Chapter Text
Four months in and Altair had only just barely managed to stay through the night in the giant bed he shared with Malik. The blanket he’d bought at the thrift store (one he found after he got lost while riding his bike around the city) helped negate the massive extravagance of the bed. It was a humble, ratty tan blanket with a hole in it that he could stick his fingers through and a stain that offended Malik on the deepest possible level. (You paid money for that was Malik’s attempt at acceptance when he saw it. You didn’t just find it in a dumpster somewhere? Someone charged you money for it?)
Waking up to the groaning objection of Malik’s morning battle with the alarm clock wasn’t such a terrible motivator either. Altair liked scooting up behind him and worming his arms underneath the heavy-as-hell blankets that superheated Malik’s body to inhuman levels of comforting warmth. Altair hated the T-shirts Malik slept in on a deeply spiritual level but he liked the little shiver that knocked through Malik’s body when Altair’s cool hands slid up under it. He liked the smell of Malik’s hair in the morning, the feeling of the back of his neck where the dark hair on the nape of his neck was getting too long to look professional. And the humming way Malik’s body shifted closer to his.
“You should get up,” Altair said when he kissed Malik’s shoulder. His fingers were spread out across his chest, just tip-toeing their way up.
“No I shouldn’t,” Malik mumbled back.
“Mmm,” Altair mumbled back. “If you get up now we’ll have time to have sex before you have to take a shower.” He kissed Malik’s neck and drew a circle around his nipple with his fingertip. Then he pressed his chin against his shoulder while he waited for a response.
“What kind of sex?”
The most important thing Altair had learned in four months was that Malik could not be properly motivated by vague promises. It was either his training as a lawyer or his innate meticulous attention to details but he could not function without precise details. He also could not be motivated by anything less than exactly what he wanted. Compromises seemed to annoy the living hell out of him. “What kind will get you to wake up?”
Malik made a groaning noise as he reached over blindly to turn off the alarm clock before it could start screaming at him again and then wiggled around onto his side facing Altair. He tossed the blankets back away far enough to pluck Altair’s ratty blanket off his body (he hated it so much it was hilarious) and then grabbed him by the ass and dragged him forward.
“I like you best as a nonverbal caveman,” Altair said as Malik rolled up onto his hands and knees over him. It was a pretty impressive move, one that Malik had perfected in four months. He couldn’t be trusted to eat toast and walk most mornings but he could find his way between Altair’s thighs blindfolded in the dark.
“I know you do,” Malik said before he kissed him.
--
Malik simply had to stop being seduced out of sleep. It was mid-morning when he started yawning and Shaun’s frown had gone from faintly amused to angry within twenty minutes.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “am I boring you with the important details?”
Yes he was, but that was hardly the problem. Malik knocked his head against his desk and let his arms flop across it so his fingers were in the dish of paperclips on the far edge. He said, “he just keeps waking me up on time.”
“Your son or your soul mate?”
“If it’s not one then it’s the other,” Malik said. He turned his head and bent his elbow so he could rest his cheek against his arm. “Don’t get me wrong, I like the sex but I need sleep. This is a medical condition at this point. I’m tired.”
“We all burdens we must bear,” Shaun said patiently. “Some are heavier than others.”
“I don’t appreciate the sarcasm.”
“I am truly sorry. Please do continue to tell me about how you have sex every morning and night and are not getting enough sleep. I would love to hear more about how it’s affecting your health and happiness.”
Malik frowned and lifted his head. Shaun didn’t look the slightest bit worried. (Malik was just losing his touch that was all.) “That is quite enough from you.” Then he straightened up completely. “Fine, we’ll do work if it’s that important to you. Finish telling me about—whoever did whatever and why we’re involved.”
“If you feel you can suffer through it,” Shaun said.
Malik threw a pen at him and Shaun smiled so hard his face went pink.
--
Kadar (as far as Altair could figure out) was the family peacekeeper. He seemed to exist simultaneously in seven different places at any given moment. He worked the press (with a small legion of people who did his bidding) and he acted as an intermediary for members of the family that were on sore terms with one another. He was his Mother’s single most loyal supporter and still had the time to show up at Malik’s house at ten in the morning with a blue slush drink in one hand and his phone in the other to announce, “let’s go loser. Time to make you pretty as a princess.”
Altair was wearing jeans, a T-shirt and the shoes Desmond had picked out for him. His hair (which hadn’t been cut in six months) was long enough now that it was falling into his face and he was pretty sure that he’d gained ten pounds in the past few months. “I think you’re going to need a miracle worker for that.”
