Chapter Text
He had been feverish for three days and utterly weak the next four. A shadow with burning eyes had been there since he had first woken with blurry vision. The doctors had told him to stay calm and to look down after they had helped him sit up. His left arm was gone. It was gone. He had felt his heart stop and then burst into a run, his lungs trying and failing to fill with air. The whole of the world had been in dark grey shadows, but his missing limb had been a clear vantage point.
The shadow with gold eyes and helped restrain him as he was put back to sleep. He know for a fact that he had landed a few solid punches on everyone before he had been back in the realm of sleep. When clarity had come back to Malik, the shadow was no demon sent to wait for his soul. It was close. Altair was there, sitting in the window in a simple white shirt and dark pants with no weapons, no hood and no shoes, watching him with his legs crossed at the ankle in front of him and both arms crossed tightly over his chest. Malik watched him and Altair never looked away from the hateful glare Malik knew he was giving him. Malik felt his body protest as he sat up.
He felt his wrist give out, as he held the stump of his former left arm close to his stomach. He was ready to fall onto the bed, but it never happened. Altair was there, holding him and setting him upright, making sure the pillow was behind his back and not stuck under his ass. Malik took a swing at him, knowing that it would miss. Altair didn’t move and let the punch land. He looked at Malik in the eyes and seemed to be waiting. Malik saw something in those eyes, golden and wrong and watching him as though he was prey.
The doctor came in along with Al Mualim. Malik bowed as best as he could. Altair went stiffly to his knees and then bent at the waist. Hands flat on the ground and head pressed into the floor. Malik didn’t know what to expect. Al Mualim didn’t even look down at Altair. He walked over his hands and came to stand next to Malik. He spoke softly but firmly.
“You have done us a great service. But I can not give you back your arm. Instead I gift you a slave to help you as is needed. He,” Al Mualim said as he pointed down at Altair as one did an old and beaten dog, “will be yours now.”
Malik felt himself blink slowly, “Grand Master, I am honored, but I do not need a slave. I need to work. Even reading and writing will do.”
“So shall it be. This slave will assist you. He is yours to do with as you please.”
“I don’t…” Malik could feel himself getting woozy. His body was in so much pain. Al Mualim didn’t seem to notice or care. Or maybe it was both.
“A slave has no will, Malik. Beat him, sell him as a whore, skin him inch by inch and then make him eat the skin. Lick the floor clean. A slave is nothing and he is nothing now. You are his master, and until the day you die, it will always be so. No rest. And train your slave as you recover.”
The doctor made short work of changing the bandages and telling Malik what he was doing and how tight everything needed to be. He was given a mix of tea and milk of the poppy for the pain and then he was left in peace. Somewhat. Altair was still on the floor. Malik curled into the bed, pulling the sheet over him and keeping his wounded arm close to his chest. He closed his eyes. The memory of Kadar was still so fresh.
“Command me.”
“Shut up.”
“Tell me to do something, Malik.”
“Don’t call me, Malik. Don’t call me anything. Just...leave me be so I may rest in peace.”
Altair was still in the room, Malik could sense that. Slaves were not allowed to leave. Malik wished the darkness of sleep would take him faster. He gasped away in the middle of the night, a phantom hand clutching his heart. A warm body was next to him, breathing soft and even, but not asleep. The dim light showed only short hair. Kadar?
He rolled over and hugged the body close. He began to sob into the hair, short and spiky and clean. A soothing had pet his hair and rubbed his back.
“I’m so, so sorry, Kadar. If I had-if-” a choked out sob cut him off. His lungs burned in protest and then he began to cough. The warm body held him close as it razed him into a pile of bones. He was so tired and in so much pain. His mouth felt like cotton, “...’m soarry. Kadar”
He pushed his little brother away from him, but he followed still. Kadar always followed. He knew that some of the tea and milk of the poppy had been left. He needed the last of it and then sleep would come and the cooling corpse of his brother would no longer haunt him. The warm body was not warm. The blood had been boiling hot inside and now it cooled like glass. Malik forgot that his body was just a fragil.
He fell from the body with a small cry of pain and anger. Kadar helped him up. Put him back in bed. Malik opened his eyes as a kiss was pressed into his forehead. Gold eyes, not blue looked down at him. Malik wanted to scream. He did not want Altair as a slave. He wanted his little brother.
“Sit down, I’ll get it.” Altair said. He was handed the tea cup and Malik sent it into the wall behind Altair instead. He jumped to his feet, dizzy and on weak ankles, and pushed Altair away from him and moved to the door. He titled and stumbled like a drunk. The door was in front of him. He reached out with his left hand. The hand touched the cool metal but the hand was a ghost.
He opened it with his right and went out into the chilly nighttime air. He was in thin sleep clothing. He could feel the shadow following him. He made his way down and down and down until the small library was surrounding him. He found the chair he had always used as a boy and curled tightly into it. Altair was hovering with a blanket.
“Put that thing on me, and I’ll kill you.”
Altair did not listen and sat down facing Malik instead. Malik turned his head away and down into his chest, pulling the blanket over him.