believe the matter is settled."

Matter, what matter? Oh, right. A frown pinched her brow, but she didn't press. The mule had made up his mind and there would be no changing it, certainly not tonight.

"Right, erm, sleep well." Stepping away from him dropped the temperature of her skin by several degrees, damn near drawing a chill. Blowing out a breath as she turned her back on him, she quickly slipped past Malik and into the adjacent room.

Rubbing her face, she tried to get her racing heart back under control. Now there was a dangerous game she knew she didn't want to play. That spelled disaster six different ways.

"I had wondered in the change between you," Malik caught her at the bottom of the stairs before she could make the safety of the room. "Now I see it is even more than I realized."

He was displaying an impressive poker face and his tone revealed nothing of his personal opinion on the matter. Emma rolled her eyes. "We have a mutual understanding, nothing else. We were just sparring."

His brows rose in disbelief and the image of Cat doing the same flashed behind her eyes.

"What happened is a long story and I know you deserve it tonight, but can we do it tomorrow, after the funeral? It's been a long few days." A poor attempt to steer the conversation elsewhere, but not a falsity. She didn't think she had the mental capacity to go through that story all right now and she wanted even less to attempt to explain what was obviously the result of close proximity and high stress levels.

The man hesitated before tipping his head in agreement. "Go and rest then, I do not doubt tomorrow will be just as taxing."

Well, he wasn't wrong there.

The morning dawned bright and early and Emma felt like the few hours of shut eye she did get didn't count for a thing.

Altair was sliding his throwing knives into place when she came down the stairs, wearing her old uniform pants and tank top. The assassin had yet to don his hood and so there was no hiding when he looked up and raised a brow, his eyes dragging over her choice in attire.

She shrugged, answering the unspoken question. "You made it fairly clear I wasn't allowed to go to the funeral, so I'm going to assume you're going to say I should stay low and stay here, which means I want to be comfortable."

Dropping leisurely into the chair, she slung a leg over the arm, her foot bouncing to a silent beat. Altair did not slow as he built his arsenal, but he kept watching her for some time.

Perhaps he was simply baffled by modern behavior he'd never seen before; perhaps he wondered if it was nervous energy. Perhaps he was even considering that she just might be willing to sit this one out.

Emma didn't buy his look as one of confusion, though.

It was calculating, it was suspicious, and it was wicked sharp.

He didn't believe her.

He caught on quick, she had to give him that, but he needed to stay focused. Chewing her bottom lip, she blew out a breath. "Look, just...be careful, alright? Watch your six...ah...your back out there."

The assassin finished with his knives and began adjusting the straps on the vambrace that held his hidden blade. "I will be cautious and circle the cemetery before entering. They will not catch me unaware."

Until they do, she mentally huffed to herself, pursing her lips but otherwise keeping quiet. No one ever planned to get caught unaware, that shit just happened, usually at the worst possible moment. Sure she'd seen him handle six guards at once without getting a scratch himself, but this was different, this was a probable ambush. If his enemy knew who they were up against, there would be a lot more than six and most likely better trained than the average guards. And that was just the men from this time. Who knows what the mercenaries might have planned. Maybe they would get him before he made it in, maybe they'd join their ambush to that of Robert's, maybe they'd block his escape route, or maybe they wouldn't even be there.

She growled low under her breath, this was exactly the kind of scenario that warranted putting aside preconceived notions and prejudices and taking any help that offered itself. Bloody, stubborn idiot.

All too soon he stood ready, the neatly pressed feather carefully tucked into his belt.

"I will return when it is done. Try to resist the temptation to do anything reckless." Emma narrowed her eyes at him, certain there was a shred of amusement in his tone but unable to detect it in his expression.

With a roll of her eyes, she shot him a mock salute. "Scout's honor."

Again, his look did not convey much in the way of trust, but he drew his hood up regardless. Turning away, he started for the doorway, pausing to cast one last glance back at her while addressing the Dai. "Keep an eye on her."