“Miracles I’ve got,” Kadar said when he tucked his phone away. “What we need is a haircut and a nice suit. We’re officially throwing you to the sharks tonight so you have to look like a proper sacrifice. Is that a hickey?”
“Probably,” Altair said.
Kadar huffed. “He is twenty-nine fucking years old. You’d think he’d either get over the hickey thing or figure out they can’t show above your collar.” He got close enough it was vaguely unnerving and then made a low noise in his throat that was very close to actual growl before pulling back. “Oh well. Let’s go do what we can. I brought flash cards.” He reached into his pocket and pulled them out. They were a series of photos with writing on the back that told him the name, affiliation and general level of friendliness of everyone that was going to be at the event that night.
“This is insane,” Altair said softly.
“The insane ones have a star by their name.”
--
Malik was sleeping on the couch in his office with his suit jacket over his face when his beloved Mother came into the room. He knew her by the jingle of her jewelry and the smell of her perfume that had been seared into his brain since childhood. She stopped very near to him and waited for him to pull the jacket off his face and look at her.
“I see you are very busy, my son,” she said. But there was a fond smile on her face. “I understand,” she said in the next moment. “I wore your father out much the same in the first year. Do not worry, you will adjust.”
He made a noise of universal disgust. Then sat up and threw his suit jacket over the end of the couch. “Mom, please do not talk about sex. Please don’t. I don’t think I can handle it from you.”
“You are aware where you came from?”
“Yes,” he assured her.
“Ah, good.”
“More to the point, Altair is not a woman. You have got to stop trying to make him out to be one. Every time you start talking about this you make him into a housewife or a Mother and—he’s not a woman.”
She waved her hand at him, dismissed the whole idea of such nonsense. “You act as if anyone would be surprised to know you have bullied your way to the top. I love you, son, and I am not a fool.”
“Oh my God,” he mumbled into his hands. And then stood up. “Was there a reason for you being here?”
“I came to see my son.”
“And torment me?”
Her hand touched his face and her smile assured him that was precisely why she was there. “You have always been very smart, Malik.” Then she pulled him down so she could kiss his forehead and he obediently stooped low enough to allow it. But then her fingers were pulling at his hair.
“Oh its worse,” he mumbled, “you came to inspect me before the party.”
“This is very long, Malik.”
“I’m going back to sleep.” But it was too late, she had him by the hand and was pulling him away from the safety of his office. It was mildly surprising she hadn’t brought a team of specialists with her to make him into the best possible representation of her son. He wouldn’t have been surprised at all to find the second floor transformed into a beauty parlor.
--
Tazim had a Nanny. Her name was Delilah and she was a youngish woman with brown hair and a perpetual smile that made him a snack and did his homework with him and made sure he kept his room clean until Malik came home.
“But one day,” Tazim had gotten very fond of telling Delilah, “Altair is going to start taking care of me and you won’t have to come anymore.”
“Oh,” Delilah said back (very often), “I’ll be sad when that happens because I won’t see you anymore.”
Now and again (four months in), Delilah left before Malik got home and Tazim and him were left to occupy awkward orbit around one another. The night of the party, Delilah had an appointment in the afternoon and Malik assured him he’d be home early enough to dress the kid. But it was five-fifty-one and Altair had already fed Tazim (pasta and beans, a favorite they shared that they both decided they shouldn’t tell Malik about) and they had to be ready in the next half hour.
“I hate suits,” Tazim said with a sad sigh. He was looking sharp, a near-perfect miniature of his father. His vest was already buttoned in place as he straightened the tie so it was under the collar of his shirt. He was wearing neon socks with his shoes waiting to be put on. When he looked up at Altair (mostly dressed in his new clothes) he lifted his eyebrow in the same disapproving way Malik did. “Where do you come from?” he asked.
“Somewhere without these things,” Altair said as he lifted the suit jacket up and let it drop. “Your Dad was supposed to be here to do this.”
Tazim flattened his lips together, went over to grab the wooden footstool and dragged it over to climb up on. He buttoned the top four buttons of Altair’s shirt with the air of a frustrated parent and then flattened the shirt down. The tie was hanging over Altair’s right arm and he picked it up and flipped it out, assessed it and then threw it over his head as Altair ducked to make it easier. Then he tucked it under the collar and messed with the length of the two ends until he had it how he wanted it. “You need to learn how to do this,” Tazim said.
“Yeah,” Altair agreed. He was watching the five-year-old tie his tie for him. Tazim’s little face all tense with concentration as he made the whole process look easy. “But now that I know you can do it, you can’t whine about how you can’t anymore.”
