As if he had been struck from the sky, Altaïr was jolted mid leap. His heart, still pounding from his escape, froze momentarily as the hard steel of the arrow bit into his shoulder. His face contorted from the initial shock, to pain; the shock wore off, replaced by agony. He had staggered in his leap from one building to the next, and found the arrow's impact had thrown his trajectory off. Scrambling to hold himself up from an even more painful fall, his shoulder burned as the muscles ripped under his struggle.

Fuck!

Where the hell did that even…

The pain spiked in his shoulder, pins and needles threatening to numb his arm should he continue his efforts. Dropping his injured arm, he hung from the roof by the other, searching the ground below him for anything to break his fall. Grunting, he let his fingers lose their grip, landing with a practiced roll, he still felt the impact shudder through his legs, and he was powerless to stop the short cry that was ripped from his throat.

Gotchya

Maria simpered as she watched him fall, his gait thrown by her dead hit.

Not bad for the lack of practice.

She stopped only long enough to briefly gloat at her accomplishment, before scampering down the building herself. She took a leap from a lower edge, following the path she had watched him take. Despite their difference in height, Maria was able to make most of the same jumps, adrenaline powering her legs. At the few isolated splatters of blood under her feet she grinned.

He couldn't have gone far. Probably fell down. I'll stay up here so I can–

Her thoughts were interrupted by her peripherals, the faint limp in the crowd, created an unusual gait. One with an injury, would create such a walk, or perhaps an arrowhead in his shoulder. Inhaling deeply, she re-filled her lungs for the next arduous task, of stalking a highly trained assassin in broad daylight. She waited for him to exit the crowd, hoping he would turn down some alley way before she would have to either go a long ways out of her way to get around the large vantage point towers, or climb down from the roofs, only to be lost in the sea of people.

Perhaps a distraction would work in my favour.

No sooner had the thought crossed her mind, a loud cry came from a few women in the crowd below. A Saracen was trying to accuse one of them for stealing, only to be met with loud protests. She watched with curiosity as the others in the crowd steered away from her as if she was diseased; none offering her help.

And yet they accuse us of doing wrong.

Eyes never venturing too far from her target, she watched as he began following some of the others, striding as far away from the woman's escalating shrieks as the Saracen guards continued their harassment.

And just where are you going?

She hopped across a few suspendered wooden platforms, crossing over the crowd to the other side of the buildings. Keeping pace as he slipped past most of the crowd, she watched with pride as he grabbed at his arm, wincing in the process.

Now what on earth am I going to do this time to actually catch him. I don't think my ribs have felt quite a blow like that since I got on the wrong side of a few city guards. I suppose I could use his injury to my advantage, although I don't have anything but a moment of surprise, and a small injury on my side. If this is going to work, I need to keep him in one place, knock him out, and then either find something to bind him, or…

Maria's attention suddenly snapped back to Altaïr as he was now behind her, sitting against some crates in a deserted alleyway. In her planning she had neglected to keep a focus on him, and had ended up passing him by.

Shit– pay more attention woman! If he gets away now, there won't be a point in returning to Robert.

Groaning to herself, she looked around, realizing she would have t cross over the rooftops again in order to jump down on top of him. He sat slumped, vulnerable to attack– however, on the wrong side of the alleyway. Her own route to cross would be to go around, taking her nearly an entire street of houses down, leaving her without an eye on him for a good couple of minutes. Or, she could chance slipping down the side of the building she was currently on, dart across the street at the intersection behind her, and then climb back up.

I can't trust leaving him by himself.

Maria sighed as she slid down the building, muscles tensed to make her drop as soundless and controlled as possible. In the stillness of the alleyway, every sound was multiplied; the closeness of the buildings acting as an amplifier with all the surrounding walls. Darting quickly over the other side of the street, she watched him the entire time, convinced that as long as she looked at him, he wouldn't look up. Her breath nearly burst from her lungs as she made it to the other side, scrambling quickly onto the rooftops once again. Her breaths slipped through her parted lips in tiny puffs; she made her approach, cautious to avoid the worn boards connecting the buildings.