"As if she were my own blood," Malik replied and Emma took mild offense to the whole exchange. Granted it wasn't unwarranted given her history, but still.

Giving a stiff nod, Altair left, the sound of his footsteps lasting only seconds before disappearing.

Malik's gaze remained pointed towards the other room for some time before he finally turned to Emma, a brow raised. "Dare I ask what a scout's honor means?"

She flashed him a grin, swinging her leg around to plant her boots on the floor. "I was never in the scouts, so not a thing."

Standing, she reached into the pot that held the rods for stirring the fire and pulled out the brown robe she'd stashed there after the men had gone to sleep. Wrapped up tightly inside it was her kevlar vest and gear belt with the holstered Glock. All the while, she mentally prepared for the verbal spar that was about to come.

"Good." Her movements stalled in surprise. Malik took the robe, motioning for her to finish strapping on the vest and the belt. Adjusting the familiar weight, it settled in the right place like an old friend. "While I do not wish to see you injured and it goes against what I believe, you are not a woman of this century, you are a fighter, and Altair's arrogance will be his downfall. If the men of your time are waiting, he is going to need help only you will know how to give."

Nodding, Emma pulled the robe over the uniform, checked the gun, and slid the tac knife into its sheath inside her boot. As she straightened, Malik grabbed a fistful of the robe, knotting it tightly in his hand, his stare hard. "But you are not to engage in any fight with men of this world. You will stay hidden and out of it unless his life is threatened by weapons of your time."

It was the most fire she'd ever seen in his eyes before, the tone clearly stating that if she disobeyed in this, there would be actual hell to pay. Altair's wrath over coming she could face, but Malik's was not one she felt eager to test.

"Understood," she agreed easily. Her only job was to ensure the men of her time did not disrupt what was meant to happen, what had always happened.

Now if only she actually knew what that was. As Malik nodded and released her, the thought crossed her mind that perhaps today was not meant to go in the Assassins' favor. What if Altair was supposed to die today? Could she sit back and allow it to happen? Could she let history run its course? So far she'd given little thought to how she might be changing things, but now she couldn't escape the rabbit hole. If he was always meant to die today, saving him could ruin the modern time.

No, she shook her head as she tied her hair back and pulled the brown hood over it and climbed out into the morning sun; she didn't know what was meant to happen here. She could only do what she felt was right and that was stopping Robert and making sure Altair survived the encounter.

All she had to do was find her way to the funeral and make sure Altair didn't see her before it started. Right, no pressure.

At least the first part would not be terribly difficult. An apparent order had gone out to delay the markets from opening to show respect for the tyrant being laid to rest, so the majority of the morning crowd was all flowing in one direction, towards the funeral. Perhaps it was lack of anything better to do, or maybe it was morbid curiosity to see the man that had caused so much fear buried. It could even be the desire to see the Crusaders for themselves that was drawing everyone towards the cemetery. Whatever it was, Emma was thankful for it. She was hardly the only hooded brown robe in the crowd and no one looked twice at her. Where Altair was, she couldn't say, but she was positive he hadn't seen her and he wouldn't be looking.

The crowd continued to grow the further into the city it went and Emma felt a flicker of concern spark in the back of her mind. This was unfamiliar territory she was stepping into. There could be real trouble finding her way back to the bureau, but that would be an issue she'd deal with later.

Eventually the pace began to slow, the crowd compressing as gravestones arose on either side of the pathway. She had made it to the cemetery. Now she had to find an optimal position to see everything while not standing out.

