Author's Note: I wrote this for Hiita-hime (aka the wife) because I love her and she wanted me to and because even though I haven't finished Assassin's Creed yet it wouldn't leave me alone. So babe, this is for you. 33333333
Also, she gets credit for Malik's fear of heights and Altaïr's fear of water, which I shamelessly used to my advantage.

Disclaimer: I don't own Assassin's Creed yet. I don't own Altaïr and I don't own Malik and I don't own their phobias and I don't own the seashell. Get the point yet?

Altaïr ibn La-Ahad should have been furious when he stepped into the Bureau in Jerusalem, forced to listen to Malik Al-Sayr degrade him and accuse him of being unworthy of any rank, of his very life. Altaïr should have been grabbed the man's single arm, shouted in his face, told him that it wasn't his fault. His mind should have been cold and calculating; after all, Altaïr was the best the Order had to offer, and Malik's arm and the life of his brother had been unfortunate casualties but nothing else.

Altaïr should have been furious, but he accepted the scorn and left to find information about his next target.

--

After saving yet another civilian from the guard's brutal ways, Altaïr took a minute in a hidden alcove to asess his wounds. The fight had been in a very public place, and numerous guards had come running. Normally, Altair could have dispatched them all without a scratch, even with limited equipment, but today? Today, he was preoccupied, and was paying for it with several cuts, some of them deep. He had barely taken notice of what the woman he had rescued had said; his head was clouded, and if nothing else, Altaïr knew it meant trouble. Assassins were supposed to have clear heads, otherwise the entire mission could go wrong.

"That's how you got yourself into this mess, isn't it?" A voice in the back of his head that sounded irritably like Malik spoke up, and Altaïr could almost see the other man's smirk. "A clouded mind."

"Shut up," Altaïr growled, ignoring the fact that he was the only one there as he headed for the man he was supposed to interogate. Maybe landing a few punches would help him out.

--

Nursing a split lip and a black eye, Altaïr glared down from his spot on the wall to the now-still bodies of the thugs and his interrogation target. He really must have been losing his touch; how had he not noticed those two walking mountains nearby? Shutting his eyes, Altaïr let his fingers run over the damage. He hadn't gotten a black eye since he picked a fight with Malik over the other man's fear of heights.

"How can you be an assassin if you're afraid of heights? Honestly, Malik, why don't you just give up?"

"I can work through it! How can you be an assassin if you're afraid of the water, oh high-and-mighty Altaïr?"

"That has nothing to do with anything and you know it!"

After that, punches had been thrown and the two teenagers had been hauled off and thrown into their quarters under strict instruction to patch each other up. They had spent the night getting to know each other – the terrifying tone in the voices of their elders had made them bond for fear of being beaten, or worse. The next day, when Altaïr left on his first mission to a small, sea-side town, Malik had pulled him aside. "Don't fail me, Altaïr. I mean, don't fail the mission, either – but don't fail me."

Altaïr hadn't failed either of them. He'd gathered the information about the target and he had managed to get past his fear of the water long enough to bring Malik back a seashell the size of his fist (and cleaned himself off a bit, but that was beside the point). When Malik left on his first mission, he brought Altaïr back the tip of a towering tree (and had looked hilarious as he rode through the gates). After that, things had gone back to normal – but, Altaïr realized, he'd never failed Malik. Not until…

"Great."

--

"…do whatever it is you do before a mission, just do it quietly," Malik growled, turning around to look at one of his books. Altaïr nodded, but didn't move, instead turning his head. On one of the shelves rested a seashell, and he swallowed. Assassins were not supposed to get nervous, but this wasn't exactly an assassination – this was something much more frightening, and humbling.

"Come with me."

Malik turned around, trying not to show his surprise. "What?"

"I have something to show you. Come with me," Altaïr repeated. "Please, Malik – I won't bother you again."

There was a sigh, and Malik shut his book. Altaïr took his hand, hoisted him onto his back, and spoke again. "Shut your eyes. I won't hurt you."

"I don't trust you," Malik snapped back bitterly, not enjoying his helpless position.

"I know," Altaïr breathed. Malik closed his eyes anyway, and they were moving. Up, left, right, up, right, left, right again, up, up, up –

"What are you doing?" Malik squeaked slightly, burrying his head into Altaïr's shoulder as he resisted the urge to open his eyes. Altaïr didn't answer; instead, he began to climb up the tower, ignoting the circling eagle and Malik's slight shudders. Once they were at the top, he let the other man down.

"Open your eyes. And don't hit me." Malik opened his eyes, and though he didn't hit Altaïr, his expression showed that he clearly wanted to.

"What's your problem, Altaïr?! Couldn't finish me off by botching a mission so you decided to push me off a building? Real brave, aren't you? You know I hate heights!" Malik accused. Altaïr didn't answer; instead, he wrapped his arms around the other man and pulled him towards the edge, where a haystack was waiting.

"I failed you once. I'm not going to do it again."

"What are you – oh, no, Altaïr, don't you dare!"

His grip on Malik secure (as was Malik's one-armed grip on him, as soon as he figured out what was going on), Altaïr jumped.

To his credit, Malik didn't scream; instead, he swore violently, shut his eyes, and tried to burrow into Altaïr's white robes. However, Altaïr had chosen one of the shorter viewpoints around the city, and the two men quickly found themselves in a pile of hay, hidden from view.

Shaking from the adrenaline, Malik didn't let go for a while, and Altaïr found himself rubbing soothing circles on his once-friend's back until the one-armed assassin spoke up. "You're crazy, you know that, right?"

Altaïr smiled slightly. Everything, though not yet normal, was going to be – and as the two men returned to the Bureau, Altaïr felt his mind clear and his steps grow lighter even as Malik grumbled about irresponsibility and recklessness. Altaïr didn't say anything to correct him; the excited light in the other man's eyes was a clear sign that Malik had enjoyed it.

When Altaïr finally rested before leaving to assassinate his target, he could have sworn he saw Malik look at the seashell he'd given him so long ago and smile before he drifted off to sleep.