I. Roma. 1504.

"It's sort of... mildly disappointing, isn't it?" Altair shifted against his pillow, staring idly into his wine cup.

Malik frowned. (It was hardly an uncommon occurrence.) "You speak in riddles. What is it this time?"

"The boy." The Grand Master paused, briefly, and then chuckled. "Not really a boy anymore, is he?" he mused.

"I tire of your nonsense," Malik said, with a note of petulance in his voice. "He's an exceptional Assassin."

After a long swig of wine from the cup he cradled in both hands, Altair stretched his legs out on the bed. "On the off chance it has escaped your notice... he has yet to father any children."

Malik paused. "Well. Perhaps time will tell," he said, not bothering to disguise the annoyance in his voice.

"I do have many descendants." Altair looked at his companion sideways, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "And I suppose there are many Assassins who have neglected this particular duty."

A short seething growl preceded Malik's grunt of discomfort as he shifted to press his body into the warmth of Altair's arms. "I will admit that this one did seem special."

II. Roma. 1507.

"All you do is talk of him. Incessantly. Will you not stop your mouth for a moment so that I may have some peace?"

The Grand Master narrowed his eyes, folding aching legs beneath himself. "He has done what I could never do!"

Malik furrowed dark eyebrows. "And now the Apple is in a resting place, and he is idle, and there is little more to say! Therefore-"

"Therefore, I continue to be pleased and surprised by his success! Therefore, I await the birth of a child of his loins!" Altair clutched the cloth with which he had been wiping the blade of his dagger.

When Malik spoke next it was as if his voice were acid, bitter and harsh, burning in Altair's ears. "With the importance you place on him, one would think you have forgotten the rest of the Order. Yes, he is an Assassin, as am I! Does the Order not stand for free will?"

Altair clenched his teeth, staring into Malik's eyes. It was true, and he knew it. Malik was infuriatingly correct.

Malik knew it, too. And when he saw the briefest falter in Altair's posturing he took the opportunity to smile, maddeningly.

III. Roma. 1507.

"Ezio Auditore."

After a pause, Ezio cast a careful glance over his shoulder toward a nearby bench to see an old man seated there, clad in peasant's garb and rather conspicuously missing an arm.

He was silent a moment, hesitant, and then crossed the few meters of cobblestone to meet the man. "How do you know me?" he asked quietly, turning to sit between him and the man on the other end of the bench, a snoring drunkard with a half-eaten eel dangling from his fingertips.

Malik smiled faintly. "Word of your accomplishments has fallen on my ears," he said, looking down at ink-stained fingers. "You are impressive."

Ezio frowned slightly. "Who are you?"

"A friend, I assure you," the old man replied. "I mean you no harm. I mean only to ask you how you are doing."

Bowing his head to avoid the probing gaze of the city patrolmen, Ezio considered his response carefully.

IV. Roma. 1507.

"You spoke to him? How could you do such a thing?"

A heavy scowl settled on Malik's brow, narrowing his eyes. "It did no harm. I merely gave him advice."

Altair combed his fingers through his hair. "Yes, but... I had no idea you intended to interfere!"

"I didn't interfere," Malik growled. "He had no knowledge of me. In any case, Altair-"

"What would you have said to him?" Altair asked, suddenly looking up into Malik's eyes. "And who did he think you were, if not yourself?"

Malik frowned, caught slightly off guard. "I... an old mercenary, I suppose," he said. "I asked him if he had yet married. If he had fathered children."

Altair closed his eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I saw no harm in asking."

"Be that as it may-"

"I merely encouraged him not to miss the chance."

Altair scoffed, picking up the jug from the table and pouring warm wine into the tumbler that sat at his elbow. "He has never missed a chance," he countered, moving to set down the jug until Malik nudged his own cup closer.

"He missed many chances with his artist friend," Malik mused as Altair poured for him.

There was a moment's silence, in which Altair's expression seemed to shift many times. First a frown creased his forehead, then he closed his eyes with a sardonic smile, and then he laughed quietly against his fingers as he looked to the man at his side. "Do you think so?"

