There were many, many things Ezio understood. There was one thing, however, that almost consistently remained a mystery to him. Well, actually it was rather one person. One rather wonderful person. Leonardo. However much it may be the role of an assassin to understand their targets perfectly, an understanding of Leonardo still escaped him. No amount of spying would remedy this, either. Ezio would watch him when he went to the shops. He would watch him when he went to court, or when he painted. He even watched him when he bought small birds from the market, merely for the sake of setting them free. While he may be able to puzzle the immediate explanation, the deeper meaning behind them, behind Leonardo, he never managed to grasp. Hence, or so he thought, his fascination with his man. It was that, Ezio told himself, and not a desperate hope for a mention of himself, that caused him to steal one of Leonardo's precious notebooks. He felt a curious sensation as he fled the workshop he often called home - guilt, his conscience said, but that was ridiculous. Assassins did not feel guilt. Especially not over stealing something as trivial as a notebook. Especially not if they didn't so much as bat an eyelash over leaving a small mountain of guards corpses just for a tiny scroll. It must be something else, he decided. Excitement, perhaps. Or maybe nerves: after all, what if he found out something he didn't want to? Casting a final furtive glance around him, he cautiously opened the first page of the book. Once again, he wasn't sure why he was being so cautious. It wasn't like he expected the book to bite him, or anything. Though if anyone could manufacture such a device to maintain their privacy, it was his Leonardo - but that was beside the point. The point was what Leonardo had written on the first page of his book, which appeared to be... nothing. Or at least, nothing Ezio found legible. He stared dumbly at the page for a while, trying to figure it out. Not even a single word was recognisable. Not even a single letter was recognisable. It was complete gibberish. Just like that time as a child, when he'd stolen one of his fathers books and pretended to know how to read it in an attempt to look smarter than Federico. Ezio scowled. He hated not knowing things. Normally, faced with something like this, he just ran to Leonardo, but that wouldn't work this time, would it? He could just imagine the conversation.
"Salute, Leonardo, could you translate this for me?"
"Certainly, mio amico, what have you brought me this time?"
"Oh, just your personal notebook, I stole it a couple of days ago."
"Molto bene! Bring it over, let's have a look, shall we?"
Ezio snorted, a rather undignified noise. No, Leonardo would probably try to kill him, never mind that he was an artist and had never held a weapon in his life. He couldn't ask anyone else to translate it, either. That wouldn't be fair: Leonardo wouldn't want anyone to read it. He probably wouldn't want Ezio to read it, either, but the assassin decided to ignore that thought. After spending a full half hour applying the small handful of decoding devices he knew to the parchment, he slipped it back inside the jacket and started to make his way to the workshop. After all, he didn't want to part Leonardo from this for any longer than was absolutely necessary.
Upon arrival at the workshop, however, he was met with a rather alarming sight. As usual,he had lowered his hood before knocking on Leonardo's door (a mere courtesy) and letting himself in. Normally, when he did so, Leonardo popped out from somewhere like one of those jack-in-a-box giocattoli he had been so enamoured with as a child. Instead, he was met with a workshop that looked as though it had been ransacked. Paints were spilled all over the floor. Boxes had been tipped over, spilling their contents absolutely everywhere. Draws had been pulled right out of the shelves and left lying carelessly on the ground. The only sound coming from the entire workshop was through a door. Ezio advanced, every sense on alert. There was a great struggle going on, that was for sure. He could hear Leonardo grunting, cursing, but oddly enough there were no other voices. Poking his head around the corner, Ezio almost laughed. Leonardo was searching through his workshop, looking rather panicked. The red hat he always wore was askew, threatening to fall off at any moment. His dark eyes were wide as he searched and there was even a slight flush on his cheeks. The main phrase he seemed to be muttering (apart from the obligatory cursing) was "where is it?" Ezio's heart sank a little. Surely his little prank hadn't upset his friend that much, had it? He had no time to think however, as Leonardo flung a jar over his shoulder without looking. The missile flew directly towards Ezio's head, who ducked only just in time. Glancing behind him as the glass shattered against the wall, he saw something that looked suspiciously like a human heart sliding down, oozing some strange, viscous liquid. Leonardo froze at the sound of the glass shattering. Turning around ever so slowly, he saw a rather guilty looking Ezio looking straight back at him.
"Leonardo -" Ezio started, but Leonardo interrupted him. Before Ezio could get another word out, the inventor was off, talking so fast Ezio could barely follow what he was saying, let alone get a word in edgeways.
"Ezio, thank goodness! I need your help! Some bastardo has stolen my notes!"
"Really?" Ezio said, feigning surprise. Inside, he was quaking. Angry Leonardo was, well, scary. Gruesome images drifted through his head; Leonardo shouting for the guards, having him arrested; Leonardo bending over a cadaver, happily picking away at the insides (his insides); Leonardo bending him over the table until he screamed. Admittedly, that last one may not have been gruesome, just his subconscious having a flight of fancy, but it still terrified him.
"Yes! They were here this morning! I always leave them in the same place so as not to lose them, and there simply nowhere to be found!"
