Part Two

Chapter 16

Jennifer Hernandez:

There's a choice, a very important one, hanging over our heads, but in this moment, as I pulled into a firm and warm chest, none of it matters anymore. And as he grips me closer, I can't help but wonder if it ever did. If anything could matter more than the warmth of his arms, the smile on his lips, and fire that burns in the gold eyes.

"Welcome back, Altaïr."

Ken's words are almost ignored. For a few long seconds, Altaïr doesn't acknowledge them as he pulls me into his arms, sweeping my legs out from under me to hold me close to his chest. Once I'm secured in his arms, though, he turns to him, pausing only long enough to nod in his direction before we're off. Not even bothering to wait to be introduced to a wide-eyed Leonardo, Altaïr carries me out of the attic.

"I have something to tell you," he says when we're finally in my room. Placing me carefully onto my rumpled sheets, he pulls back enough to pull off his weapons and vambraces and to shrug off his dirty and bloodstained tunic. I watch it go, watching as it's pulled off an only slightly less dirty undershirt.

"Maybe you should clean up first," I tell him, taking his tunic to fold it and set it aside for washing. He moves to sit next to me then, bending down to unbuckle and tug off his boots. He pauses at my words, a smirk lifting the corners of his lips as he turns golden eyes my way.

"Are you saying I stink?"

The joke is there, fond in the way it can only be when it's just between two people and I can't stop the laugh it startles out me even as I all but launch myself at him, tackling him to the bed. My heart clenches something fierce as his arms wrap around me, eagerly wrapping me up as, easily. Like he wants to take me in his arms just as much as I want to be in them.

"God, I missed you," I whisper into his neck, lips brushing against the skin I find there, and the words are so true, it hurts. My heart withers so harshly in my chest, I almost choke on the words as they leave my lips.

"I missed you as well," he whispers into my hair, his voice so serious, it sounds like some kind of promise. One that will make those words true for the very rest of our lives as we cling to each other, the bed and blankets soft under us. "But I really do have something important to share with you."

"In a bit," I tell him, unwilling to pull back, to let him go after so long with him gone. After having spent nights alone and missing the sound of his breathes, the warmth of his body, of missing him. "Tell me in a bit."

"You will fall asleep," he warns, one hand coming up to brush through my hair even as he does. I hum at the feeling, melting that much closer into him, nuzzling deeper as I do. Unwilling and unable to keep my eyes open when everything finally feels like it should be.

At peace.

"Well, it is the middle of the night," I mumble, already well on my way to dozing off there, securely wrapped in his arms. He chuckles at that, a soft low sound that shoots heat down my back and makes goosebumps rise along my arms.

"Actually, it is early morning," he corrects, hand still carding through my hair as he does. His fingers snag on a knot, one he carefully slips them from with only a soft tug. "At least in this realm it is. If I am reading your clock correctly, it is currently five in the morning."

"My point exactly. It's way too early to be awake."

"Is it?" he asks, pulling me closer as he does, until I'm all but laying on him, head pillowed on his chest and my own legs falling between his. I let him move me, more than content to be shuffled that much closer to him. "Ken is already awake and working."

"That's probably because he never even went to bed to begin with," I tell him, sleeping sipping from my grasp as I feel his fingers trail from my hair down my back, running ever lower. That they stop at my waist is a bit disappointing, at least until both hands come to wrap my waist a pull. Hitching me up until my face is hovering above his. "Okay, okay. I'm listening."

"I love you."

Now that is a promise if I've ever heard one. One so full and deep with devotion that I can't help the way my heart stutter, overcome but the swell of, well, love that overcomes me, crashing through my chest and to my veins, with so much warmth that I melt all over again. Sagging back into his arms, I don't resist when one hand comes up to pull me down until our lips meet.

Our kiss is soft. Slow. Sweet and full of all the love and warmth still crashing through me. It melts everything in its wake, until there's nothing left except the soft warmth of his love and the slow 'thumps' of a heart that only has and will only ever beat for him.