Altaïr felt his mouth open as he let out a ragged moan, his back tensing as he reached once more fruitlessly searching to remove the arrowhead buried in his back. The pain continued to throb; the entire side of his back began to lose any sensation, and he knew time was of the essence if he wanted to avoid lasting damage. He had nearly recovered enough to make another attempt, when someone from the rooftops crushed his body.

The preciseness of isolated pain only a kneecap could deliver wedged itself into the wound, causing Altaïr to produce a guttural noise that shuddered through his entire body. She dug her knee in further, using her entire bodyweight to dig the point of the arrow another few centimetres into his muscle. Feeling its point near bone, Altaïr's mouth stretched even wider, a soundless cry escaping on his breath. Deft fingers soon replaced the knee's weight, and for a moment he thought the pain had ended. With a flick of her wrist, her fingers grabbed hold, and twisted the arrowhead around, eliciting shouted curses from the Assassin beneath her.

She leaned in close to his ear, savouring his panting breaths, "What? Not even going to put up a fight?" She twisted the arrowhead the other way, "Something got your tongue?"

Altaïr struggled to form a sentence, to say anything to make her cease. His limbs seemed incapable of moving, and though he tried, he failed to right himself from under her hold.

"I'm going to ask you one time, and you shall answer me. If not, this arrow will be sliding out of your arse, do you understand?"

Altaïr had no idea to interpret her bizarre threat, however the pain that bloomed through his mind left him only capable of a single, minute nod.

'Good." She sneered at his position beneath her, shifting her weight while she had the chance, "Why were you sent to poison Mamraj?"

Altaïr groaned, he had been taught to endure torture, learned secrets of telling the mind to ignore the flesh. However, now his techniques seemed lost to him, the only thought being burning agony.

He answered her in Arabic.

Her grin faded, and her fingers sought the arrowhead again. Slippery with his blood, in her attempt to grip it, her fingers ended up pulling it out halfway.

Another stifled yelp was torn from him.

She pulled it out slowly, raking the tip against his skin before it slid out, flicking his back and her arm with blood. Holding her only weapon in her hands, she wrenched him over to lay on his back, and she placed a hand on either shoulder, digging him into the uneven cobblestone.

Altaïr struggled to free himself from her grip, using his hips to thrust her off. However, as she dug his shoulder into the ground beneath him, he could see the edges of his vision darkening.

She stared into his eyes, "You would do well to answer in my language. Unless you wish to lose something you value more than your life."

Eyes wavering as he looked back at her under heavy lidded eyes, his confusion was evident. Sighing at his naivety, she sat up over him, digging her hips down, and squeezing her legs together on either side of him to keep him stable. She watched for any clue of his falter.

They remained like that for a moment, Altaïr waiting until some tiny amount of strength would return, Maria waiting for a confession. His second wind returned faster than her patience wore out, and his arms grasped for her throat, shocking her with his rapid recovery. She wrenched herself back, using her position on top to her advantage, pulling herself out of his arm's reach. His hips bucked under her, and she found herself being thrown off. In an act of desperation, she bit down into his shoulder, sinking her teeth deep into his muscle, waiting for him to either rip her from him, or surrender. He writhed, yet she hung on, tasting his blood as it filled her mouth.

"Tozz fiik wa filli gabuuk!"

Maria found herself being flipped onto her back, the sun being shielded by Altaïr form above her. Blood dripped onto her face and she turned her head, blinking against the few drops that had landed near her eye. She wrapped her legs around him tightly, securing herself around him in another place. His hand found her jaw, and attempted with a growl, to pry her teeth from him. She felt the pressure on her jawbone increase, and she would soon feel it shatter under the pressure of his fingers. Begrudgingly, she released her hold, spitting his blood where it would hopefully land in his face.

"You missed."

She growled at him, and tried to wrench herself free of his grip. She let her legs drop from his hips, but before she could roll away from under him, her arms were ripped above her head, and she felt herself being lifted up and shoved against the rough stucco wall.

A/N

Tozz fiik wa filli gabuuk- Fuck/screw you and those who gave birth to you.