Work Text:
Itch
Altair tries not to look. He tells himself not to; steels his resolve before he drops into the Bureau. But each time, as Malik comes into view, his eyes are drawn to the empty sleeve folded over and sewn at the shoulder. It’s like an involuntary twitch, an itchy wound that he can’t help but scratch, forgetting momentarily that it will hurt.
And it does hurt, more and more as he continues to paw at a festering wound.
It is not that Altair finds Malik to be lacking, now. It’s quite the opposite – the strength to overcome in Malik is something Altair admires, something he himself isn’t sure he possesses. Malik has more than compensated for the loss of his arm; he’s somehow found it in himself to forgive Altair as well.
Altair can’t find the strength to do the same. So he looks; he looks and feels the pain for the both of them.
He owes Malik at least that much.