Guards in both uniforms stood out amongst the graves, keeping the populace off of the grass. It all led up to an upper yard backed against a tower of stone. This was the place only important people were buried, where it would be marked and kept pristine for years to come. Civilians were packed tightly just outside the open gate. They all wanted a look, but none wanted to make their faces known by taking a closer peek. Emma weaved her way between them, breaching the last of the line and breaking into the courtyard itself. Here the crowd was more spaced out, though not by much. Most of these people she recognized from the Rich District. Curiosity or a desire to be seen to curry favor prompted them here, in front of the grave itself as the last of the dirt was piled over it. Still no sign of Altair, no flash of white among the crowd or along the rooftops. Archers lined the upper walkways dressed in the garb of the city guards while others loitered in the shadowed corners. An impressive display of security, but not one that stood out as unusual for the event.

A man at the head of the freshly turned soil began speaking of the dead; Emma ignored his words in favor of scanning the crowd as subtly as she could. Several Crusader knights stood at attention, their swords sheathed at their sides and armor glistening in the early morning light. A small show of force in a possible alliance maybe, but it triggered alarm bells nonetheless. She expected more and eyed the door behind the graves. Probably led to a caretaker's rooms, but it would be a convenient place to stash more soldiers. A guard stood just a little too close to it, the perfect position to give a signal through the wood.

One of the knights⎼Robert, if the fancier armor was anything to judge by⎼stood just off to the side, flanked by guards but otherwise out in the open for all to see.

It wasn't just any trap, it was an ambush and Robert was the bait.

Growling low under her breath, Emma shifted, trying to spot Altair in the crowd. She could not see him. Had he come at all? Had he changed his mind at the last moment? Or had he been caught in another trap on the way in?

Emma's mind reeled, but there was little to nothing she could do. She certainly couldn't leave the funeral early. Moving too much would draw unwanted attention towards her and she was still not wholly unconvinced that the modern mercenaries might not be around. If this moment was a trap set all along in her history, then they must know about it. What better way to ensnare an enemy than to spring a trap after they were already caught in another?

She cursed again, gaining a wary side-eye from the woman beside her.

It could already be too late.

There! A flash of white merging into the crowd, working his way towards the front. He was ignored by everyone, moving slow and with his head bowed low. Emma shifted, hoping to intercept him before he could breach the front line of the crowd.

Robert leaned forward during a moment of silence, motioning his hands at the men around him before saying something to the speaker. Steel hissed as swords were drawn. More knights poured from the side door she'd been eyeing, creating a line of metal between the crowd and Robert.

Emma's heart pounded against her ribs as the speaker broke into angry words of the dead man's murderer. They knew Altair was there, they'd seen him. The white robes had finally given him away. Her attempt to move through the crowd quickened. They needed to get out of here. There would be other chances at Robert.

"SEIZE HIM!"

Or not.

The crowd turned as one as Altair drew his sword. Sunlight glistened off the bare steel, the crusaders closed in, and the crowd scattered in a chorus of screams.

Emma cursed as she was jostled, letting the flow of the crowd draw her back from the erupting fight. He was grossly outnumbered, there was no way he could beat them all.

Another ring of city guards appeared, half joining the brawl while six others hung back, awaiting an opening to fill. Wait, no, something wasn't right. They hung back but did not draw their swords. A flash of metal in their hands, too small for sharp steel.

The cop snarled, launching herself through the last line of fleeing citizens and back into the fold. The modern mercenaries were here and they were going to shoot Altair while he was pinned down.

Like hell.

Drawing the Glock, cold swept over her. Her body moved in slow motion while the rest of the world doubled its pace. Breathe in, instinct found a steady grip; breathe out, line up the sights on the one doing the same. Training screamed to give an order, but she clamped her mouth shut. These men had a mission, would turn on her the moment they knew she was there, there would be no talking them down.

A crusader went down, a mercenary had an open shot. Emma slid left and fired.

On instinct the other five ducked as the crackling boom ricocheted around the cemetery, the sixth dropping with shouts of pain. There was no time to check on the assassin as the other mercenaries recovered themselves and turned on her. Diving behind a large headstone, bullets chipped off the stone and whizzed by overhead. Rolling half out, she returned several shots, clipping a second and ruining the aim of a third. The sword fight disappeared.