Tazim frowned and yanked the tie far tighter than comfortable. “Your shirt isn’t tucked in right.” Then he stepped down off the stool to get his own tie fixed.
Altair dropped his suit jacket on the bed and pulled his shirt free and tucked it in again. “Do I have to wear a belt?”
“Yes,” Tazim said.
“That’s dumb,” Altair said. But he went back to get his shoes and belt out of the big closet. Malik was there when he went in, looking freshly scrubbed and polished as he went through his many suits to find one he liked. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I didn’t want to interrupt,” Malik said. He turned to face him, smiled at his tie and ran his hand down it. “He’s pretty good at that. Your belt has to match your shoes.”
“Who is even going to check?” Altair asked. But he made sure they matched while Malik made the whole process of getting dressed look simple. (Of course he did, he was like Tazim cursed to these suits since birth.)
--
The news of the addition to the Al-Sayf family had been published in a series of strategic information dumps spread over the course of two months followed by a month of hushed quiet then followed by the much anticipated reveal of Altair Ibn-La’Ahad, the newest acquisition. His story of coming from the impoverished side-cities and meeting Malik by trying to mug him was a humorous, well-known sort of story among the elite.
His Mother and Kadar had fended off the friendly overtures of interested parties as long as they felt was proper. Then there was this, this awful charity function that was held every single year with the same stagnant invitation list that brought together every member of the Al-Sayf family, their closest friends and the people with money who wanted to be thought of fondly by his Mother. Malik didn’t hate it, exactly, but he would rather have spent the evening having his fingernails pulled out.
Tazim had left him at the door as soon as he spotted Kadar (who he adored) and was most recently seen dancing with his mother. Altair had managed to attach himself pretty firmly to Malik’s side until Mother came and dragged him out to teach him to dance.
Malik found a safe spot near the refreshments table that allowed him a clear view of the people and afforded him a quick exit to the kitchen area if someone came too close with the intent to have a conversation. He sipped his drink and checked his phone to see how much longer they had to stay before they could leave.
That was when Hideous Harold showed up with a glass of scotch and a indulgent-red-smile. “I never thought it would happen! I never thought it would happen.” Hideous Harold was, quite like his name implied, an unfortunate acquaintance of the family that nobody liked but nobody could find a real reason to push away. “And a man too? Nobody could have predicted that.”
“So I’ve heard,” Malik said. “Thank you for coming tonight Harold.” Thank you for paying twenty thousand dollars for the chance to ogle Malik’s new soul mate. An extravagant price upped five thousand dollars from the previous year (and Kadar had said they probably could have raised it even higher than that because people were gagging to get their hands on Altair).
“I had to come!” Harold said. “Your Mother and you have kept this new one hidden so well nobody had any idea what he even looked like. He is attractive, by the way. Congratulations. Some of us couldn’t be so lucky.” Harold’s own soul mate (a woman who did not find him particularly charming either) was not a traditionally attractive sort of person. Whatever she lacked in physical beauty was made up in equal measure by Harold’s lacking personality. They wisely avoided one another when possible. “Oh there he comes now.”
Altair came over and half-smiled at Harold before putting an arm around Malik and tugging him sideways, “I need to talk to you,” he said against his cheek.
“Excuse us,” Malik said.
“Not at all, I understand.” Harold thought they were going to sneak off and have sex. He seemed pleased by the idea and Malik did not care enough to try to dissuade him from it.
He let Altair pull him through the door that led them into the back rooms where the servers were rushing around trying to finish up the next round of platters to go out. Malik had no idea what the hell Altair needed but he was sure it would require more privacy than huddling by the busiest door in the place. So he pulled him into an empty room to the side with a series of folded up chairs and tables.
“What?” Malik asked.
“I didn’t mean to,” Altair said. Malik was going to ask what the hell he was talking about but then Altair started pulling things out of his pockets. Gold chains and watches and wallets that he dropped onto a push cart in an increasingly large pile. There were wedding and commitment rings, a pair of earrings, at least six necklaces, a fistful of dollars and four wallets along with some pearls, a cufflink and five watches.
“How do you do something like this accidentally?” Malik asked.
“Uh,” Altair said. He looked mortified. His hands smoothed down his suit jacket and then he reached into the inside pocket and pulled out dozens of credit cards. “I’ve been pickpocketing people since I was a kid. You should probably check the trashcans, I think I threw away some people’s wallets.”
Malik just stared at the pile.
“Sorry,” Altair said quietly.
It was not as disastrous as it was funny. He covered his mouth with his hand because he felt like he was going to start smiling and that would not make Altair feel better. He cleared his throat to try to convince himself it was a serious problem and then said, “I’m going to get Kadar. Don’t steal anything else.”
