By the time Altaïr returned to the bureau, night had fallen, and he was exhausted, not to mention starving. And yet, he had no real drive to get any food. Malik's fig had held him over for a while, but soon adrenaline kicked in, and he had no real need to eat after that.

He clutched his stomach angrily and shuffled over to the grate, hoping no guards were following him. Despite the excruciating hunger he felt in his belly, there was nothing more he wanted than to sleep. The warm night wind blew and rustled through his robes as he dropped down into the bureau.

A faint aroma of food filled the bureau. Perhaps Malik was finishing his dinner, and might consider sharing. Altaïr looked around, hoping to find Malik, but he was nowhere in sight. He sighed and walked over to the corner of the bureau, where a multitude of pillows and blankets littered the floor. It seemed that he was the only assassin in the bureau, and he cherished his solitude. He made a small nest of pillows on the floor and lay down, placing his hands on his stomach. He closed his eyes, and slowed his breathing.

In a few minutes, Altaïr opened his eyes to see that the gate overhead had been closed, blocking all entry and exit to the bureau. He rubbed his abdomen absentmindedly as he felt the hunger in his stomach return with a soft grumble.

"Back so late?" Malik called out. Altaïr grunted and rolled over on his side to see Malik standing in his doorway, leaning slightly on the doorframe. "Judging by the noises from your stomach, you have not eaten."

"Judging by the aroma in the bureau, you have already eaten." Altaïr retorted.

Malik choked back a snort. "Yes, I have. A while ago." He started, and Altaïr frowned and closed his eyes to go back to sleep. "But this food is not for me." His mouth twitched into a wry smile as he saw Altaïr open one eye in curiosity. "It is your dinner, novice."

At this, Altaïr sat upright eagerly and removed his hood. "Oh? What have I done to deserve a home cooked meal?"

"You have not done anything. And if you continue to tease, you will not get anything." Malik frowned. "I have simply noticed your increase and appetite, and figured you need a hearty meal now and then."

Altaïr rubbed the back of his head, and pulled a pillow over to place against his stomach as he felt it lurch.

Malik relaxed his eyebrows. "I am not sure what foods you prefer, but I have seen you eat everything on your plate, so I am sure you will appreciate what I have done." He cleared his throat. "It is best you remove your robes. I don't need them getting in the way or getting dirty."

Altaïr raised an eyebrow questioningly and smirked. "So eager to get me out of my robes?"

"Just stop talking and do what I say, or else your food will be thrown out the back window."

Altaïr snickered and stood up. He turned around and slowly started to disrobe. He heard Malik's footsteps as he padded back to his room. Altaïr huffed and placed his clothes and weapons on the floor and kicked them to the side.

He sat down cross-legged on the floor and shifted from side to side awkwardly. Was Malik going to come back? Should he call his name? Then again, he might annoy him, and his dinner really would go flying out the window.

"Altaïr," Malik called from his quarters. "Come and carry this out."

Altaïr shuffled over to the entrance, and encountered Malik, who had disrobed as well. Malik gestured to a wooden tray with a wide variety of food, covered by a small cloth. "You aren't eating that in here. So take it out."

Altaïr grabbed the tray almost drooled at the mere thought of what the tray was possibly loaded with.

Malik shooed him out of his room and carried a bowl of stew and a spoon out with him. Altaïr placed the tray on the floor gently and sat back down. He attempted to pull the cover off the tray and reveal its contents, but Malik, having set down the bowl, swatted at him.

"I did not say you could eat yet." Malik choked back a smile as Altaïr looked up at him with the biggest pout he could muster.

"Malik, you know of my hunger, and yet you are denying me my meal?"

"Do not forgot, I was the one who made this in the first place, Altaïr." Malik pressed a hand against Altaïr's chest, and pushed him down so he was leaning gently against the pile of pillows. "Be calm, novice. You will get your food."

With that, he sat down cross legged on the floor and pulled the cloth off of the wooden tray, revealing an assortment of flat bread, couscous, steamed vegetables and meat.

Altaïr could feel his mouth salivating and his stomach gurgled in anticipation. Malik raised his eyebrows in amusement and gently prodded Altaïr's bare stomach with his finger. "Seems like somebody is hungry." He teased playfully.

All Altaïr could do was nod helplessly and beg for a bite of food.

"We should start with the soup, I think. Since everything else is still hot." Malik mused.

"We?" Altaïr questioned.

"Do you think I was going to let you eat this all by yourself?"

"That is not the case?"

"I am not eating any of your dinner if that's what you are worried about. I am only here to ensure that you eat everything I have made, as well as," he cleared his throat. "Get some enjoyment out of this affair." He choked out awkwardly.

Altaïr could care less what he was rambling on about and reached for the spoon eagerly. Malik tutted and held it just out of his grasp. "Make sure you are comfortable." Malik waved a hand to motion for Altaïr to lay back down. "Open your mouth."

He placed the ladle in the bowl and scooped out an overflowing serving. He scooted over to sit by Altaïr's side and carefully fed him the stew.

Altaïr slurped it gratefully, and it was gone in an instant.

"Take care so that you do not swallow any chunks of meat without chewing first." Malik huffed while refilling the spoon. "I do not want to be responsible for your death."

Altaïr nodded obediently and opened his mouth again hungrily. "This is excellent, Malik." He beamed. The soup was so flavorful, and it filled his belly with a comforting warmth. He shuddered as he accepted another spoonful. Altaïr couldn't be happier. He was being personally spoon fed delicious soup, by someone whom he was attracted to, to say the least.