Jerking back, Emma pressed her back to the stone as a bullet dug into the ground where she had just been. She couldn't stay in one place. Keep moving.

Heart racing in her ears, she sucked in a breath and shot to her feet, firing on the first man to cross her sights. Fire ripped across her thigh, stone dust showered her face. Crashing into the dirt behind another headstone, Emma swore, one hand clenching against her leg. It came back bloody.

Just a graze, her mind noted, low priority.

Movement to her left, her gun followed her line of sight to find the mercenary taking aim on her. Launching several shots his way, she dove for the next marker and came up facing the opposite way, where another was attempting to catch her back.

Cover wasn't enough, they were going to surround her. Already they were closing in, pushing her back towards a corner. No way out. No way except over the low wall that separated the yards.

An arrow burrowed itself into the dirt inches from her foot. Firing a round at the archer, she forced her feet back under her. It was now or never.

Headless of what was on the other side, Emma threw herself over the stone barrier and into the yard below. An armored body appeared in front of her, oblivious until the moment her body slammed into his, driving him into the ground.

Steel flashed in front of her eyes, dripping red as it ripped away. A head appeared over the barricade she'd just come over. Emma fired at it, rolling off the body and scrambling to her feet.

Pain exploded across her chest, throwing her back against a crumbling headstone. Lungs burned as they tried and failed to draw in air. The clear blue sky opened wide before her eyes, sporting not even a single cloud. Only a solitary eagle, leisurely riding the thermal winds high above. Scorched powder burned her nose, tinged with copper.

The roaring gunfire faded out until all she could hear was the ringing in her ears and the pounding of her heart. Was it over? Had they killed Altair? Had she failed to protect him and somehow screwed up the whole future?

Finally able to suck in a few gasps, she struggled to regain her feet, head spinning. Only to be nearly knocked down again by a fleeing body in Crusader armor. Robert?

"We must escape from this place." Altair appeared at her side, his voice muffled as it fought through her ringing ears. He was alive, he was okay. Her body sagged in relief, the headstone taking the brunt of her weight as her thigh burned.

"Robert, he's getting away," she coughed, gesturing the way the knight had gone. Bells were ringing, shouting in the distance closing in. What respite they had earned was going to end.

"It is not Robert. Can you walk?" He didn't wait for her answer, slinging an arm around her waist and dragging her up. A whine pulled from her throat, but she forced herself to keep up with the grueling pace he set.

It wasn't fast enough. Guards rounded the corner shouting and came at Altair with swords drawn. The assassin released her to engage them. Her body slumped against the wall, useless to help. Her magazine had bullets to spare, maybe, but it was too close quarters. The gun was still in her grip, but her hands shook.

More bodies hit the ground before Altair returned to her. She pushed him away. "Go, I can make it to the bureau. They're after you."

He growled under his breath, dragging her arm over his shoulders anyway. "You are just as much a target."

She struggled to glance behind them for potential followers as he set off back down the alley, taking twists and turns to keep off the main roads. "What about the mercenaries?"

Maybe she'd incapacitated a few, perhaps killed them, but she knew she hadn't taken out all of them.

"Handled for now," Altair answered grimly, which was as much an answer as it wasn't.

Another pair of guards stepped into the alley and charged. This time Emma was able to track their movements, and as two more bodies joined the trail behind them, that he was favoring his right side.

She grabbed his arm before he could sling it around her again. "Altair, go. You can't keep fighting like this, it's too far to the bureau."

He firmly shook his head, pulling her off the wall and against his side as they started again. "They will not overlook you, not covered in so much blood."

What? She stumbled, looking down at herself and finding the brown robe splattered in gore. Her face and hands were not spared either and she wondered how she didn't notice.

Mentally shaking herself, she tried to pull away, nearly failing as her leg struggled not to collapse under her. It was just a graze, she told herself, it was just the pain making it weak, it would hold, just as her lungs would regain their full capacity eventually.

