Disclaimer: I don't own Assassin's Creed. If I did, well...let's just say things would be a helluva lot different. D
Leonardo drew on his sketch pad softly, not wanting to wake the sleeping man in front of him. One of the rare occasions where Ezio actually slept was upon the artist, and he wanted to catch the relaxed posture of the assassin on paper. Black-mail material always served useful when it came to Ezio…
Rubbing the excess charcoal off on his breeches, Leonardo stood up slowly, wincing at the ache in his lower back. Ooh, he'd have to get rid of that damn chair, no support whatsoever…He sighed heavily, smiling wearily down at the sleeping man. He reached up, un-clasping his cape from around his neck, and sent it down onto Ezio's chest with a flourish. He smiled down lovingly.
"Sleep well, Ezio," he murmured, turning away, looking down at his sketch of Ezio's relaxed features with a small smile. His normally clenched jaw was slack; eyes shut gently, scarred lips parted to let gentle breaths pass through them. Hmm… a gentle look that suited Ezio well. A look Leonardo hardly ever got to see. Now he had something to remind him of the gentleness he knew his friend had. A little something to keep him through the nights of worrying.
"Idiota…" he mumbled, shaking his head. He didn't notice Ezio open an eye to smile at his retreating back.
"To you too, Leo…"
Shaun rubbed at his temples, trying to ignore the soft sounds of Desmond's snoring. Yes, even when the bastard BREATHED did he annoy Shaun, he had that much power over the Brit. A deep breath in would make him want to go over and sock Desmond in the nose, a soft breath out made Shaun want to scream. Fuck! So much damn control in such a little action. How in the hell did the man do it?
He tried to focus on the task at hand, he really did, but it was so fucking hard to decode the Truth videos with the damn wanker who he despised BREATHING so damned loudly. Ugh…! That man, he was going to be the end of Shaun Hastings.
He rolled his shoulders, trying to calm himself, his neck popping satisfactorily. He hummed, reaching out for his usual cup of tea, but his fingers only found purchase on paper. Dammit, he was out of tea… he didn't really want to make more, but alas…
He stood with another heavy sigh, squeezing his eyes shut, heading to the tiny kitchen by memory. What he did not remember, though, was there being a giant obstruction in his path. That was warm.
And MOVED.
His eyes flew open to see that bastard Desmond Miles looming over him, a good five inches taller than Shaun. His hazel eyes, normally blazing with determination in whatever idiotic task he was doing, were glazed over in sleep. He pointed down the hallway, mumbling incoherently. Shaun shook his head.
"What did you just say, Miles?"
"I said…are you going to get something to eat?" he asked in a slurred tone of voice, frowning slightly. Wasn't Shaun supposed to be the smartest man around this little hole of theirs?
"I'm going to refill, if you don't mind. Now bugger off, you annoy the piss outta me," Shaun growled, pushing past Desmond, ignoring the small sound of distaste that came from his throat. Oh, how he longed to wrap his fingers around that neck of his and just strangle him. Wanted to pummel his face into the asphalt that was in the warehouse, just mangle that smug smile of his.
The man knew what he did to Shaun. It wouldn't make sense for him not to know. Why else would he purposefully smirk at Shaun before going into the Animus? The little touches, jibes, everything?
He was doing this on purpose, Shaun just knew it.
Malik sighed in distaste, curling up on the countertop, his arm tucked under his head. Nothing to do, as always…
Malik had always said he preferred peace and quiet. This, however, was not what he had in mind. The silence was stifling, it rested heavily on his shoulders, mocking him. Damn if he got any action anymore. The only bit of excitement he ever had the chance to witness would be when the finches in the Bureau courtyard bickered angrily, their tiny wings flapping wildly as they clawed at each other. So exciting! Gah.
Malik stretched out on his side, grumbling, flexing his fingers in front of his face, rubbing the pads against one another.
Why do I start things I can't finish, he asked himself, straightening up.
"Maybe I don't want to finish things anymore," he mumbled.
Some things were better left undone, unsaid, better left in the dark. Things that did not need dwelling upon were attacking his brain. He clutched at his head, cursing. Damn him and his thought pattern.