A hand strayed from the skinless flesh of his arm to his shoulder and squeezed briefly, blooming a heat and ache in Malik's chest in just the right amounts to coax out a smile around the pad of his thumb, teeth scraping over calloused flesh.

Altaïr finished cleaning Malik's arm in peace and quiet, careful of the muscle inching from elbow to wrist and mindful of the flaky divide between skin and no skin, where layers could fall away in an instant. By the time he was finished the water in the bowl was stained a brownish red and the cloth shared the same fate. Malik had polished off his food and flexed the bared muscles gingerly and cautiously, watching with fascination the way the flesh contracted and stretched.

“Within days you should be able to use it.” Altaïr said quietly as he too shared the simple joys of watching the new arm move and exist.

Malik grunted his agreement, pulling the limb up so that it would not lie on the bloody robes beneath him. He swatted at another fly. “How do we keep it up?”

“Tired?”

“The muscles are barely formed. They're tiny.” Malik gestured to them to prove his point. In comparison to most of the men in Masyaf and his right arm, the arm was a twig.

Altaïr smirked, a challenging glint to his eye. “Then we will have to train them.” Malik's stomach leapt at the thought, his heart beginning to pound faster at only the thought of being able to climb with ease once more, hold two blades at once, even wield a hidden blade. He broke into a grin at the thought, a softer expression flitting over Altaïr's features.

“Maria has gone to training and Yusef is being cared for by the wet-nurses in the gardens.” He let his hand rest suggestively on Malik's thigh. “We're alone.” Malik cast him a rather disapproving look. But he couldn't deny that the thought was tempting.

“Should she be swinging around a sword in the sun when she is pregnant?” He asked, pretending to ignore the hand smoothing up the blanket on his leg.

“Malik.” Altaïr said pointedly, and slid his hand higher up, closer to his groin.

“What are going it do to keep my arm up?” Malik said in the same pointed tone, attempting to stave off the blatant approach. Though Maria was not close it was still too close to their bed for his liking. He already felt as if he were intruding on their domestic lifestyle by staying in the nursery. Seeing Altaïr in situations he otherwise would not be privy to.

Altaïr sighed and squeezed the well formed thigh beneath his hand, bowing his head. “I suppose we could suspend it.”

“How would we manage that?”

Altaïr shrugged. “There might be a hook somewhere on the ceiling.”

They both searched the unlit and dirty stone above them for signs of something they could hook a tether of rope onto. There weren't any. But a long beam crossed from one wall to another, thick and sturdy.

One rope, two almost-falls, a dust shower, a bloody arm an half an hour later and Malik's arm was strung up by the wrist, dangling oddly, and he wiped the flesh of it's new layer of mess.

“Thank you.” He muttered, wringing out the cloth before returning it to his sticky limb. “Shouldn't you be leaving now? I'm quite sure that there is a mountain of paperwork for you to do. People to debrief. The usual Grand Master affair.”

Altaïr sighed heavily and dragged a cushion in from the bedroom, throwing it to the floor for him to sit on. “Until your guard gets here, no. I will not leave you unattended.” He stared transfixed as Malik carefully stroked the cloth on the inside of his elbow. “Does it hurt?”

“Not really. Not like the bones.” He lay the cloth to rest and leant back in his bed, stretching his legs restlessly.

“Good. Hopefully this means that the skin will be painless.”

“Here's hoping.”