"Have you tried, uh, under the bed?"
"Yes, Ezio, I - wait a minute." Leonardo's eyes narrowed. Ezio gulped audibly. "You!" Leonardo shrieked, pointing at him. He advanced, knocking over a table as he did so. As far as Ezio could tell, he didn't notice. Hands up in a gesture of surrender, Ezio backed away. If he could just get back a little further, he could bolt for the door, escape this murderous pazzo that had replaced his friend. But then, the unthinkable happened. Too busy watching Leonardo, Ezio hadn't been watching his footing, so he took a step back right onto the heart Leonardo had flung across the room earlier. There were a few seconds where Ezio scrambled almost comedically for a foothold before falling onto the ground. By the time he had pulled himself up enough to look around, Leonardo had positioned himself directly in front of him. Ezio could almost see the steam coming out of his ears. Vaguely, the assassin in him wondered if this was how his targets felt when they saw him - cornered, pathetic.
"I asked you," Leonardo said, with the air of one repeating himself, "if you were the idioto who stole my notes."
Despite his obvious anger, Leonardo sounded as though he was merely asking Ezio if he'd seen how lovely the weather was today. This was far more terrifying than the all-out rage. Ezio tried to say yes, but all that came out was a sort of squeak. Leonardo raised an eyebrow, and by then that was all it took for the whole story to come spilling out.
"Mi dispiace, Leonardo, I didn't mean to upset you, I just wanted to try to understand you better, and then I couldn't understand it and - mi dispiace, mi dispiace! - I tried to return it and... please don't kill me."
The last part came out barely above a whimper. Leonardo pinched the bridge of his nose as though trying to calm himself. After a few terrifying seconds (which Ezio claimed felt more like hours), Leonardo finally laughed. Hauling his friend up to his feet, he said,
"Honestly, Ezio, if you wanted to know more about me, why didn't you just ask? Idioto," he added, looking at Ezio fondly. Ezio just eyed him warily, not daring to move his arm away from where Leonardo was holding it.
"So... you're not going to kill me?" he asked hopefully, and Leonardo laughed again, shaking his head as he pottered around the room, putting things back in what was more-or-less their proper place. Feeling somewhat bolder, Ezio decided to try another question. "Why couldn't I understand it?"
A look from Leonardo had him wondering if it was wise to remind him he'd stolen it, but surprisingly, the artist simply looked relieved.
"I'm not going to leave any of my notes lying around, am I?" Leonardo explained. "What if someone stole it? For one, they'd steal my ideas. And they'd know about you."
"Oh," Ezio mumbled, moving so he could help Leonardo turn one of the desks back to the upright position. "How -"
"Mirror writing," Leonardo interrupted, anticipating Ezio's question. "If you were to hold a mirror to it, you would be able to read it." He shrugged slightly. "It's fun."
Ezio tried to imagine writing backwards, going slightly cross-eyed in the attempt. It made his head hurt just thinking about it. And here Leonardo was, saying it was fun. He'd known his friend could be a little odd, but that was just crazy.
The next day, Ezio found himself plagued by guilt yet again. It wasn't because of the contract he'd just finished for Lorenzo de Medici that he felt guilty, despite the fact that several of the nobles of Venice now lay dead on the other side of the city. No, it was because for the second day in a row, he had stolen Leonardo's notebook. This time, however, he'd taken a second item - a small hand mirror, silver backed. There was a rather intricate design on the back, one consisting of an eagle and a lion in a kind of intricate dance. Once again, he found a quiet place and pulled out the book. Holding the mirror to it, he began to read the reflection of the latest entry.
Today, Ezio stole this notebook, possibly believing it to be a technical journal. He meant well, or as well as he can: he was only curious. Perhaps foolishly, I told him the secret of how to read this. If he ventures into these pages again, I fear he will discover my secret. My feelings for him are true, though he may not feel the same way. My heart is his, though he does not realise it. If he discovers this, I must truly admit I am afraid. If he were to learn of it and reject me, I shudder to think of the consequences - abandonment being both the least, and perhaps the most, painful. And Ezio, if you are still reading even at this point, I swear to God I will punish you. And if you are smirking now, I will make doubly sure you do not enjoy it.
Ezio smirked. Oh, Leonardo knew him too well. Jumping up, he raced to Leonardo's workshop in record time. Only this time, Leonardo was waiting for him. When Ezio walked in, he was leaning against the desk where the book normally rested, his arms crossed against his chest.
"Again, Ezio?" he said pointedly. Ezio grinned sheepishly, still elated at what he'd read. "Tell me, how much did you read?"
"Enough to be curious about this punishment of yours," Ezio said advancing, placing his hands on Leonardo's hips. His arms slowly uncrossed, placing themselves on Ezio's hips. Leonardo blushed, unsure of exactly what threats he had made in the note. But all such thoughts were lost when Ezio's lips collided with his own.
Well? Tell me what you think! Concrit is welcome, any spelling mistakes are my own, so feel free to point and laugh at them.