"I love you too," I whisper when I finally pull back. The words come out slowly, in pieces as I puff out soft pants against his lips. But he hears them all the same as he pulls me closer, snatching my lips again in another kiss.

This one is hotter, hungrier as his arms tighten around me until I'm pressed as close as possible, molded to the harsh, muscled planes of him. There's a fire in my veins now, hot and heady as the kiss breaks and I'm left panting once more. He doesn't let me go far though. Still clutched in his arms, his lips move to my neck, nipping and kissing at the skin there even as he rolls us over until he's hovering over me.

"I'll always love you."

My words are a promise against his lips. Swallowed up by his again as he surges up from my neck at the sound of them, devouring every last one as he kissed me again like he can't get enough. Like he needs it to breathe as I melt against him, content to simply rides the wave of his love and soak up all he has to give. Desperate from everything he has to give as he all but pours his love into me. As he paints his love against my skin in red, in delicate nips and kisses that make my blood all but sing.

If this is what his love is like, I never want it to stop.

And tell him such in the way I drag him that much fuller atop of me. As I wrap an arm around his neck to hold him close, fingers of one hand going to curl into his hairs, and trail my other hand along his back, clenching and petting and reach all the skin I can as he breathes against my chest, nipping kiss across my collar bone as he dips lower, past my neck and to the open v of my shirt.

As we move, rocking and pushing and touching as much as we can when there's still too much clothes between us. Blocking and bothersome even though we're too far gone to even consider moving them. So lost in each other that we can't think of doing anything that would mean pulling away. Of letting each other go long enough for the warmth of each other's arms to fade, so instead, we just don't.

We cling to each other like we're afraid the other will disappear if we don't hold on tight enough. Like breathing without the other is impossible, like the only way to live is here, held tight against a firm chest, wrapped up in arms that promise to never let go. To hold on until that tight ball of need, bursts, shattering into a million searing pieces until all that's left is softness and warmth and gentle.

"Can I fall asleep now?" I pant against his mouth, loving the soft gentle kisses he continues to press against my lips. He just hums, body flushed against mine, so I feel every inch of that hum as it shakes out from his chest and into mine. "Good."

His own eyes are close when he sags fully, head nuzzling down into my neck as all the exhaustion of a week spent hunting down Templars finally catches up to him. I don't begrudge that extra weight, not when it feels like protection. Like no one can ever get to me so long as I'm buried in his arms, pressed down by the weight of his body on mine.

We stay like that, wrapped up in each other even as the sun comes up, shining through the curtains and brightening up the room. We only move when the light becomes too bright to keep sleeping, bothersome enough that we can't help but wake up. I rise first, overheated from the full weight of him on top of me and craving the cold of the brisk air.

"Altaïr," I mumble, attempting and failing to shimmy out from under him when his arms tighten that much more at my squirming. Even huffing in annoyance, I still take the time to press a kiss to his cheek, lips lingering when he pulls me closer, and sleep makes me forget just what I'm trying to do. "Seriously, Altaïr, it's hot."

He grumbles, against my head, breathe tousling the already messy strands. The arm over my waist holds me close, fingers tangled in the material of my shirt, while his other arm slips under my head, tangling in the strands even while I continue to squirm.

"Hold still," he grumbles, the muscles in his arms jumping when he tightens his grip again, fingers curling harshly against my skin for just a second. Then, suddenly, we're rolling across the cool sheets until I'm resting above him, warm, sleepy, skin suddenly exposed to the coldness of the room.

"Thank you."

He just hums again, both hands going to my waist and simply holding. Cradling me close in his soft hold lest I try to slip away again when he let's sleep drag him down again. Pillowed against his chest, there's nowhere I want to go. At least until the noises of the world outside my door suddenly come crashing into my awareness.

The sounds of a bustling house are enough to rouse me the rest of the way. As I hear the clatter of pots and pans, I blink the last of the sleep from my eyes as I remember today is more than just any other day in America.

It's Thanksgiving.

