A/N: Assassin's Creed AU. Set in Cairo, Egypt.
The floor beneath Doctor Angela Ziegler lurched, forcing her to stop and place a hand on the wall to keep from falling over. Leaning against the support, she closed her eyes, riding out the wave of dizziness. Thankfully it was the early morning, and there was not much foot traffic throughout the hospital at these hours. Particularly the Class A ward, where she was in. No visitors were sitting in the wide corridor. Even if they were here, they would be in the fully furnished suite rooms.
Taking deep breaths, Angela slowly reopened her eyes. The dizziness made its final lap around her brain, and trickled back to where it came from. She had been on the job for more than fourteen hours now. Maybe she should have taken her colleagues' advice to knock off a few hours ago. Steadying herself, she strode towards the room of the last and most important patient – owner of a leading med tech firm in Egypt, who was spearheading efforts to supply poor districts with the medical care they needed.
Angela opened the door quietly, to not rouse the sleeping patient. The room was dark, and she quickly closed the door to block out light from the corridor. She took a few steps in, and froze. A shadow darted away from the bed the moment she looked forward. Blood racing and hoping it was just her imagination, Angela stepped closer towards the bed. She had barely left the entranceway when a heavy weight slammed into her side. Clipboard clattering on the floor, Angela grabbed onto the forearm pressed against her neck, pinning her to the wall. An involuntary whimper escaped her lips, and she stared straight at her attacker–
Fareeha.
It was difficult to see through the shadow cast by the low hood. But enough moonlight shone through the windows to illuminate half her face, and familiar dark brown eyes. The warmth and quiet gaiety she had come to cherish in those irises were nowhere to be found – replaced with cold calculation and a murderous glint. Angela's mouth trembled when she finally noticed the gloved palm facing her and – more importantly – the sleek blade that extended from a device on her wrist. Its razor-sharp tip was hovering above the artery in her neck, and Angela fought the urge to swallow, afraid the blade would pierce through her skin.
"F–Fareeha?" she whispered shakily.
Silence. Recognition took the hard edges off her glare, slowly washing away the visible hints of sinister intent. Her eyes softened a fraction and the blade at her neck moved away – but not by much. Just far enough to stop being an immediate threat, but close enough should the need to kill arise. The force pressing against her throat lightened, giving her enough space to breathe normally.
"Angela."
"What are you doing?" Angela asked. Her voice was still small, thoughts in a mess. But the cultivated steel in her spine started to regain its foothold, and her fingers trembled less on Fareeha's arm.
"What I must."
Increased beeping from the bed caught her attention. Angela's eyes darted towards the EKG, which reported a slowly rising heart rate. Then she noticed a half-used IV bag resting on the bedside table, in front of which stood its stand, where an identical but full bag hung. The solution in both were transparent, but she had a feeling…
"You changed the IV bags," Angela said, eyes locking onto the EKG screen. "What are you giving him!"
She pushed diagonally off the wall, away from the blade, but was shoved roughly back.
"Angela."
The sudden softness in Fareeha's voice threw her off. Angela kept her grip on the Egyptian's wrist, tighter with urgency that grew along with the patient's heart rate. Fareeha lowered the blade slowly, as if to calm her down. It did not.
"Please. Do not interfere. And–," Fareeha hesitated, gaze dipping for a split-second. "Do not tell anyone about me."
"You're going to kill him! His heart–"
"It has to be done. Please. I will explain in the future, if you are willing to listen."
"In the fut–?"
In a fluid motion, Fareeha retracted the blade and pulled her into an embrace. No, not an embrace. Practiced fingers found the bundle of nerves in the back of her neck. Angela felt a pinch in one moment, and saw nothing the next.
By the time Angela was found, out cold on the floor, the patient's heart had ruptured. When she woke up, he was already pronounced dead. Angela was barely given time to regain her bearings when concerned colleagues were chased out of the room, and she was questioned by two police officers – a captain and first lieutenant. The initial suspicions on her were dropped rather quickly on account of wounds that she did not remember receiving. A deep bruise on her right cheekbone, a long superficial cut across her neck, and a slightly deeper one on her right palm.
They asked if anyone else had been in the room with her. She said yes.
They asked if she remembered how they looked like. She said yes, vaguely. It had been dark.
They asked for a verbal description. She described a man in his thirties, no beard, skin of a darker hue, and distinct burn scars on his left jaw. His eyes were either black or dark brown, but the lighting had not been in her favour.
They told her to go to the station in the afternoon, for a longer line of questioning and to put together a facial composite. She nodded when they thanked her for her time, and did not watch as they left. Feeling the room get colder, she wrapped her arms around herself.
She had done what Fareeha asked. The ramifications of her action floored her, and she felt the world threatening to spin around her again. Her throat tightened and a wet exhale burst through her lips, as Doctor Nakhla bustled back in looking annoyed and muttering in Arabic. But she stopped upon noticing Angela's state, and practically flew to her side already in mother hen mode. She guided Angela's head onto her shoulder as tears fell, gently rocking the accomplished 37-year-old Swiss doctor in her distress.
"Do not mind those brutes, little angel," she crooned softly, patting Angela's back. The nickname she insisted on saying in English, that normally put a fond smile on Angela's face, fell flat. "You are fine now."
No. She was not.
The image of Fareeha, blade raised and fully ready to kill, was seared into her mind. Fareeha, who brought her flowers while she worked in the poor district. Who escorted her home through the more dangerous parts of town. Who asked her out for a dinner date with a blush on her cheeks. Who only dared to kiss her at the end of their third date. Who hummed songs of stars and heroes as she fell asleep in those strong arms. Who made love to her with gentle lips and even gentler fingers, etching declarations of passion and adoration into fair silky skin.
Everything she was, Angela loved with every fibre of her being. Everything that fell apart when Angela realised what she really was. Evidenced by the calmness as she took a life. By the surety with which she held her lover at a blade's edge. By the expertise in planting misdirection on Angela's body.
Fareeha Amari was a murderer.
A/N: And that's the end of the week! Thanks so much for following this.
Whew I'm...kinda tired, actually. I have this AU planned, but I don't know if I'll do it in the near future. We'll see. Tell me what you think!