Malik brought the cup closer and looked down into it, then back up into Altair's eyes. "Yes, I think so," he said.

"That has little to do with the spreading of his seed," Altair said into his cup, then took a drink.

"Perhaps you are correct," Malik said, "but he's lonely. Since the artist left for Milano, he has seemed... despondent. And now that his work is done-"

Altair chuckled, setting down his cup with a thump on the table. "His work is never done," he said.

"Now that his work is done," Malik pressed on, "and the Apple is stored away... perhaps he should pay a visit." He finished his wine and rested his arm on the table.

A bewildered frown settled on Altair's face as he thought this over. "How would you suggest-"

Malik stood, shaking his head. "I have no suggestions. You didn't want me to interfere."

V. Roma. 1507.

"Ezio."

Ezio jumped, baring his hidden blade as he stopped at the mouth of the narrow alleyway. "Volpe. What are you doing here?" he asked, retracting the blade and straightening his robes.

La Volpe emerged from the shadows, smirking. "I had a question for you," he said. "Walk with me."

With a failed attempt to contain the grimace that spread over his face, Ezio followed the older man, bracing himself for the impending pain of a brisk run. La Volpe merely smiled and walked on, keeping a gentler pace.

"What's the matter?" asked Ezio. "You don't want to show off?"

"Enough," La Volpe interrupted. "We should take to the rooftops, but we can sit. I wish only to discuss... although, if you are interested in a race..." He flashed a wicked grin and started up the side of a building, catching himself on an awning and running up a windowframe to land himself a level above the ground, looking down at Ezio with mild perplexity.

Ezio followed the other Assassin to the rooftop, where he was met with a hand extended to grasp his own and help him up.

"You're getting heavy, my boy," said the thief, and scrabbled up the shear side of the next building over.

When Ezio reached the second level, La Volpe was gone- though a quick survey of the scene betrayed a blue glow nestled into the bottom of a rooftop garden. Ezio quickly ducked into the enclosure and sat.

La Volpe smiled at him, sitting cross-legged on the floor, maddeningly placid.

"What exactly is this about?" Ezio asked when the other man did not speak.

With a sigh, La Volpe steepled long fingers. "Lately you have been quite the picture of misery," he said after a moment's thought. "Tell me, Ezio: what troubles you?"

Ezio frowned deeply, his dark eyebrows knitting, as he stared, bewildered, at his companion. "I'm not sure I know what you mean," he said.

"Ah." La Volpe looked down at his hands, turning them over once and again. He looked like a curious sort of magician practicing some sort of sleight of hand; Ezio almost expected something to appear from nowhere, tangled around his fingertips or rolling from his palm onto the floor. It was transfixing and irritating.

"Volpe, what exactly-"

"You are lonely," La Volpe said finally, quietly, and after another moment added, "I know the feeling well." He looked up into Ezio's light brown eyes and seemed to see through him. "Pray tell: why do you feel so?"

Ezio closed his eyes, letting slip an irritated sigh as he got to his feet. "I have things to do," he said shortly.

La Volpe stood, cocking an eyebrow as he took Ezio's wrist in his hand. He was taller than the younger man and seemed to loom over him like an ancient tree, high and immortal and blocking what little light came through the opposing corner of the garden.

"You cannot lie to me, Ezio," La Volpe said softly. "You have not been yourself since Leonardo left."

Ezio's eyes flashed momentarily bright and he pulled his wrist free. "Have you not thought of my mother?" he snarled.

La Volpe flinched, his eyes closing. "I am sorry," he said. "I did not mean to imply that you had no reason for your upset."

There was a brief pause; Ezio took a deep breath before he spoke again. "I told him that we would meet again," he said quietly. "But he left no indication-"

"I have heard from some sources that he is in Milano," said La Volpe, "but at present, Leonardo is to be found in Firenze. There have been some... complications regarding his father's will."

In the space of a few breaths, Ezio looked at his feet and then out past the red curtain enclosing the rooftop garden, then looked back to La Volpe with a shameful frown, and then sat, quite heavily, on the wooden ledge of the garden. "I..."

