They jump.

And during the fall, when the wind greets them with hungry kisses and the rush is heavy, Altair opens his eyes. It's a matter of seconds, he knows, but a part of him believes he's not moving at all.

The first thing he sees is the haystack.

There are two, placed side by side, and it's so easy to miss, to miscalculate. It's trepidation and excitement, but not fear.

A matter of seconds, that's all.

He looks at Malik.

There are so many changes in him, marks and scars that now make him whole, an arm that's missing and phantom pains that tell him otherwise. It's strange, this feeling of accomplishment, because they were children yesterday. He had Abbas, Malik had Kadar. They'd stare at each other, have conversations about this and that, nothing important, sometimes they'd go months without exchanging a word and then Malik would make him laugh.

They were children, now they're men. Kadar is gone, Abbas is consumed with hatred. They have only each other. And Altair watches, as they fall together, the smile on Malik's face and the sort of peace that comes with it. They're here, alive, they've survived. They're all right.

He closes his eyes, shuts his mouth, falls into the pile of hay and stays there for a moment. He feels a hand grabbing his arm, pulling him up and there's no time to think and he supposes it's a kiss. Cracked lips against his own, it doesn't last long, but it sets his heart straight.

"Let us go," Malik says. "We have much to do."

He nods.

Licks his lips and Malik's taste is everywhere.