#but its manageble and I love the rest more | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pass3rby · 6 years

Text

Caught By Your Past

23rd Part

Fandom: Assassin’s Creed Pairing: Altair x Malik Warnings: modern AU, mature, OOC, OFC; unbetaed Summary: Keeping the past forgotten is manageble as long as you don’t get confronted with it head on, right? After all, what eyes can’t see… But what if your past came right to your doorstep?

A/N: Big revival’s here! First things first: 22nd Part underwent a bit of a transformation (AKA So... I've made some adjustments. *chorus sigh*), therefore in this part you’ll see basically what you maybe already read (if you’ve read CBYP in its first form). That being said, almost every chapter had been tinkered with at least a bit (in some cases a lot), so I recommend re-reading the whole story in case you want the puzzle pieces to fit much better.

Altair was undeniably elated as of late. The downside?

“Don't worry your snarkhood is safe with me.”

The whole thing was a downside.

“My what.” Way to force a head up, Malik had to admit as he tore his attention away from the laundry he was pulling out of the washing machine. Propped against the doorframe and excluding jolly mood, Altair didn't hesitate to reassure Malik that he heard right.

“Your snarkh-”

“I hold no fear of endangerment of my 'snarkhood'. Or any other 'hood' for that matter.” Quipping up to par in exchange, he pointedly returned to his previous business.

“I was talking only about your true identity.” They were so not obviously done here. Shoot him dead. What was it.

“My true identity.”

“But of course, Ser Snarkhood,” here, Altair executed an extravagant bow, musketeer style. “Thus begins the unfolding of a story revered, of a recluse wreathed with gratitude of simpleminded, a recluse most know just as a hearsay. Escaping and rebelling against the laws of socialization, he hid in local woods since there's a price written on his head-”

“Snarkhood. Price on my head. Real charmer. Get lost, you perverse Nothing-ham.” Throwing a damp T-shirt at Altair's head was Malik's non-verbal free bonus to the reply; hopefully discouraging enough to make the riot rethink the idea of staying around. It must've been effective, because the enemy chose to beat a hasty retreat. With badly contained laughter, but Malik would take it.

Stopping in the middle of unloading the washing machine, he went over to where the unlucky piece of clothing landed after hitting its mark. The least he could do was to retrieve it after the job well-done.

Cue a sister lying in wait. And she didn't waste any time to pluck her prey.

“You're strangely open to the quip sessions you guys have. Usually, you'd throw the conversation to the curb right at the start of it.”

There used to be a time when the pure mention of washing room had deterred young people from getting anywhere near it. Heartwarming memories… cruel reality of today.

Lifting what he stalked over for off the floor, he took in her sparkling eyes and FBI profiling analyst remark.

“He's like a puppy. You gotta play with it or it dies.” The hero henley and the rest of its family reunited with a flop and Malik heaved the whole basketful up, clearly on his way out. Gie stepped aside to leave the doorway free; obviously, that wasn't a standard interrogation procedure, but he'd be the last person complaining.

“You're impossible, Malik.” Not even stopping when passing by the officer, he bestowed upon her his own parting words like a monarch.

“I try.”

Relocating into the bathroom, he pulled at the retractable washing line to get down to business.

In all fairness, he might've deserved and expected an outrageous show of madness from Altair. Granted, he toyed with the goofball a bit prior to the encounter, but it would be irresponsible and misleading to let Altair think that Malik's going to roll over and go with whatever and whenever. Malik didn't have a heart to do that. Setting limits and drawing lines was important. And so the boot camp begun. Which went along the lines of:

“Talk to me.”

“No.”

“We could-”

“Reading.”

“Come on…”

“Making a coffee.”

“That doesn't take long.”

“Feeding a cat.”

“You don't have a cat!”

As was obvious from the example – simple exercises in accepting a negative response for an answer were not only needed; they were necessary when handling an attention seeking missile. He didn't need someone permanently on his case and while Altair admittedly wasn't that bad, Malik still needed to ensure he'll have a working system present, which would send Altair a clear signal to give him a breather when Malik needs it.

He should've expected the side-effects. Due to the method chosen to pass that particular message, anyone as bullheaded as Altair was bound to turn up on his doorstep with a crazy routine after that; Malik could see it now. Therefore, as ridiculous as this attempt with snarkhood had been, it was time for a reward, so Malik'd actively joined in.

The addition of Gie in the setting threw him back into a more somber mood. While he might have not shown it on the outside, his mask didn't erase the change and the mark it left stayed with him. Malik felt entitled to continue question everything, feel off about it since looking at her input reminded him of a skipping stone. Getting to realize your crush is your brother's ex, playing into that rooftop surprise, not stabbing Malik in the gut when they got back and then ribbing him some? If nothing else, his sister was less violent than an average broken-hearted woman.

Georgie was a good girl; no angel by any means, but she was a solid human being without a question. She also had a sense of self-worth – which was probably exactly what created this 'incomprehensible' block that Malik was dealing with. He wasn't one to flog himself daily and held no desire to start with it either, however, in this case he would understand a well-aimed kick, slap or that smack upside the head that she favored so much. Instead, and quite clearly, she was okay with what the three of them evolved into. As in genuinely, for whatever reason and no matter the plans thrown out of the window, alright. Well, he was weird according to standards, there was no reason why his sister couldn't be, too. At least one answer to that. Where did that leave them, though?

Let's try to tackle the monster to the ground from a scratch. Malik wouldn't call them an extraordinary pair of siblings. In fact, they'd probably fit the norm. He was a big brother, he looked after her. Gie was a younger sister, she raised havoc. There was no science involved. You take care of your sibling, you love them and that's it. So much for the facts. There was no apparent reason for her to spare him her wrath. The only conclusion he could draw from that was that William Congreve would be either sorely disappointed or pleasantly surprised.

Staring down the freshly hanged clothes, he was loath to admit defeat.

They hadn't spoken a word about it. The facts were undeniably out there in the open, yet both of them just seemed to… go with what the other went with.

Done here in more senses than one, he retired – about to develop more senses than one as well – into his room.

Altair was absent, that was the first information that made it to his brain. Thinking back, he heard someone leaving the flat. On autopilot he sat behind his desk and switched the laptop on, blindly watching the system boot up.

He should take it at face value and stop digging into it. There were only two issues with that. First, years had ingrained into him to dig deeper and second, these 'face value' accepted things tended to blow into one's face sooner or later.

Closing his eyes, he massaged the bridge of his nose, trying to elevate the pressure building there. The action didn't result in much success, so he gave up altogether in favor of grabbing his phone to at least check the time and see how much he's got left to finish his current load of work.

An unread message. His finger went to click the appropriate button only to reveal the most wretched text message he ever had the displeasure to see:

He didn't call. Altair brought his favorite anyway.

The rest of the day saw the brunette simply sharing the same space while doing this or that.

Malik gave him a peck goodnight.

Face value it was.

A/N:

William Congreve reference - he’s the author of the famous “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”

#cbyp #assassin's creed #altmal

1 note · View note