La Volpe sat beside him, putting a fatherly arm around his shoulders. "I believe he would be very glad to see you at this point, Ezio... and it would perhaps be a comfort for you."

"It would not be safe," Ezio countered. "I remain a wanted man."

"A technicality!" La Volpe smiled, slightly baring his teeth. "I have found a number of identities for you. People who could... disappear, if you like. A young Count from Milano, perhaps?"

Ezio raised an eyebrow. "What has happened to this young Count?" He paused. "Furthermore, how young is he?"

"Was he," La Volpe corrected. "Don't worry: he died of perfectly natural causes. It's nothing for you to worry about." He pushed back the curtain and slipped out of the rooftop garden. "Please: accompany me to the stables. I will meet you in Firenze tomorrow, but I seem to recall that you admired the speed of my horse."

VI. Firenze. 1507.

The long ride had given Ezio's aching knees the brilliant idea of locking up completely; it was with some measure of shame that he wandered the streets of Firenze at a slower pace than he had intended.

A visit to a doctor found his purse lighter and his pain somewhat reduced, though his joints seemed still to be displeased with him. Nevertheless he trudged on, finding to his chagrin that he almost missed the inner-city stables and traffic of Roma.

Firenze was home, though perhaps it was more the home of his younger self, someone he'd thought it wise to leave behind when he left the city so many years ago.

La Volpe had advised him as to the location of Leonardo's brother's house, and now he walked the lonely streets, quiet and solitary, clad in his hooded robes. He had little else, save for the large jug of wine he had purchased from the Roman market before leaving (now half-full)- and the heavy satchel in which it was packed and slung over his shoulders. He had left the better part of his armor at the hideout in Roma and felt strangely naked without it.

As he neared the house a nervousness crept up on him. It would be late, perhaps too late for Leonardo to receive him, but as he pulled himself up onto a nearby rooftop to discern which window belonged to the artist, he was surprised to see him clearly, blowing out a candle and settling himself into bed.

Ezio crossed the rooftops deftly and went to Leonardo's window, looking in at him for a moment, and then with the slightest misgiving pulled open the window.

"You said you weren't coming," Leonardo murmured quietly, then glanced over his shoulder and tensed upon seeing the Assassin's silhouette. "Ezio!" he hissed.

"Leonardo," Ezio replied. "Forgive me my entrance, please... I heard you had come back to Firenze-"

"For a short time," Leonardo interjected. "Why are you here? Not that I am unhappy to see you... I merely question your timing!"

Ezio took the satchel from his shoulder and closed the window. "I told you that I would see you again, did I not?"

Leonardo frowned, folding his legs beneath himself and wincing. "Yes, but now?"

"I..." Ezio shook his head, taking from the satchel a pair of cups. "The Apple has been stored, Leonardo," he said after a moment, "and I came to find you."

With a perplexed sigh, Leonardo took a cup from Ezio's hand and turned it over in his own. "You bewilder me," he said softly.

Ezio uncorked the wine jug and filled his tumbler, and then Leonardo's. "I apologize," he said, and took a long drink, setting the jug on the table near the bed.

"Sit, then," Leonardo said, "but take off your boots, per favore."

With a slight smile, Ezio toed off his heavy boots and sat beside his friend in the bed. He drank deeply of the wine and poured again, and Leonardo laughed quietly, watching him in utter bemusement.

"What troubles you?" the artist asked.

Ezio shook his head. "Non c'è niente," he said, crossing his legs.

Leonardo sighed patiently, sipping from the cup of rich wine such that a trickle of red dripped into his beard. He wiped it away on the sleeve of his nightshirt. "Thank you for the wine," he offered.

"Of course," Ezio said. He hardly recalled loneliness. After so many years of loss it seemed hardly applicable, an irritation first to last and a feeling to be discarded. He pushed a wayward strand of hair from his face and spoke once again, quietly and nervously. "If you must know, I was lonely." He drank once again, concealing his eyes beneath his hood.

