So…yeah. I have no excuse other than I severely procrastinated. _ sorry guys. ^^;

So, many of you may be disappointed by how I portray Altaïr as automatically all….sad and stuff(lack of vocabulary at the moment), but yeah. Maybe I'm just being paranoid and NONE of you think it's weird, but I'm just telling you that I did it on purpose. I think Altaïr was regretful from the beginning but Malik's crabbiness made him angry. BT

BTW, I read a fic where Adha was Altaïr's sister, so I added that in here. ;D sorry if it bugs you! (I know it's not true people, I just like it.)

Disclaimer: Assassin's Creed © Ubiso- you know what? It's MINE. NOTHING IS TRUE; EVERYTHING IS PERMITTED, so ubisoft can't hog all the rights. D: lolz jk

Chapter 5

Malik sighed, scrubbing his face with his one remaining hand. He was exhausted; he had no idea what he was getting himself into when he agreed to study the organization. Everything was complicated from assassination techniques and weapons, even to the ranks of the members! He had been awake for over twenty-four while he simultaneously switched between studying the maps and then studying the order. His mind and body were completely exhausted.

Novice assassins wore a grey sweat shirt, while Masters wore the white; novice Informers wore brown as the Master Informants wore tan; the Dai and Rafiqs, as they called them, wore black. Al Mualim, the Master of the Order, wore elegant black robes, clothing very different from his subordinates.

Malik sighed and laid his head down upon his desk. His mind was buzzing with thoughts and facts; it felt like a hive of bees were swarming within it. He was tired and emotionally drained. He was angry at Altaïr for what he did, but he still loved him (and that made him angry at himself), and he never mourned his brother's death…

He sat up and looked about the room. Bookshelves lined most of the wall to his right, only breaking to frame the doorway to the roof entrance. His desk was in the center of the room, but closer to the back. There was another off to his left, but it was covered in maps and other assortments of papers. He was even pleased to find that he had a balcony off his office.

A loud thump from the entrance room caught Malik's to attention. The figure wore the startling white robes of a Master assassin, but something was different about it. A red strip framed the zipper on both sides, a frame so red that it looked like blood. Only when the figure removed his hood did Malik recognize him.

"Altaïr," Malik greeted in a dull, bored tone of voice. It surprised him that all he felt towards Altaïr at that moment was annoyance. "What can I do for you?"

Altaïr shifted his weight and looked around the room. "I just came to see how you were doing," Altaïr admitted.

"Yes, well, as you can see, I am doing fine."

Altaïr nodded and looked around again. To Malik, it looked like he was uneasy, agitated. Finally, their eyes met for the first time since his arrival; he looked nervous. "Malik, I -"

"Altaïr," Malik warned in a stern voice, "Hold your tongue - I don't want to hear it."

"How are you feeling?" Altaïr asked in order to change the subject.

Malik quirked an eyebrow at him. "I'm fine. Now, is there anything else you need, or can I get back to work?"

"No, I don't need anything. I would like to help out in some way, though. Master Al Mualim said I must 'learn the trade of an informer' as part of my punishment," Altaïr explained.

"Is that why you have that red strip? The books never mentioned that as part of a uniform."

"That is because Al Mualim made it up. I am acting as a novice and a full-fledged assassin now, a rank that has never been given out."

Malik nodded and leaned back into his seat, considering Altaïr's words. He could use some people gathering information for him… "Very well. Go investigate the town. Anything that I need to make an assassin's map is to be marked on a regular map and then returned to me. Return here when you are done."

Altaïr nodded and left quickly. Malik watched him jump from roof to roof in the busy city and, to Malik, he no longer looked like a whipped dog. Altaïr was a soaring eagle that could not be caged.

~.~

Altaïr came to visit him often and yet, not enough. He hadn't been assigned an assassination yet, but he made do with grunt work, and Malik knew Altaïr was purposefully coming to the "Jerusalem" bureau just to see how he was doing. Malik couldn't bring himself to be furious with the man, only slightly annoyed.

Altaïr had always been protective of him and Kadar as kids, but it was never as bad as when Altaïr would stop by his bureau. Every time Malik moved he could feel Altaïr's watchful gaze upon him; it was like he expected the brunette to break into pieces. Malik knew he could only take so much babying before he snapped. And yet, he knew his resolve was wavering in the way he often thought of the past, when they were young boys.

But, he could not allow Altaïr know that he was growing soft. Whenever Altaïr came to gather data for him, Malik would send a cold glare Altaïr's way and the fool bought it every time. He knew his misplaced grudge against Altaïr was gone, but his raw hatred for Robert De Sablé was still there. He picture De Sablé in his head to make his hatred seem believable, but his eyes grew soft when the other's back was turned.

When Altaïr wasn't there, Malik often found himself wishing they good go back to simpler times…

~.~

It was dark and gloomy when Malik and Kadar were returning home from school. The clouds threatened to drop rain upon their uncovered heads, but the young boys of eight and five made it home just in time. The boys grabbed their boots and raincoats, running outside into the pouring rain.

