This is kind of an angsty fic I wrote one day... OOC abound. Also, it happens sometime between the first and second Jerusalem missions. I'm assuming Altair took one of those every year (assuming the game lasted a span of three years to coincide with the year of Robert de Sable's death). ... Yeah, not really info you need to read the story, I suppose.

Malik spent every day in the small room, helping novices, giving advice and admonishment in the same breath, taking every waking moment and trying desperately not to think about what happened that day, about Kadar, and most especially about Altair. Every time he thought that maybe he'd had enough time, enough space between himself and that man, he thought maybe he'd be able to let go. Then Altair would drop through his door and the hate would swell within him. The little snide remarks he let carelessly slip through his bared teeth did little to quell the flame.

Altair had been quiet. Over the past year, he'd come in from time to time, working on assignments between the nine targets he'd been given. Many days passed between his visits to the bureau, sometimes months at a time. Each time, Altair would enter the room looking a little more worn, a little older. Malik thought, bitterly, that the aged look did little for Altair. No, what suited him was the look of ignorance, the look of arrogance, the look of irresponsibility.

While Altair exposed himself to new situations, learned the art of introspection, and matured, Malik remained locked into routine, both in living and in thought. Each time Altair came into his bureau, Malik felt a stone drop into place in the wall between them.

Today was supposed to be no different. Malik would send a barb to hit the man where it hurts- his guilt, surprisingly- and he would listen to Altair tell him his mission and wave him off with his one hand. A year and a half ago he would not have dismissed Altair so readily, but all it took was one day to change that.

There was something different today. Malik had no idea what brought it about, perhaps something Altair saw while walking through the streets, but he had an idea where it was going just by the look on his face. Malik tried to steel himself, to bury the anger he felt rise to meet Altair's advance.

"Safety and peace, brother."

"What do you want, Altair? Tell me your duties and be gone from my sight," Malik bit out, trying to keep his voice at the usual level of aggravation. Altair looked normal enough physically… in his behavior lay the anomaly. His eyes were downcast, not meeting Malik's in calm defiance. His entire stance seemed more reserved, more guarded, like he was unsure.

"… There is something I've wanted to say to you, Malik." Altair's voice was soft. Malik froze.

'No… he wouldn't dare…'

Altair's hand traveled towards his own face, halting several times before the hand pushed down his hood. The shaking was almost imperceptible… almost.

"Malik… I've wanted to apologize. I caused you to lose something that I can never hope to replace, and for that I'm sorry."

The bureau descended into unnatural stillness. There were no noises, not even the sounds of breathing. Malik's eyes stared unblinking, unbelieving at the man before him. Altair watched him as if he was waiting for a sign, though he pointedly avoided the other man's eyes. Whatever he was expecting, it was probably not for the quill in Malik's hand to snap audibly in half.

Altair blinked, looking confusedly from the quill to Malik's face. Their eyes finally met, and the roaring in Malik's ears reached a crescendo.

"How… dare you…" His hands were shaking. The point of the quill dug deeply into the flesh of his palm, but he didn't notice. "How dare you come in here and say that to me?" As Malik's voice rose, so did Altair's realization that his apology had struck the exact wrong chord in the other man. He took a step back, involuntarily distancing himself from the enraged rafiq.

"Malik, I don't understand-"

"The library at Masyaf could be filled with books on the things you don't understand, Altair! But this!" Malik threw the quill aside. The sudden, violent move made Altair reflexively reach for his blade. In the span of a breath, Malik had vaulted over the desk, kicking Altair soundly in the chest as he came down the other side.

Altair grunted at the force of the kick, but did not draw his blade. Instead, he opened his mouth to speak. He barely saw the fist. For a second, it felt as though someone had violently dragged the rug out from underneath him, and then he felt the pain bloom in his jaw. Altair immediately corrected for the fall, moving his hand to cover his jaw. His cheekbone throbbed, and he could feel blood trickling down his nose. Again, Malik's arm came swiftly into view, seizing the front of his robes and using it to bodily throw Altair against the counter. Altair cried out sharply as he felt the counter dig into his spine.

"How dare you ask me for forgiveness? How dare you come to me with your guilt?" Malik gripped the hood tightly, forcing the other man to gasp for his breaths. His screams were punctuated with a violent shake on every other syllable. Altair slowly brought his eyes up, meeting Malik's own. Then, he relaxed his stance, arms dropping to his sides. Malik's face grew taut with irritation.

"NO! Don't you dare do that! Fight me back, you bastard! Fight me like you once would have! When you thought you did nothing wrong, when you thought that you were free to do as you pleased- you would have fought me then!" Malik's voice grew raw, catching in his throat. His entire body shook with rage. "How dare you try to apologize now, when you feel remorse? You offer me guilt, you offer me sorrow- and I have not yet… You took my brother away, you took my life away… What right do you have to ask for forgiveness now?" Malik felt sick. He felt weak. He felt powerless against the anger in his heart, felt that he was justified in using it against the man who'd robbed him of everything and yet...

A hand came up and slowly clasped his. Malik looked at it, though his vision was blurred. Hot tears fell like fire down his face. The hand opened, and in it was a throwing knife. Malik jerked as if he'd been burned, and in the moment that his hand loosened, the hilt of the knife was thrust into his palm. Automatically, his fingers closed, and Altair guided the knife up to his throat.

"… It has been your right. My life was and is yours, brother." Malik shuddered, the knife in his hand shaking violently. He wrenched his gaze up to Altair's eyes once more.

Altair's eyes held no deceit. His gaze was steady, calm and accepting in the light of death. His hands pressed the knife forward, until a trickle of blood ran down the blade, spilling onto Malik's hand. The world fell away as Malik honed in on that stream of red that stained his hand, and he broke.

Malik violently threw the knife aside where it embedded itself in the ground, grabbed Altair's shoulder and shoved him towards the door. Altair stumbled at the sudden force and rolled to regain his footing, facing the dai in surprise.

"Get out! Leave me be and stay yourself from this place!" Malik could only glare for a moment before the pain of everything he had ever lost, including the chance to avenge his brother, descended on him and robbed his strength. His face covered with his remaining hand, Malik fell to the ground with his back against the counter, and sobbed. He did not check to see if Altair had left.