"Toh... you have many friends," Leonardo said gently. "The Brotherhood-"

"Can last without me, at least for the time being," Ezio interrupted. "I have followed you from place to place for years, Leonardo: I followed you to Venezia, and there is nothing left for me in Roma."

Leonardo combed his fingers through his hair, closing his eyes.

Ezio touched his shoulder gently. "Leonardo... who were you expecting?" he asked. The artist's cheeks flushed, and Ezio's eyes widened. "A mistress, perhaps?"

The laugh that followed was almost disparaging, but patient. "Ezio..." Leonardo shook his head. "No. Not a mistress. I have no mistress, Ezio."

"Someone as attractive as you could not be celibate-"

"Dio mio." Leonardo pinched the bridge of his nose.

Ezio frowned. "What else am I to believe?" he asked, taking another sip from the cup he had forgotten he held. "I remember now- you told me that women hold little distraction for you."

Leonardo tilted his head to look into Ezio's eyes. "Sì, but there are other outlets," he said carefully. "Ezio, I... I prefer the company of men." He cupped his forehead in his hand and looked down at the blanket draped haphazardly over his knees.

Carefully considering his response, Ezio finished his second cup of wine. "What would one do with another man?" he asked quietly.

"Ah... Ezio." Leonardo put down his half-full cup and got out of the bed. "One should not ask questions to which one does not want an answer." His legs ached with the effort of movement and his hands shook as he went to light a candle, fumbling with the flint.

Ezio got to his feet and struck a spark to light the wick. In the small glow of golden-orange light he could see the weariness in Leonardo's light eyes, the grey in his hair and beard. Perhaps it was the wine (it had been quite some time since he had eaten, and he felt somewhat unusually light-headed), or the smell of sweat on Leonardo's nightclothes, that made him reach out to push a strand of hair back from his eyes, and then flinch away as if he'd been burned.

Leonardo swallowed thickly, nudging the candle on its holder nearer to the center of the small table. "Ezio," he said again, reaching up for what seemed an eternity to grasp the edge of Ezio's cowl and push it back from his face.

He looked older than Leonardo had previously noted; though his hair and beard were still dark as ebony, his eyes were tired as he looked upon his oldest friend with some measure of surprise and curiosity.

Shivering slightly, though not from cold, Leonardo untied the ribbon that held back Ezio's dark hair and watched it fall around his face. The ribbon fell limp around his fingers and he held it up to examine it, toying with the soft, smooth fabric.

Ezio touched Leonardo's cheekbone with the backs of his fingers, carefully caressing his skin, and when the older man looked up at him, opening his mouth to speak, he cut him off. "Leonardo, have you ever been tempted to enjoy my company?"

Taking a moment's breath, Leonardo picked up his wine cup and drank, collecting the scraps of his wits about him. "Ezio, you shouldn't do this," he said. "I feel as though I'm taking advantage of you."

Ezio frowned and unbuckled the strap that held his cape on his shoulder. "Leonardo... how would you take advantage of me?" he asked gently, dropping the cape onto the bed.

Leonardo frowned sympathetically. "Ezio-"

"You are my closest friend, Leonardo," Ezio said softly. "I trust no one more than you."

With a resigned sigh, Leonardo nodded- his cheeks flushed and he closed his eyes to avoid Ezio's gaze. "Yes, on occasion I have had thoughts about you... a long time ago."

"But no longer?"

Leonardo had to glance up at Ezio's eyes to determine if the disappointment he heard had been only wishful thinking on his part.

Dark hair hung in the Assassin's face, casting his eyes into shadow, concealing his emotions just as well as his cowl had. Leonardo had never seen Ezio with his hair unbound, and of late he had only infrequently taken down his hood.

He took Ezio's left arm gently in his hands and unbuckled the bracer, then slipped it off and set it on the table; he repeated the process with the glove on Ezio's right hand, carefully unlacing it and then removing it and the blade it concealed.

"Ezio..." The patent gentle smile returned to his face as he let his eyes graze over the heavy robes in which Ezio was clad. "How do you take these off?"