"You're exhausted and going to get yourself killed." Somehow she doubted Robert not being here was the end of it. There had to be more, something else the assassin would be needed for.

"Enough, I am not leaving you."

Bloody, stubborn mule.

"Fine," she growled, gesturing towards a tiny alley lined with hanging laundry, "then cut down that way."

He obeyed, dragging them through the lines of clothes. Hidden from sight, they paused and Altair stepped back to look her over. "Are you alright? I saw you get struck in the chest."

His hand hovered over the hole in the brown robe, a hole that should have punched straight through her lungs. Emma precariously balanced herself on her good leg and tore the robe off, revealing the kevlar vest. Digging her nail into it, sucking in a gasp as the tiniest pressure felt like a brick to the chest, she pulled out the smashed bullet and dropped it into his palm. "I'll have a hell of a bruise, but nothing worse than the graze on my leg. What about you? You were outnumbered ten to one at least."

Yanking down a pair of black robes from the lines, she tossed one at him while pulling the other on.

"A few scratches. I have survived worse." Not exactly words that gave her the biggest boost of confidence about his condition, but there was nothing she could do about it out here. Black hoods pulled up, she let him assist her back onto the right path to the bureau. He braved the main streets with the poor disguises, but it was enough. Groups of similarly-robed men paced here and there, their eyes carefully tracking the guards who walked about with swords drawn. Apparently Altair had inspired the people to stand up against those that would abuse their power. A double-edged sword, she knew, but one that was needed here.

The guards did not look twice at them as they passed.

All the while, the bell continued to toll.

Emma swore it was only dumb luck that got them back to the bureau without more blood being drawn. Never before was the ladder so difficult to get up, or the skylight so painful to get down, but Altair stayed right behind her, ignoring whatever injuries he had.

"You are both wounded," Malik greeted as soon as their feet touched the floor and they stripped the spare robes.

"Emma was right, it was a trap," Altair replied, reclaiming her arm and forcibly leading her to the next room. Only once she reached the chair by the cold fireplace did he release her, squatting down and ignoring her swatting hands to look at the injury to her thigh.

"I have heard the funeral turned to chaos, what happened?" Malik followed, grabbing the better supplied first aid kit and bringing it over with a bundle of rags tucked between his stump and side.

Altair accepted the rags, dipping it into the pitcher of water and pressing it against the graze. Emma hissed, jerking back but unable to escape the grip he had on the underside of her knee. "Robert de Sable was never here, he sent another in his stead, he was expecting me."

His eyes met hers for a brief moment. So, she'd been more right than she'd even expected. Granted, she hadn't figured on a decoy, but it was hardly surprising.

Malik blinked in surprise, ignoring Emma's protest as he reached in to peel the shredded fabric of her pants off the injury, but his words were for the assassin. "You must go to Al Mualim."

Altair sighed, shifting to allow the Dai better access to her leg. "There is no time; she told me where he has gone, what he plans. If I return to Masyaf he might succeed and then I fear we will be destroyed."

Emma jolted, brow furrowing. She? Where the hell had there been another woman in all that chaos and when had she had the chance to tell Altair anything, let alone of a plan that might actually succeed in ending the Assassins?

"We have killed most of his men, he cannot hope to mount a proper attack, wait, did you say she?" Malik's eyes flashed up to Emma's, but Altair gave a slight shake of his head.

"Yes, it was a woman disguised as Robert. Strange I know, but that is for another time. For now we must focus on Robert. We may have thinned his ranks, but the man is clever. He goes to plead his case to Richard and Saladin. To unite them against a common enemy, against us." Well fuck. As a Templar Knight, it probably wouldn't have been much to turn the Crusaders against the Brotherhood, but he had somehow figured out how he might turn a second army against them.

No force on Earth could hold against an assault on two fronts, no matter how soldily the fortress was built.

