Reunion

Malik had been expecting it from the moment he arrived in the Bureau. He knew that that moron was still alive, and he would likely be making his way back to Jerusalem eventually, as most assassins do.

Five days previous he had gotten a message from Al Mualim telling him that the former Master Assassin was heading to the city. Malik had fought battles within his mind, weighing his loyalty to the Creed versus the ease at which he could set a trap at the entrance of the Bureau that would hurl throwing knives upon whomever next entered. However, in the end the Creed won out, and the newly appointed Dai attempted to practice patience and restrain his anger. However, all his silent preparation was immediately forgotten when he heard the Novice himself drop into the covered courtyard.

Malik sighed and turned towards the bookshelf that lined the wall behind him, replacing the map reference back where it belonged. Altaïr strutted into the room, his head held high, his hands clenched into fists at his side before he caught sight at who was standing behind the counter.

For a moment, no one spoke; the two regarded each other in icy silence before Malik turned back to his desk, the empty sleeve of his djellaba swaying where his left arm should have been.

In an instant, Malik knew that nobody had told him. Altaïr's face had taken on a ghastly pallor, although it was completely blank, as usual. The only part of him that was showing any emotion were his golden eyes, which were wide and displaying several at once, and fixed on Malik's sleeve. Shock. Horror. Disbelief. Pity. That same despicable look of pity that everyone gave him now. 

Not only that, but he was staring. Altaïr was outright staring at him. Malik does not turn to hide the deformity, although he desperately wished to cut out Altaïr's eyes for staring so obviously. He slammed his fist to the desk in fury, which seems to startle Altaïr out of his daze. His head shifted ever so slightly so that his eyes were hidden once more beneath the shadow of his hood.

"Safety and peace, Malik." Altaïr managed.

"Your presence here deprives me of both." Malik said, anger making his words fittingly sharp.

"Al Mualim has asked-" Altaïr began.

Malik, in spite of himself, interrupted, "Asked that you perform some menial task in an effort to redeem yourself?" he sneered at the last two words. "So be out with it."

Altaïr stiffened, his face still passive, becoming a statue once more. "Tell me what you can about the one they call Talal." he commanded.

"It is your duty to locate and assassinate the man, Altaïr." Malik growled, "Not mine."

"You'll do well to assist me." Altaïr insisted, "His death benefits us all."

"Do you deny his death benefits you as well?" Malik sneered.

"Such things do not concern you." said Altaïr coldly.

Malik wanted to scream in frustration. "Your actions very much concern me!" Malik hissed, subconsciously grabbing at his empty sleeve.

Altaïr's eyes flicked towards Malik's left side again before going back to his face. Altaïr turned and started to stalk out of the Bureau. "Fine, then do not help me! I'll find him myself!"

For a moment, Malik considered letting him go. Letting him get killed. However, once again, Malik reminded himself of the Creed, and his new duties as a Bureau leader. Malik sighed and scratched the back of his neck.

"Wait, wait." Malik called out reluctantly, "It won't do to have you stumble around like a blind man. Better you know where begin your search."

Altaïr paused slowly in the doorway of the Bureau, turning around slowly to face him once more. "I'm listening." he said shortly.

Malik scowled at him and gestured at the map he had been painstakingly perfecting. Altaïr hesitantly drifted closer, standing so that he was just barely close enough to see. Malik peered at him for a moment, a strange sort of tension rolling off of the former Master Assassin, which Malik took a moment to identify as unease.

"I can think of three places." Malik said, pointing them out on his map. He had collected these locations from some of his Informers.

"Is that all?" snapped Altaïr in what was almost a sneer.

"It's enough to get you started." Malik said, his eyes locking into the black abyss that was the shadow from Altaïr's hood, "And more than you deserve."

---

It's a harsh slap in the face seeing Malik again. Altaïr had dropped into Jerusalem's Assassin Bureau, expecting to see the kindly, wrinkled face of the old Rafiq, who was there the last time he had come to Jerusalem, when he, Malik and Kadar were going to Solomon's Temple.

However, it was Malik who now stood behind the counter, replacing something on the shelf behind him.

The two stared at each other in an uncomfortable silence. Malik, Altaïr noticed, was now wearing the dark robes of a Dai, rather than the white robes of an assassin, which was a shock in of itself. Altaïr briefly wondered why he had been promoted to Dai, instead of Master Assassin.

To be honest, when Altaïr saw him, he felt a flicker of relief. The last time he saw the man, he had been beaten and bloody and barely conscious. Altaïr had assumed that Malik had died of his wounds after he reached Masyaf, and the former Master Assassin had been to prideful to ask.

Before Altaïr could say anything, Malik turned away from the shelf, and Altaïr found his eyes drawn towards Malik's left arm, which seemed to be oddly limp. Then Altaïr realized that there was no left arm at all, and where it should be was an empty sleeve, swaying slightly from the momentum of Malik's turn.

Altaïr blanched, his eyes widening in horror, shock, and disbelief. That's right. Malik's arm had been injured in Solomon's Temple. Some of the best doctors in Masyaf must have tried to save him, but had been forced to amputate.

Seeing Malik like that was a harsh reminder of reality. It solidified the fact that Kadar was dead, the young man with the bright eyes who had idolized him so and had been so eager to learn everything Altaïr had to teach. It also showed that he had taken away everything that Malik had worked so hard to obtain over the years.

For a brief moment, Altaïr considered apologizing, but something held him back. He knew he should, but he did not think that a simple apology would suffice. Besides, it's his fault too. If he hadn't tried to grab him, then Altaïr would have had a clean shot at Robert de Sablé, and-

Malik slammed his remaining fist against the desk, jolting Altaïr out of his thoughts. Altaïr turned away from the empty sleeve to see that the Dai's features were twisted in fury.

"Safety and peace, Malik." Altaïr managed.

“Your presence here deprives me of both.” hissed Malik.

The two have a brief, angry conversation that, if Altaïr was honest with himself, he wasn't really paying attention to.

"It's enough to get you started." Malik said in clear dismissal, his eyes searching for Altaïr's beneath his hood, "And more than you deserve."

Altaïr's frown deepened, but he nodded. He felt like he should say something else, but he couldn't find the words. Altaïr nodded again, turned on heel, and left, grateful to finally be away from the man who had once been his friend.