Altair reached into one of his pockets and then held out Malik’s gold band (he could not remember being slipped off his finger). “Sorry,” he said again.
--
Altair just unfolded one of the chairs and sat on it next to the obscenely large pile of stolen things. He sorted out the credit cards so they were in piles of who they belonged to and waited.
Kadar was shoved through the door with Malik right behind him. “I don’t understand why you couldn’t just—oh.” Kadar had one hand on his hip and the other rubbing his jaw as he looked down at the pile of things. “Well,” Kadar said quietly. “We did say he was a pickpocket. It’s not like anyone is going to be surprised.”
Malik slapped him.
“Ow. Well what the hell are we going to do? Do you remember what belongs to who?” Kadar asked.
“No,” Altair said. “I don’t remember doing most of it. You left me alone!”
“You left him alone,” Kadar said to Malik. “Alright. I’m getting Mom.”
Malik sighed and picked through the necklaces and watches. “This is Maria’s,” he said when he pulled up a thin gold chain. “You got this off her without her noticing?”
“She hasn’t found me and bruised my kidneys yet,” Altair said. This was not a jest. He fully believed she would.
Kadar came back with their Mom who looked as if she were just gushing approval over the servers in the kitchen and came to a shuddering stop as soon as she saw the pile of his stolen goods. Unlike Malik who tried not to be amused by it and unlike Kadar who was honestly stumped by the situation, she just tipped her head back and laughed.
“You are precious,” she said to him with her hands cupped around Altair’s face. “Do not worry. Boys, go and get Maria and Tazim.” Then, when they left to do what they were told, she pulled her own chair out and sat on it so that their knees were brushing together. “You are a resourceful boy.”
“A thief,” he corrected.
Her hand waved in the air. “My son is a brute. He goes and tears families apart and charges his victims for it. This,” she said as she picked at the pile, “this is very useful. Perhaps not in this context, but it shows that you have what it takes to survive. This is the most important thing, Altair. You have not stumbled into a blessing. Do not mistake the glitter masks that we wear, our family is vast and powerful but we are only as good as the sum of our resolve to remain in power. You will adapt and you will become even more skilled at survival. You, my boy, will lead my family when I have gone. This is what I see in you.”
“Because I took people’s stuff?” he asked.
She smiled. “Perhaps. Perhaps because you did not try to keep it. Malik will be the face of my empire, but he does not have enough heart.” Then she stood up as Maria and Tazim came in with Malik and Kadar just behind them.
“Wow,” Tazim said.
Maria laughed even louder than Mama had. She took the necklace that Malik held out for her and slapped Altair on the shoulder. “Ass,” she said. “Alright. Tazim.” She plucked the jewelry out of the pile. “You’re going to go give these things back to the ladies I send you to. Malik, have the servers round up all the trash bags. Kadar, find the wallets and you, you little thief, you’re going to give everyone their wallets back. Mama, could you handle the watches?”
--
Malik watched Altair working his way through the crowd, tried to catch the exact moment he slid the men’s wallets back into their pockets and couldn’t see it. The whole motion was far too smooth to make out at any distance and other than directing the man toward the correct people he didn’t want to get too close to the moment. He was supposed to swoop in and save him if he got caught. (That seemed increasingly unlikely.)
When they’d finished, Altair came to stand next to him with a pink-faced-embarrassment and a stiff drink in his hand.
“How do you do it?” Malik asked.
“Do what?” Altair asked.
“Take someone’s wallet without them noticing?” Malik asked.
“Like this,” Altair said as he held up Malik’s wallet. He smiled at him as Malik plucked it out of his hand. “I don’t know. I learned it so long ago I don’t even think about it anymore. Desmond tried to learn but he was bad at it and I didn’t want him to do it anyway. Once you get a job for the old man he owns you.”
“There’s a family party next month,” Malik said. “We’ll just make sure everyone leaves their valuables in a safe by the door.”
Altair snorted. “Where’s the fun in that?” Then he shuffled ever-so-slightly closer and said, “I’m sorry, really.”
“Perhaps this is the way in which we are complimentary. You are a criminal and I am a lawyer. Whatever crime you commit, I will be able to defend you from?”
“Ha,” Altair said. “When do we get to leave?”
“I think, after what has just happened, we will be free to leave whenever we want. Mother won’t even protest and I believe Maria will take Tazim if we ask her nicely.” He put his arm around Altair and liked the way he felt there against him. (Even if he were ever so slightly nervous about the state of his valuables.)