Patience, An Altaïr /Malik Fan Fiction

A/N: Hey! I know I haven't been writing much, forgive me! The new school year has been extremely tough and I've been struggling to keep on board. I've been really sick lately, so I missed one whole week of important school. But I'm all better now! Anyways. I'm a little nervous to write for this fandom, as I haven't played the game in forever. Anyways, thanks for reading and enjoy!

The holy bells of Jerusalem sang with the alarm of a fresh killing. Altaïr glided across the rooftops, his feet silent as he landed. The feather lay hidden under his robes, coated with the blood of Talal. The city blurred past him as he jumped from each beam to another, the mindless guards not paying any attention to him.

He kept his white robe's hood over his forehead, wry from his long journey to the city. He had rested once, upon arriving at the bureau – but other than that? He hadn't slept or ate once. The words Talal had spoken echoed in his throbbing head, raising questions of his own. Had I done the right thing? Of course he had, Al Mualim had sent him to assassinate this man for a reason; he was a sinister slave trader. But the man had begged to differ in their final exchange of words. Altaïr's breath remained steady, even through the enormous amounts of physical effort he put into his body. As he finally landed on the assassin's bureau's roof without any trouble, he felt his feet ache slightly. Swiftly, he jumped through the opening and landed in the familiar hallway.

On his right lay a rug which surprisingly, wasn't as uncomfortable as it looked. Up against the wall were pillows, some lumpy, some not. The shade was a nice change from the agonizing heat of the city. Forcefully, he pushed himself past the rug. He wanted to lie down to get off his feet for an hour or so, but he needed to see Malik. He took in a deep breath and walked through the door way.

"Altaïr, wonderful to see you return to us! And were you successful?" He asked with a sarcastic smile. After Altaïr's outbreak in the tunnels underground, Malik hadn't forgiven him. Altaïr believed that he should be grateful, saying he was lucky to escape with paying the price of just an arm. Malik protested, telling him if he hadn't had broken the tenets none of it would have happened.

"The deed is done, Talal is dead," Altaïr replied nonchalantly.

"I know, I know. In fact, the whole city knows! Have you forgotten the meaning of subtly?" Malik snapped, his eyes fierce.

Altaïr could feel his lips twitch out of irritation, but he remained calm. "A skilled assassin ensures his work is noticed by those around him."

"No! A skilled assassin keeps control of his environment," he sneered, watching as Altaïr pulled out the feather smeared with his target's blood. Instead of replying, Altaïr frowned and it took Malik off his guard. Usually, Altaïr would have something to say back but not this time.

"It doesn't matter, I've completed the task," he spoke dryly, starting to feel the aches and pains sink into his muscles.

"With many flaws!" Malik raised his voice, slamming one of his many textbooks onto the desk. Altaïr stifled a yawn, knowing it would only upset the man across from him.

"We're on the same side, Malik. Are we not?" Altaïr grinned, knowing he had him defeated. No matter what beliefs they had, they would always be on the same allied territory. The gaunt-faced man snorted and turned his back on the assassin, scanning through the many titles on his shelf. Without another word, Altaïr walked out of the bureau and out to the welcoming bed rest. They were calling his name softly and his body moaned in pleasure as he laid down smoothly. For a moment, all of the weight on his back was nothing but a feather falling to the floor. His eyes closed with ease, but he never completely relaxed. Not even as he felt his consciousness began to drift away into dreams.

Altaïr always had the feeling someone was watching him.

***

Malik waited a good thirty minutes before he knew Altaïr was asleep.

The soft snores coming from his direction were hard to ignore, even if they were extremely quiet. The city had died down completely. Talal was dead and there was nothing anyone could do about it; although, some refused to believe that a man of such power had been assassinated. In their minds, the killer had escaped, even though he was still inside the city walls.

Quietly, he got out from behind his desk and made no noise as he walked out in front of Altaïr. The man was lying on his side, his hands grasping a pillow underneath his head. Beside him, his blade lay sheathed, just in his reach. Malik knew very well Altaïr seldom let his guard down. It was no wonder that this man was bestowed the title, Master Assassin so quick. His face was scrunched up in what looked like pain and it became noticeable that he was having a nightmare. In the brotherhood, Malik could always tell when the assassin wasn't having a pleasant night's sleep. He would stray from the other assassins and sleep in a corner, occasionally twitching or letting out a quiet groan.

Watching him now caused something to stir inside of him. The way the lighting fell across his face made him look like someone he could approach for once. He watched his face turn from a frown to a sudden neutral expression. Watching his mouth move slightly, Malik leaned down and got on one knee to inspect him further.

"Mmm... Malik...?" He mumbled, barely coherent. All of a sudden all disgust for this man disappeared, causing Malik question things he had never even thought about before.

"Yes, Altaïr?" He whispered, leaning in closer to hear him speak. Malik felt his cheeks flush and felt his stomach do continuous back flips. Their mouths were just inches away and if Malik leaned any further, there would be no space between them. Instead, Altaïr didn't reply and rolled onto his back. Malik sighed and slowly stood up, watching the man in front of him start dreaming. He turned around hesitantly and began to walk to his desk; where his textbooks awaited him. Smiling, Altaïr opened one of his eyes and watched Malik walk back to the desk.

How could leaping off a hundred foot building be so easy but building up the courage to speak to the man he adored so much, be such a challenge?