"Surely you are mistaken, this makes no sense. These two men would never…" Malik trailed off, shaking his head as he pressed a crushed herb into the graze and handed her a clean rag to hold against it. Her hands shook worse, her heart failing to calm.

"Oh but they would and we have ourselves to blame." Altair stood to his full height and began to pace, still favoring that right side. "The men I have killed, men on both sides of the conflict, men important to both leaders. Robert's plan may be ambitious but it makes sense and it could work."

Emma rubbed her hand over her face. The men he'd killed, the men here in this city, in Damascus, in Crusader-held Acre. Targets that were secretly working for the Templars, but potentially on personal terms with leaders on both sides. An elaborate plan to destroy the Assassins, one that required Altair succeeding in his missions. One that required that those men be made targets to begin with. Her brow pinched, pressure building behind her eyes. It was a plan that had too many moving parts to have been reliable from the start, and yet, there was no way for Robert to lose. Either his men killed Altair and he held control on both fronts, or his men died, in which case he had a solid reason to turn the armies away from each other and towards his own enemy.

Malik sighed, standing as well, his voice strained, "Look, brother, things have changed. You must return to Masyaf. We cannot act without our Master's permission. It could compromise the brotherhood. I thought, I thought you had learned this."

Altair turned sharply, snapping harshly, "Stop hiding behind words, Malik. You wield the Creed and its tenants like some shield. He is keeping things from us, important things. You are the one who told me we could never know anything, only suspect. Well I suspect this business with the Templars goes deeper. When I am done with Robert, I will ride for Masyaf so that we may have answers. But perhaps you could go now."

It was almost a challenge the way he threw it out there and Emma couldn't help but hold herself very still while watching the exchange. They had made such progress before all of this, had put their past behind them to move forward. Now it teetered in the balance yet again.

"I cannot leave the city." Ice laced Malik's tone, his stance rigid as he stared down the assassin.

Altair met his gaze for a moment that lasted too long before he let out a breath, his shoulders dropping, the tightness bleeding out of him. His voice softer, an honest request rather than a demand, "Then walk amongst its people. Seek out those who served the ones I slew. Learn what you can. You call yourself perceptive, perhaps you will see something I could not."

The stiffness did not totally leave the Dai, but he eventually dropped his chin, "I do not know, I must think on this."

"Do as you must, my friend, but it is time I rode for Arsuf. Every moment that I delay, our enemy gets one step ahead of me." Wait, he intended to leave now?!

Lurching to her feet, Emma barely caught herself from toppling over as her thigh throbbed. "You can't just charge out to a war zone. You're half dead as it is!"

He glanced down at his soiled robes for barely half a second. "We will all be fully dead if I do not. There is no choice, I must go now."

"Be careful, brother." And Malik was just going to let him leave without a fight, without trying to talk sense into him like he had been just moments before. Maybe it was necessary, maybe there was no choice, but it still didn't seem right. Why did it have to be him? Why was he the only one that could do it? He was going to get himself killed!

"I will be, I promise." Amber found blue and held for a heartbeat. Then he was gone.

Emma let out a shaky breath, sinking back into the chair, the stress and exhaustion of a gunfight slamming into her like a freight train. "Are we going to see him again?"

Malik stayed watching the doorway for a bit before sighing and coming back to her side. "If anyone can survive the fields of Arsuf and end Robert's reign, it is Altair. I am sure he has many more years of being a pain in our side. And you, for that matter, if you can learn to obey a simple order and not walk into danger."

"Not likely," Emma snorted, leaning forward to pull off the kevlar vest. She winced as she cleared the gun and set it on top of it, resigned to being unable to clean it. There was still a full magazine in her bag, plus the shots she hadn't taken of the one in it, but it's lifespan was limited. "Not when it was so likely my time's mercenaries would be there, which they were."

Malik raised a brow, gesturing towards the rag she was failing to keep pressed tightly to the graze. "Is that how you were injured?"