And already, I can hear Dad and Mom chattering in the kitchen, voices too muffled to make out any real words as they bustle about the kitchen, cooking. They've got a long day ahead of them, one that can only get better from an extra set of helping hands.

Grumbling against Altaïr chest, I sit up before I can talk myself out of getting up. His hands tighten against my waist at the movement, holding me there as I straddle his hips, intent on moving the second his fingers relax again.

"Sleep," I mumble when his eyes flutter open enough to peer up at me. Bending down to place a quick kiss on his lips, I mumble against them, "It's still early so sleep some more. I have to go help Mom and Dad."

With one last squeeze, he lets me go. Almost reluctantly, his hands trail down to my hips before they fall away. I smile against his lips, lingering for one last kiss, soft and sweet before I roll off him and slip away. He curls up almost as soon as I'm off him, dragging the sheets up and over his head as he does.

I only stay long enough to change my clothes for fresh ones before finally leaving the room and entering the full fray of cooking Thanksgiving Dinner. Even so early in the morning, the kitchen is already in utter chaos.

The skin is piled high with dirty dishes with many more littering the countertops, and both Mom and Dad are at the stove, expertly mixing and stirring various dishes at the same time. All four burners are in use and even the oven has already set to burn at 350°.

"Where do you need me?" I ask around a yawn, eyes searching out the coffee pot even as I offer help. Dad presses a kiss to my head when I drift close enough, gentle hands ushering me to take his spot at the stove once I finally have a steaming cup of coffee in my grasp. "Altaïr is home."

"So early?" Dad asks from where he's moved to start chopping a wide variety of fruits. Everything from pineapples to pears to apples are spread in front of him, clean and ready to be diced and tossed into a boiling pot of water to make a Mexican style of fruit punch. On that is served hot and heavily doctored with tequila for an extra special kick. "I thought Arce was a one-week trip one way?"

"He must have gone non-stop," I say shrugging as I continue to mix what I only just realize is a pot of pasta that doesn't really regular constant stirring. Deciding to ignore why Dad was so diligently stirring pasta, I place the spoon down and take a long, hot sip of my coffee. "He's currently passed out in bed."

"That can't really be healthy," Mom says, passing me her own spoon as she moves to the sink to get started on some of the dishes. Her pot turns out to be full of green sauce waiting to boil to make her famous Enchilada Casserole, our family's unique staple to any feast. "Especially since he'll have to leave onto his next mission so soon."

"You're not wrong," I agree with her, stirring the sauce just as it begins to simmer. Having put in charge of the stove, I peek into the other pots to find one full of chicken breasts waiting to boil and one full of water for the fruit punch. "But there's nothing he can do since it's all on Al Mualim's order."

"Shit," Farther curses, knife clattering onto the cutting board as he does. Pulling air through his teeth in a backward whistle, he cradles his hand close, a white towel wrapped around. It quickly stains red though, color seeping through easily as it soaks up the blood. "I forgot. A can't believe I forgot."

"Honey?" Mom calls, already wiping the water off her hands as she moves to take Dad's hand in hers. He lets her but his gaze never moves from me even as Mom pulls the towel back to reveal the blood oozing from a slice across his fingers.

"What did you forget?" I ask him, eyes going back to the cutting board where an apple sits, skin as red as the blood pooled around, dripping from the knife tossed haphazardly down next to it.

Why is it always a stupid apple?

"Mario and I decided to take a quick peek around Masyaf the day you came back," Dad says, gently taking his hand back from Mom when the cut turns out not to be too serious. Wrapping the towel back around his fingers to staunch the bleeding, he moves towards the sink to wash off the blood from his other hand. "With all the excitement about Anissa missing, I forgot to mention what we found."

"What did you find?" I ask, already turned back to stirring the pots that need stirring. Mom ducks under the sink then, hands reaching for the First Aid kit tucked away in there. Father watches her, grimace on his face when she pulls out the antiseptic spray and some bandages.