VII. Firenze. 1507.

Ezio woke, naked and tangled in soft linen sheets; a heavy, warm arm rested on his side and heat radiated soothingly from the body behind him. The sun had only recently risen and the warm glow of orange light filled the small bedroom.

The air in the room was heavy, stifling with the smell of sweat and sex. He'd lost count of how many times they had made love, but his body ached with the effort of movement and he was sore in places that guaranteed he would be uncomfortable if the need should arise to take to horseback.

His body twitched at the feeling of a gentle kiss between his shoulderblades and the tightening of the hug around his ribs. "Ezio."

"You're awake," Ezio observed.

Leonardo sighed quietly against the bare expanse of Ezio's back. "I sleep lightly."

Ezio nodded, resting his head on his folded arm. "Have you thought about my offer? Is there room for me in Milano?"

"I... Salai will not be pleased," Leonardo said softly.

As he thought of Roma, of his dwindling family, Ezio closed his eyes, shuddering. "I have little left, Leonardo. I will not do well if I lose you."

Leonardo sighed, sliding his hand up Ezio's chest affectionately and stroking the thick, smooth scar at his shoulder. "Yes, alright."

There was a gentle scratching at the window and Ezio sat bolt upright, gasping in pain at the shock sent up his spine from his tailbone. "Ah!..."

"Are you alright, Ezio?" Leonardo asked gently, taking his time sitting up and carefully, delicately, folding his legs beneath himself.

Ezio stumbled out of the bed, pawing around for whatever clothing he could find and finally settling for awkwardly covering himself with his robes. He opened the window and was greeted by a cloaked figure pulling himself up onto the roof.

"Volpe... where did you go? Was that you at the window?"

La Volpe smiled enigmatically, then cast an almost nervous glance down to the street below. "I had some... things to take care of," he said.

Ezio frowned. "I see," he said, acutely aware of his state of dress under the eyes of his old friend. "Ah... why are you here? Did you not find your horse at the stables outside of town?"

With another unsettled glance toward the ground, La Volpe took a nervous breath. "Ezio, I have stirred up a bit of a hornet's nest... if you wouldn't mind-"

"You want to come in?" Ezio stammered.

"Ezio, let him in!" Leonardo ordered, pulling the covers around himself.

La Volpe suddenly whipped around and took a throwing knife from some unknown place; he threw it and there was a groan several feet away. "Ezio, please!" he snapped, and Ezio stepped back to allow him entry.

As he entered the room, the large war-hammer belted to his side clunked heavily against the window sill; he shut the window behind himself and sighed heavily, sitting in the chair over which Ezio's shirt was draped. "Thank you."

Ezio frowned, crouching painfully to pick up his breeches. "Don't mention it," he said. "Now, why are you here?"

La Volpe shook his head, chuckling and taking a satchel off of his shoulder. "I brought you a gift," he said.

"You've done more than enough," Ezio said, turning away to put on his breeches.

He was answered with a snicker. "Hardly. I think you'll find what I've brought quite useful."

VIII. Firenze. 1507.

"Is this necessary?"

La Volpe smiled, pulling at the sleeve of Ezio's long, ornately-patterned tunic, adjusting the lacings that held it closed. "Of course it is," he said.

Ezio frowned, allowing the thief to pick at his clothing, carefully arranging it. "Hm. It looks like something my father would wear."

"Yes, I thought so." La Volpe straightened the cuff, then chuckled softly to himself, shifting a jeweled sword in the sheath at Ezio's hip.

With a soft sigh, Ezio dropped his arms to his sides, watching as La Volpe examined him, clearly very proud of himself. "I guess that came out wrong," he said finally.

La Volpe's shoulders twitched upward in an almost imperceptible shrug. "A little."

Ezio chewed his lower lip. "Leonardo, what do you think?"

Leonardo looked up from his sketching and squinted, smiling slightly awkwardly. "Well..."

Clapping Ezio on the shoulder, La Volpe spoke before Leonardo could. "He thinks you look excellent, Conte Melzi."