Soon I will start getting to the good parts of this story :)

Yusef came around the corner and saw that the bureau was empty. "Master Malik?" He said and put his arms in the opposite sleeves, crossing them over his chest. "Are you here?"

He was startled when he heard Malik come sprinting down the stairs with a candlelight. The rafiq whipped around quickly and looked up the stairs to see if something was following him, but when he saw that there was nothing but darkness, he realized that Yusef was nearby.

"Master Malik?" Yusef said again, succeeding in getting his attention. He noticed Malik's frightened look subside when he saw that he wasn't alone. "Is everything alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."

And I think I have, novice. "Yes, everything is alright," Malik lied. "I just…must have been dreaming something and I thought it was real." He looked over at the novice. "What are you doing up so late at night? And where is your master?"

"I was sleeping up on the roof until I heard something inside. I got worried."

Malik glanced away and then back at him. "Firstly, I advise you sleep inside the bureau. Anything could catch you out there, just like a mouse in a field full of soaring owls. Secondly, you did not answer my other question. Where is your master?"

"He is up on the roof as well. We figured it'd be rude of us to sleep…well…there," Yusef said and motioned to the yard where Altair bled out his life.

Malik sighed. "What exactly did you hear?"

"A scream, then a fumble."

A moment of silence passed. "Go back to bed," Malik said. "Everything is fine."

"Yes Master," Yusef replied and bowed slightly before going out of sight.

Malik almost cringed as each step he took on the stairs made a horrible creaking noise. He checked to make sure that no one was in his bedroom, and he was certain that he was the only one there. The only others here were Yusef and his master, and they were outside.

On the roof…of all places…

Malik awoke to the sunshine streaming in through the windows. The flood of light caused him to close his eyes again and cover them with his hand as he sat up straight and yawned, listening to his bed's frame squeak as he got up to move. The light was comforting from the midnight scare last night, so he gladly threw on his rafiq clothes and descended the stairs.

"Good morning to you Yusef," Malik said as he saw the novice. "Care to tell me where your master has gone off now?"

"His name is Kareem, and he is doing a mission Al Mualim sent him to do in the first place. He told me to remain here, but refused to tell me what he was doing."

That's strange, Malik thought. A master not telling his own student what he went off to do?

"Then rest here until he returns," Malik replied.

Malik looked at the map he had been working on and glanced at the quill standing in the inkpot. He thought about it for a while, the fact that it came from a bird, another living thing that was born and raised on the Earth, only to die in the end. He had gotten the quill from his favorite bird, too. He remembered Altair hating the avian. It was a parrot, imported from a far away land in the east, and could mimic many words and phrases. He remembered Altair complaining that the bird wouldn't stop singing and that he speaks nonsense, and even suggested that the bird was possessed by demons. Malik laughed at it back then, but now he realized that Altair really didn't know that the bird was just mimicking what others said.

Then again, Altair wouldn't have known. Birds weren't something that he really thought about, other than the feathers that are useful for writing and for tokens of proof that a target has been assassinated.

When that bird- Mary was her name -died, Malik remembered feeling as if he had lost a family member. He had that bird for a few years, ever since he graduated from being a novice and went on to being a bureau leader. He and that bird were so right for each other, so meant for each other. Then through an accident, the bird was killed.

That was the only time he had ever seen Altair give that look to him. Words couldn't describe his expression. He could have said thousands of things; "Why are you crying over a bird?" "It was a bird, Malik, it doesn't matter." "This is such a worthless thing to shed tears about." Instead, he just stood there while Malik had his tears rolling down his face, mourning the loss of a beloved friend.

That was the one moment he had seen Altair truly, deeply sorry. He could tell that he wanted to apologize for not liking the animal, he could tell that he wanted to say, "I'm sorry for your loss." And he did. Never before had Altair been 'soft,' as some might say. Maybe he can just sympathize with him.

Altair did, after all, loose someone he loved very dearly.

Her name was Adha, Malik recalled. Altair loved her more than anything else, and when she had been captured by Templars, Altair went racing after her. He abandoned the Brotherhood for a week, and when he returned, Malik knew that the news wasn't good.

He remembered everyone being culled into the courtyard of the fortress in Masyaf. Altair had been trying to writhe free of the two men restraining him, and he was as angry as angry could get. Malik's heart had stopped when he saw them strip Altair of his shirt and robes and forced him to keep his back turned to the crowd while he was down on his knees. Then their master had addressed the crowd, using Altair as an example of what would happen to those who disobeyed their orders. Then he produced a whip and did something that he would have never expected their master to do.

Five times it took until Altair started to let out whimpers. By the tenth, each whip caused him scream abruptly.

Malik didn't want to count. He had turned away and covered his ears, but when the screaming stopped, he had turned around and saw a bloodied Altair literally being dragged away. And out of all times, out of all faces in the crowd, he managed to have looked straight at his. His eyes were plainly saying 'help me,' and Malik was barred behind a cage of people and was drowning in a sea of voices. He couldn't reach a hand out to his comrade, couldn't even step up to say 'stop.'

But then who would have? Al Mualim is a powerful man. But he still could have negotiated that Altair was only chasing after what he loved, and failed. Failure should have been a good enough punishment.