They ran through the streets and alleys of their neighborhood, laughing as they threw mud at each other and looked for imaginary treasure. When Kadar grew tired, he returned home and left Malik to continue playing by his self. He was walking through an alley way, dragging his stick across the fence next to him, when he saw him. A boy of seven years was sitting there, soaking wet, and petting a stray cat. His eyes were cloudy, as if he was reliving a distant memory as he stroked the friendly feline.

Malik didn't know what it was, but he felt drawn to the boy. He approached him and knelt down to pet the cat also. The grey-eyed boy jumped and looked at Malik quizzically. Malik just smiled and asked, "You like the cat?" He received a small nod in reply. "She's been living in this alley for years. I'm surprised she hasn't found a home yet."

The boy looked down at the cat and scratched under her chin. "She's a stray and she always will be."

Malik knew he wasn't talking just about the cat, but he was too young to understand completely. "What's your name?" Malik asked.

The boy eyed him suspiciously before replying, "Altaïr."

Malik smiled. "Nice to meet you, Altaïr. I'm Malik."

The two boys sat there and talked (well, Malik talked mostly and Altaïr listened) and before either of them knew it, they had made plans to meet there the next day. When the following day arrived, they made plans to meet again, and again, and again until it was several months after they had first met. Altaïr and Malik would play together every day and bask in the happiness that they brought each other.

But, happiness doesn't last forever, and it ended for Malik when he met Altaïr's sister, Adha. "Who's this?" She asked, her voice low and demanding.

Altaïr sent a worried glance to Malik, then looked at his sister. "He's my friend," was all he said.

Adha's slate eyes hardened and she grabbed Altaïr by his wrist. "No. Remember what I told you: 'we can only trust each other.'"

"But -!"

"No buts," she cut him off, "Say goodbye to him, Altaïr."

"Bye Mal," Altaïr mumbled to his friend, his eyes wet with tears.

Malik felt his heart sink. His mind couldn't compute the situation, but his heart knew that was the last time he would hear him. He reached out for his friend's hand, but Altaïr had already turned to leave with his sister.

Malik ran home, tears clouding his vision, and explained everything to his parents. They had met Altaïr many times before and his mother had a certain fondness for the shy boy. They didn't know how to calm their son's sobs, so they had him lead them to Altaïr's house.

Adha answered the door when they arrived, looking bitterly down at Malik. "What can I do for you?" she asked venomously.

"Are you parents home?" Malik's mother asked with a pleasant smile on her face.

Adha looked taken aback for a moment, but she quickly composed herself. "They are not," she replied.

"Do you know when they'll return?" Malik's father asked just as pleasantly.

With frustration, Adha narrowed her eyes at them. "No I do not. I'll let them know that you stopped by."

She slammed the door in their faces before they could ask anything more. They returned home, but Malik didn't feel any better. His parents were uncharacteristically quiet on their way home, like they were deeps in concentration. Malik found out only a few days later when they returned.

Adha answered the door again when they arrived. She went from looking angry to terrified when she saw the woman Malik's parents had brought with them. "Adha Ibn-La'Ahad, where are your parents?" The woman asked in an even tone.

With fear, Adha took a step back before replying, "Th-they're at work!"

"Their employers said they hadn't been to work in weeks. Where are they really?" she asked again.

"Mother and Father are dead," a soft voice from within the house confessed.

Adha whirled around to glare at her brother. She reached back her hand to slap him when Malik's father grabbed her wrist. "Why did you keep your parent's death a secret?" He questioned.

"Because we need each other! We're family, the only family we have left, and no one's going to separate us!"

Malik's parents, Adha, and the woman - who turned out to be a social worker - talked for a long time. The two boys sat silently in the living room the whole time. Malik sensed Altaïr's distress and laced his fingers with his friend's. They sat there, finding comfort in each other, while they waited for everything to be sorted out.

They convinced Adha that she couldn't keep living like they were. Eventually, they'd run out of money and then what would she do? How would she protect her brother then?

"Adha," Malik's mother called out in a soothing voice, "let us care for Altaïr. We all love him and he'll have good home."

"No," she groaned as tears rolled down her face. First, her parents died and now they wanted to take away her brother? No, she wouldn't be able to handle that.

Finally, Altaïr and Malik walked into the room where the adults were talking - still holding hands - and he spoke. "Adha, it's alright. I trust them."

Adha widened and began to sob. Altaïr wrapped his arms around her to comfort her pain and the sight broke Malik's heart; he realized that Adha treasured Altaïr as much as he treasured Kadar.

That was how Altaïr was adopted into his family. Adha moved in with a friend of hers that lived out of state and their communication ended there.

For the first few nights, Altaïr would cry himself to sleep, but Malik's comforting presence was enough to lull him into a peaceful slumber. Even after Altaïr had gotten over the loss of his sister, he and Malik continued to share a bed, only so they knew the other was close if they were needed.

So, yes. A cute/depressing flashback for you~! ;D

Credit to my wonderful Beta, Brilliantmemories, who's FANTABULAR and just started with this chapter. She's my usual for Gone in the Wind. :3 Thank you lots hun! XDDD

Comment for me guys! The comments - and the nagging of one of my friends who reads this - makes me update faster!

NEXT CHAPTER BE A LEMON FOR YOU ALL.