It was somewhat awkward to be alone in her presence. Though with others around them they were perfectly cordial and at ease it seemed that when they were left with only each other's company that life suddenly became much harder. Malik did not resent her. He had gone past that. It was just a strange set up. How did one's somewhat-wife talk to one's somewhat-lover? Their main and obvious shared interest was in Altaïr, but to speak of him between them would have been a sure-fire road to heartbreak.
A twinge of pain disrupted Malik's musings and he looked to his uncovered arm. Blood had begun to drip down the bone and stain the pillowed rug beneath him. He swore and grasped for something to soak up the stain, shoving it beneath the bleed and then checking for the wound. His skin had peeled away to reveal a bloody mess of muscle and veins which had begun to wrap around his bone slowly and painfully. He groaned loudly and let his head fall back on the pillows heavily. A worry hit him. He could lose a lot of blood. He looked to the top of his arm again. The dribble of haemoglobin red, apart from standing out like a sore thumb against the white of his bone, was only thin. He breathed a sigh of relief, and then his breath hitched as another stinging sensation signified the tearing of his skin on the other side of his arm. He hissed and grimaced with pain.
Maria entered a moment later with a bowl of broth and chunk of bread in arms, kneeling next to Malik. She threw a long look to the exposed flesh creeping down his arm. It hadn't yet made a centimetre's progress.
“The oil first, then.”
Malik ate in silence, Maria having retired back into her own quarters. She was humming softly. Yusef seemed to be asleep. The fabric beneath his arm, which had turned out to be his dark scholar's robes, was now heavily stained. Blood dried on the surface of his humerus. With a deep breath after relieving himself into a chamberpot, Malik settled back into his bed, body aching with a mixture of tiredness and containing all too much unused energy and restlessness. The door to Maria's room from the corridor opened and closed quietly. In murmured conversation Malik could easily catch the baritone of Altaïr's voice. He waited almost impatiently for the man to enter into the room.
When he did he looked tired. More tired than usual. It was not so often that Malik saw him so late of an evening and in such light or under such circumstances. When Altaïr retired to their bed it was usually panting, moaning and groaning. The domesticity of the situation hit him quite unexpectedly. Altaïr collapsed at his bedside in a heap of robes and exhaustion, eyeing his unformed limb.
“It's growing quickly.” He remarked, and Malik managed to quirk a small smile.
“You will not have me in this bed for much longer.”
Eyes, though no doubt unfocussed and not entirely aware, travelled from fingertip to growing biceps with fierce concentration, tracking the trails of dripping blood in the last moment.
“Does it hurt?”
“Not so much now. The bleeding is slowing down.”
Altaïr licked his lips. “We will have to suspend it to stop the muscle from sticking to the fabric. And we must try to keep it clear of flies and disease.”
“Most definitely.” Malik yawned widely and a flicker of a smile crossed Altaïr's face before falling away once more.
“Everything will be okay. I assure you.” He said soberly. “I will sleep in the office tonight.”
Malik rolled his eyes and scoffed. “You will do no such thing. I am well aware that you usually sleep with Maria. I have no qualms with it.”
FILL [2.c/?]
A twinge of pain disrupted Malik's musings and he looked to his uncovered arm. Blood had begun to drip down the bone and stain the pillowed rug beneath him. He swore and grasped for something to soak up the stain, shoving it beneath the bleed and then checking for the wound. His skin had peeled away to reveal a bloody mess of muscle and veins which had begun to wrap around his bone slowly and painfully. He groaned loudly and let his head fall back on the pillows heavily. A worry hit him. He could lose a lot of blood. He looked to the top of his arm again. The dribble of haemoglobin red, apart from standing out like a sore thumb against the white of his bone, was only thin. He breathed a sigh of relief, and then his breath hitched as another stinging sensation signified the tearing of his skin on the other side of his arm. He hissed and grimaced with pain.
Maria entered a moment later with a bowl of broth and chunk of bread in arms, kneeling next to Malik. She threw a long look to the exposed flesh creeping down his arm. It hadn't yet made a centimetre's progress.
“The oil first, then.”
Malik ate in silence, Maria having retired back into her own quarters. She was humming softly. Yusef seemed to be asleep. The fabric beneath his arm, which had turned out to be his dark scholar's robes, was now heavily stained. Blood dried on the surface of his humerus. With a deep breath after relieving himself into a chamberpot, Malik settled back into his bed, body aching with a mixture of tiredness and containing all too much unused energy and restlessness. The door to Maria's room from the corridor opened and closed quietly. In murmured conversation Malik could easily catch the baritone of Altaïr's voice. He waited almost impatiently for the man to enter into the room.
When he did he looked tired. More tired than usual. It was not so often that Malik saw him so late of an evening and in such light or under such circumstances. When Altaïr retired to their bed it was usually panting, moaning and groaning. The domesticity of the situation hit him quite unexpectedly. Altaïr collapsed at his bedside in a heap of robes and exhaustion, eyeing his unformed limb.
“It's growing quickly.” He remarked, and Malik managed to quirk a small smile.
“You will not have me in this bed for much longer.”
Eyes, though no doubt unfocussed and not entirely aware, travelled from fingertip to growing biceps with fierce concentration, tracking the trails of dripping blood in the last moment.
“Does it hurt?”
“Not so much now. The bleeding is slowing down.”
Altaïr licked his lips. “We will have to suspend it to stop the muscle from sticking to the fabric. And we must try to keep it clear of flies and disease.”
“Most definitely.” Malik yawned widely and a flicker of a smile crossed Altaïr's face before falling away once more.
“Everything will be okay. I assure you.” He said soberly. “I will sleep in the office tonight.”
Malik rolled his eyes and scoffed. “You will do no such thing. I am well aware that you usually sleep with Maria. I have no qualms with it.”