The only love in his life had been that woman. After her death- Altair had told him personally that he was just an inch from saving her -he started to not care about anything, even himself. His self-mutilation consisted of cutting himself with his own knives and refusing to clean his infected wounds.

It was so hard, watching him just sit there flipping a knife over and over in his hands as he stared blankly at it. Malik had known that the moment he turned his back, Altair would hurt himself again. He had yelled at the assassin why he hurt himself so much, why he was mutilating himself. He wasn't expecting Altair to say, "Because it feels good." Malik took away any sharp objects, anything that he could have hurt himself with. He was so stubborn; throughout that time, he was slowly starving himself by refusing to eat. Maybe he was actually hungry and wanted to eat something, or maybe he was so entwined with sorrow over the loss of his Adha that he really couldn't eat anything. He had lost so much weight, and he had become just a hollow shell. Just a thin, hollow shell.

It took six months of practically quarantining the man to break him out of his habits. Nothing loved him and he loved nothing, and it clearly showed on his features. He had been through shock, too. Shock over what had happened, and shock that someone else he thought he loved had hurt him so deeply. Al Mualim had been like a father in a way, but the love was weak and unstable. Al Mualim was the one who showed- and said -to him that he did not love him, that there was nothing in this world for him but what he was born for; to kill.

Altair had become depressed. All what he did after the entire incident- Malik kept in mind that this assassin was a very strong person, and it took a lot to break him -was just lay in bed, dead to the world. Malik would sit with him for hours on end in the hopes that he could help him. Heck, even Kadar would come in.

When Malik asked him any questions, he would usually remain silent, but one time he said, "I want to die."

Something like that had sunken into Malik's heart. Here was this man, stronger than a pillar, someone who would never allow you to plow through him or push him, completely broken in turmoil and grief. It was the end of the world to him, after all. After that, he kept a very close eye on Altair. He knew that the assassin was now suicidal and depressed, and he knew well enough that those two don't mix together very well. It's like electricity and water; you just don't put them together.

So many months had passed and Al Mualim didn't visit Altair once. Heck, no one but him and Kadar did. Everyone just assumed that they were his caretakers or something. They didn't understand Altair's state. They didn't understand what was going on with him. But through their time together, Malik figured out a lot of things about the assassin. When Altair finally started talking again, he was usually very quiet and didn't say much, but the things that he said told Malik and Kadar everything about himself.

Malik look at the figure on the bed staring at the blade that he turned around over and over again in his hands and he immediately snatched it from him. "Stop it," he hissed. "Nothing good will become of you doing this to yourself. It's been about half a year and not once have you even gathered yourself enough to talk a walk outside in the fresh air."

"Why does it matter?" Altair said. "It doesn't matter how hurt I am. You saw all the others; no one did anything to help me while Al Mualim…" he refused to finished his sentence.

Malik sat down with him on the bed. "All things fade with time, brother," he said. "Hurting yourself does not do anything."

"It makes me forget everything else."

"Altair, you are sick and I am helping you. Please, I beg of you, let this all just…go. Al Mualim lied to you; there are things in this life that are meant for you, and it is not killing. Half a year has gone by and you are not yourself."

"Of course I'm not. Nothing matters anymore. No one would care if I died. Only Adha would, but she's dead."

"I would care," Malik said. "So would my brother. Don't say such things. How dare you even think about coming into my life only to walk away, because you don't just do that, do you understand?"

"Adha walked away."

"You had no control of that! And neither did she, Altair."

"We don't have control over anything. Not even our names. I don't even know what my real name is. Al Mualim gave me this…this…thing that's not a name."

"But we have control over some things, Altair."

"Like what?"

"We have control over ourselves, and I assure you that Adha would not want you mutilating yourself in the manner that you have been doing."

Altair had gone quiet and sunk back. They were both quiet for a moment until Altair unexpectedly threw his arms around Malik and brought him into a tight embrace. "Help me," he said as Malik instinctively mirrored the man's movements and hugged him back. "Please, help me."

"I am, my brother, and don't forget that either."

It was only a week after that conversation did Altair begin to run and exercise again, and it was that conversation that made Altair realize that there is someone who cares about him. All what he needed was someone in his life, and Malik wasn't going to have that destroyed. He never, ever wanted to see anything in such a sorry state that Altair had put himself into. Even to this day he still didn't understand why he would cut himself; how could it have possibly eased pain? The last time he remembered, flesh being split into two was a painful experience.

Why did that man have to be so complex? Then three years later, he just…dies. And in his own arms, too.

Malik snapped himself out his daze and focused on the map again. Wow…he got all of that from a feather. What a world.

Several minutes passed and Malik realized that he could barely concentrate with the thought of Altair floating around his mind.

Why do I take so much joy in torturing imaginary characters…?

Ah well, I love being weird :D Weirdness makes the world go 'round!

P.S. When you get cut, serotonin (a neurotransmitter chemical that constricts blood vessels where injuries are (like getting a scrap, cut, gash, etc.)) is released, so that's why some people who are depressed have a tendency to 'cut' themselves. I thought that I would apply it to Altair because in the middle ages, people had no idea what serotonin was and all what Altair knew was that it…well…made him feel a little better because he was clinically depressed.

But as we all know, self-mutilation is a bad, BAD THING PEOPLES DON'T DO IT, m'kay?