'Blessed' as he is with introspective tendencies and nothing but time as the rafiq of Jerusalem, Malik has replayed that scene in front of the fortress a thousand times in his mind, not sure what possessed him to bare himself to Altair in such a way. But there was no disgust, or even indifference, in those amber eyes, but curiosity.
So when he sees Altair, supposedly humbled but still able to clear a path on the streets of Jerusalem with his familiar swagger, all the impure thoughts he still harbors rush forward like a tide and, as he has done before, he promises himself, Just this once.
"What news, novice?" Malik has to admire the restraint Altair shows, the only sign he is caught unawares a minute tensing of his shoulders. He does so enjoy needling the other man.
"Malik," he says, voice laced with irritation, before turning around to take in his dark blue robe. "Pardon me. Safety and peace, dai." Altair manages to make his new rank a demotion.
"Empty words as always," Malik responds airily. "Learn what they truly mean before you wish them upon another."
"Ah. I thank you for the lesson." Altair sounds anything but grateful. Malik watches how his eyes linger uneasily on the pinned sleeve where his left arm should be, and he thinks this hostility is not so insurmountable.
As they have done so many times before, they fall into step with each other as Malik leads them both back to the bureau. People move out of their way, deference in their eyes, and Altair reflects on how easy it is for people to see what they wish: a humble priest and a soft-spoken scholar strolling through the market, surely arguing over some point of divinity. He wonders how they reconcile his bracers and shoulder guards, or the bandolier of throwing knives visible under Malik's blue robe. But the complacency of the masses has always suited his purposes, and he lets his thoughts drift to the man beside him.
He has not forgotten their exchange outside the fortress all those months ago, but he has been unsure what to do with that information. He could have shared their conversation with the other Brothers, aware that such a revelation would be met with isolation at best and violence at worst.
But to reveal that would mean explaining how it had come up at all, and Altair is not sure he would be able to justify to his fellow assassins why he didn't thrash Malik himself for such presumption. Nor can he deny his interest – he can't bring himself to call it desire – in letting Malik continue where he left off, his hand so hot it would probably brand his skin.
They approach the bureau and Altair climbs up the alley wall with ease. He hastily looks down to offer help, but the dai is already there, his ascent slow but steady until he pulls himself onto the roof. He flicks a glance at Altair, considers whether to mock him for his thoughtlessness but consoles himself that he is still considered capable, and his injury does not define him.
They each drop into the carpeted foyer and make their way into the main room, Malik moving behind the counter to resume working on his map of Jerusalem. Altair remains standing in front of him, communicating disdain of his surroundings when he should appear awkward and uncertain.
Malik lets him stew in silence until he feels sharp eyes resting on him. "See something you like?" he asks mockingly, remaining bent over his work.
"I am here at Al Mualim's behest," Altair states unnecessarily, deflecting the question. "You have a mission for me."
"So I do," Malik says slowly, looking up from the parchment in front of him. He lets his gaze drift from the hooded face, down the broad shoulders strapped with weapons, to the slim hips bearing an eagle-handled sword, and back up again. "But you did not answer my question."
Altair clenches his jaw before responding, "Like or dislike, it doesn't matter. There is only the Creed, and the next target."
"Ah," Malik breathes in satisfaction, "so now there is only the Creed, eh?" His eyes narrow. "There was a time, not so long ago, that other things were more important. Impatience. Glory. Pride." He gestures to his left sleeve, and Altair flinches. "These things cost me dearly. So the least you could do is draw back your hood, look me in the eye, and give me an honest answer."
Altair steps up to the counter and slowly pushes the white cowl off of his head, revealing his troubled gaze as he considers the question. "I… do not dislike what I see," he offers, his tone careful.
"Speaking in circles?" Malik shakes his head. "Such hesitation does not become you, assassyun." He leans over the counter to grasp Altair's chin in his hand, ignoring his weak sound of protest. He turns his head one way, then the other, searching behind those stoic features before pulling him into a kiss. Malik keeps control of it, his tongue coaxing Altair's lips open a fraction before the other man returns to his senses, his usual grace gone as he stumbles back.
"You -! You mean… to ruin me!" Altair chokes out. He raises his hand to wipe away the evidence of their kiss, but his touch lingers on his lips, telling Malik everything he needs to know.
"Yes, Altair, I will ruin you. I will sunder you from yourself, make you into someone you do not know, for a few moments. Enjoy the respite while you can." He watches the blood rise under Altair's skin, wonders if it is from shame or arousal, hopes that it is both.
"You sound as if you would be doing me a favor," Altair says gruffly to hide his disequilibrium.
"Do not worry, this is not a purely selfless gesture." Malik gives him a wolfish smile. Altair bristles, just as Malik knows he would, and draws himself up to his full height. Their eyes remain locked until a soft thump heralds the arrival of another assassin. Malik murmurs a greeting to the newcomer before turning back to Altair.
"There is a herald in the rich district of Jerusalem who curries favor for the Templars among the populace," he says briskly. "We also suspect he feeds them information about incoming shipments of weapons and armor. Find him and learn what you can." Here Malik lets some scorn into his voice. "You need not kill him, but I have no doubt that you will."
Altair stiffens, biting back some foul retort, and merely draws up his hood before stalking out of the room. Malik turns to the other assassin, calm even as he recognizes that Altair's return means his own downfall.