"He was using the Apple. On everyone," he clarifies as Mom takes his hand again and gets to work patching him up as quickly and efficiently as possible with the way he tries to squirm away from the stinging spray. "Almost like he was trying to test out its effectiveness, which isn't odd when you keep in mind what he wants it for. What was odd was its effect on me. Or lack of."

"It had no effect on you?"

"None whatsoever," he agrees, wincing as mom wraps tight efficient bandages around his fingers. That done, she hands him a pair of latex gloves to wear so he can finish chopping the fruits still waiting to be diced and dumped in the pot of boiling water. "Thank you, love."

"Huh?" I mumble lost in thought as the full implications of what he just discovered settles in. I'd figured it was a very real possibility, one I was going to have to deal with eventually considering Al Mualim would no doubt try to expose everyone and anyone he could to the Apple's influence. "We need to tell Kenny and Leonardo."

"And you're going to have to stay as far away from it as you can," Dad warns, already back to chopping, hands making quick work of what's left with a new, clean knife and cutting board. "We can't let Al Mualim figure out the Apple has no effect on any of us."

"Of course," I agree easily enough, switching off the burners on the pasta and sauce now that they're both down cooking. "The last thing we need is power hungry Al Mualim finding out he can't control me or any of you."

"That would be disastrous," Mom agrees, once again elbows deep in dishes and soapy water. There's a thoughtful look on her face as she scrubs away at the dishes, contemplate something she doesn't share with us. Instead, she shoos me out of the kitchen then. "Go. We got things covered here; you go make sure everyone gets clean up. I'm sure Ken and Leonardo haven't come down from the attic all night."

"Okay," I agree easily, slipping out of the kitchen before they can regret their decision and call me back to help. Pausing by room, I peek in quickly, only long enough to make sure Altaïr's still peacefully asleep before I hurry on to the attic.

Not surprisingly Ken and Leonardo are still in the back corner, bent over papers and huge bags under their eyes. They blink owlishly at me when I finally pull their attention away from a diagram of the apple. One that shows the shape of it but offers no real insight into how the damned thing works.

"Maybe you guys should call it a day," I suggest as I carefully pull Ken to his feet. He sways a bit then, muttering out something about not being tired even as he gives in to my gentle nudging and begins to trudge his way out of the attic. Confident that he'll find a bed to sleep in, I let him go, watching fondly as he goes. "Do you need help getting to bed?"

"No, no, I should be fine," Leonardo says, blushing even as he doesn't move to stand from his seat. Though his eyes narrow then, a wide smile taking over his lips as his eyes move down to my neck, skimming over something just before he winks. "Someone had a good night then."

"You have no idea," I tell him beating down the blush that's threatening to crawl up my neck through sheer force of will. I don't have to look in a mirror to know my neck is covered in red marks. Joining him at the table, I take Ken's seat when Leonardo makes no move to leave.

At least Mom and Dad had been too busy to either notice or comment on the new state of my neck.

"A very good night, then," he says, smile still on his face as he leans back and stretches, body pulling taut just long enough for a few joints to pop before he goes lax, melting back into his seat. "If only my night had been just as good."

I choke on my spit then, coughing harshly while Leonardo laughs at my reaction. He does stand then, pausing long enough to pat my back a few times before he begins to make his way to the swirls. He pauses before the red one, shooting me a look full of mischievous.

"But alas, all the good men are already taken."

And then he's gone. Swept away by red swirl that carried him back to Monteriggioni before I can think of anything to say to that. Not that I think I'd be able to come up with an appropriate response.

Well, I may have a pretty good guess as to who has drawn Leonardo's less professional attention, I'd don't even want to entertain the thought. Not when I'm sure said individual is already thoroughly smitten with another. Not that I would stop either of them from reaching out to each other.

Or anyone else for that matter.

One's path to happiness is a matter best decided by their very own heart. Who am I to interfere? As long as no one is set to deliberately hurt someone, I can't do anything more than sit on the sidelines and see where the cards may fall.

And the way the cards are falling, Ken's heart seems dead set on one very special Italian Assassin.