"Yes. I was just lucky I decided to wear the vest." Grimacing, she pulled on the neck of her tank top, revealing the rapidly coloring bruise that stood center stage on her chest, spiraling under the sports bra and creeping up towards her collar. "Or Altair would have come back alone."

"Hmph, lucky indeed." She had a feeling he wasn't really paying attention any longer, his mind latching onto a thought and refusing to let go. His dark gaze traced the bruise before drifting upwards.

"So now what?" Altair was gone and if he survived the battlefields, he'd be riding for Masyaf, to who-knew-what. It could be weeks, months, before they saw him again, before they got answers. And then what?

"Now, you rest and eat while I see what I can learn from the people," his tone dropped, resigned, tired. No doubt wishing for simpler times. He turned on her and the fire was not so doused as he looked. "And when I return, you will tell me everything that happened in Masyaf."


Present Day

Matt stared into his amber drink without seeing it, a scowl pinching his brows. His knuckles stood stark against the glass he held too firmly.

The bartender cast him a wary glance now and again, but the ex-Marine ignored him as he did everyone else in the bar.

A newspaper sat crumpled on the counter under his fist, but he didn't need to read it. He already memorized every word of the only story that mattered, had read it over and over in disbelief, had called the hospital in a poor attempt to deny what the black words said.

The pretty face of a brunette nurse smiled up at him, the only part of the paper left unwrinkled. He knew that smile, knew the sound of her sweet laugh, knew how sharp her tongue could be when she was tired of the macho bullshit her patients tried to pull. He knew she loved helping injured vets and his stupid jokes. He knew she looked soft but had an iron will and a stubborn streak to rival any Marine that crossed her path. He knew she loved poetry and sunrises but would never admit to her fear of the dark or owls. He knew she named her VW Bug 'Henry' and loved it no less for being held together by duct tape and shoestring.

He knew she deserved better than being butchered in her sleep by Templars.

There was no doubt in his mind that they were responsible, that they were sending a message. She lived in the quiet part of the city, in a building with security cameras that caught nothing. Even the vets that didn't want her help would sooner cut off their remaining limbs than hurt her.

A tear slipped free, tracking down his cheek. Matt let it fall, and the one after. She deserved them; she deserved to live.

The glass shattered in his hand, sending broken pieces and beer splattering across the counter. He moved the paper so her picture would not be ruined, blinking at his bleeding hand. Clenching his fist, shards burned and buried their way into his flesh.

Growling under his breath, Matt threw down the cash on the dry part of the bar for the drink and the glass and stalked away, newspaper tucked securely under his arm.

She deserved justice.

He would settle with vengeance.

The Assassins had known Abstergo was going to target a civilian, but they hadn't said who in their secret meeting. They had known an innocent was going to die and they did nothing. She deserved an army of protection. She deserved to get married and have the babies she always talked about wanting. She deserved to be dancing in the rain.

She had deserved for him to stop waiting for the right time and just ask her on that date they both wanted. She had deserved for their time together to not be wasted by his cowardice.

Now he could do nothing but hear the lines from her favorite poem echoing bitterly in his mind. Could feel nothing but pain and fury crashing like the thundering storm he stepped out into.

God pity them both and pity us all,

Who vainly the dreams of youth recall.

For of all sad words of tongue or pen,

The saddest are these: "It might have been".


Captain: Eek! I have to admit I am super eager to hear ya'lls thoughts on this particular chapter, as it is the first time I have ever written a firefight. Shows and movies always show a purely objective view and I wanted to stay firmly in Emma's head, so how did I do? Love it? Critiques for next time? Please let me know! And of course that little guilty pleasure nugget to start us off /wagglesbrows/ Who wouldn't want a sparring match in the candlelight with our lovely assassin? ;) ;) And poor Matt. We knew the Templars were going to target someone, but did it have to be her? Oh but the devil hides when a good man goes to war!

Poem lines from 'Maud Muller' written by John Greenleaf Whittier in 1856