Desmond lay on top of Monteriggioni, twirling a pencil between his fingers as he gazed at the stars. He wanted a book other than some history text to read, other than some Renaissance mumbo-jumbo. The stories of the stars ran through his head, and he whispered them aloud, connecting the stars in miscellaneous patterns. There was a notebook on his stomach, filled with ideas and designs and improvements.

"Who are you?"

He looked to see a skinny, curly redhead climbing up onto his perch. The boy was scowling.

"This is my house."

"Actually," Desmond began, "this is no one's house."

"No, it's my house. I've made a bed inside. Who the fuck are you?"

Desmond raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smile. This boy was so familiar. "Desmond Miles."

The boy gave him a thorough once over and then climbed to sit beside him. "Why are you here?"

"Isn't it customary to give—"

"Emiliano."

"Last name?"

"Don't have one, gotta problem with it?"

Desmond grinned. "Not at all."

"What the Hell are you smiling about? There's nothing worth smiling about on this planet."

He laughed. "You ever hear of Leonardo da Vinci and his assistant, Salai?"

The boy scowled. "No. Why? Well, I've heard of Leonardo da Vinci, but I've been on my own for most of my life."

He shook his head. "He had an assistant with a personality a lot like you."

"How do you know?"

"I met him."

"You met him," the boy deadpanned. "Right."

"No, here, let me show you." He sat up and flipped open the notebook to a picture of the Animus.

"What, a chair? Congratulations. You can draw."

He laughed again. "No, no. This is called the Animus. It lets you see your ancestors' memories."

"Mm-hm."

Desmond was falling in love with this child. He'd never admit to the others, but he loved Salai for his attitude and the shit-stirrer he was. He followed those memories closer because he wanted to adopt the boy, and he was never happier when Ezio took him into the Brotherhood to teach him some discipline, and it failed spectacularly because the boy was just as efficient with taking a life as he was with taking a purse (or a thief's money gambling). Not to mention, the hideout was clean, and the uniforms designed better.

"You know: I bet that would look cooler and be softer on your back if you made it with cotton instead of leather. I know where you can get some cheap here."

He snapped from his trance.

"And if the chair black, like it's drawn, you could make it look even better with a red cotton cover. You'd need firmer stuffing though, but that's easy to get."

"It's white."

"Who the Hell paints a chair white? That went out with the new decade. You should paint it black, and get red cotton to cover it, then stuff it to the brim. It'd be easier on the back."

"You don't even know how it works."

"Why do I care? It looks terrible. Whoever designed it has no sense of fashion."

"We don't have the chance. People are always looking for us."

Emiliano gave him a glance telling him he was stupid. "If it's those people who seem to think they're hot shit, I should rat you out. They keep disturbing me about those stupid cables running all over the place."

Desmond's eyes grew wide, and the boy smirked.

"Don't worry. I won't as long as you tell me what's going on and get me some food. They're stupid. I told them the cables run below ground through the passage because it cut expenses. They believed me well enough. Asked what was down there with the cables, and I told them the sewers, showed them my house. MY house. They were pleased enough with the explanation—they, strangely enough, didn't want a tour of the centuries old sewage."

Desmond raised an eyebrow.

"Who better to trust than an orphan? They gave me food, warm blankets, and new clothes in exchange for bullshit. I acted excited enough about the things they gave me that they thought I was just another stupid kid who could be bought."

Desmond grinned. "You're incredible."

The boy looked shocked, then smirked. "Of course. The old man that was with them didn't realize I stole his wallet. I bought myself a beautiful pillow with the money inside. And several nice meals. Of course, if you tell him, I will kill you."

He raised an eyebrow at the boy. "I think—"

"That a syringe full of tansy poison will kill you fast enough."

Desmond was impressed. "And you live alone?"

"My parents ditched me."

"You could come live with us in the Sanctuary."

A sly grin crossed Emiliano's features. "Could I try your Animus thingy?"

Desmond raised an eyebrow.

"Because, you know, they did give me their number and tell me to call them if I spotted anything suspicious."

Desmond scowled.

"And perhaps a good meal would be nice."

Desmond weighed the options, then smirked: this boy would be the perfect way to make him look even stupider in the others' eyes, and the stupider he looked, the more he could get away with.

"Tell me what all those scribbles are."

The assassin grinned and wrapped an arm around the boy's shoulders. "I'll tell you what: you come live with us, and I'll let you try the Animus, give you a warm meal, and teach you to read."

"Really? Wait—how did you know I cannot read?"

"I told you: Leonardo had an apprentice just like you, and so I took a venture and guessed, since you weren't reading what I wrote on the side of the drawings."

The boy blushed and scowled. "Fine. Tell me what this says."

Emiliano scooted in close as Desmond explained the Animus and how it worked, the upgrades he thought would make it better, and the mathematics and science behind it. The kid listened closely, and the assassin briefly thought about that being the difference between Salai and Emiliano. Finally, as the moon was setting, Desmond closed the notebook and rose.

The boy would be perfect for them—a lying, conniving, scheming little bastard who had already sent Abstergo away from here, and could do it again. He could go out for menial things they needed in the daylight (and with his girly complexion, feminine items for Lucy and Rebecca instead of Shaun fetching them) and still be fine. He knew the people, he knew all the hideouts—undoubtedly things had changed since Mario and Ezio lived here. He was perfect for them.

"Well, are you coming?"

The boy looked surprised. "You were serious?"

"Of course. I never go back on my word. Tell me: can you speak English?"

"A little. I understand more English then I speak."

He pursed his lips, then shrugged and grinned. "Come on. Let's get your things and—"

He watched as the boy disappeared through a cannonball hole. "Come on, slowpoke!"

He walked over and peeked into the hole to see bright green eyes, and he frowned. "I'm not nearly as small as you."

He watched as the boy pulled away the edges of the house, and he slipped in to find himself in Ezio's room. All kinds of ghosts danced around in his room—Caterina, his sister, Ezio himself. His paintings—his paintings—were lounging around, worn with time but none the less recognizable, and his sword, his armor. All of it was carefully placed around the room, and it all looked well cared for.

"A lot of this stuff was buried underneath rubble. Legend has it this place was once attacked by some douche who thought he could rule the world."

He let his fingers touch the cloth that held the armor together, and he exhaled shakily.

"It looks like it'll fit you. Why not try it on?"

Desmond looked to Emiliano, who was sitting in a nest of pillows and blankets, the quickly stripped and put on the armor, testing it, moving in it. It was unbearably familiar.

"There's a bunch of swords and knives buried underneath the rubble in another room, but I'm not strong enough to move all the rubble. I remade the cloth from silk since that's what it would've been, and the leather—my God, had this man never heard of fashion? Horribly out of style, but there was a stack of papers buried near the wall outside that leads to the Sanctuary, and I managed to see a rough outline."

Desmond shook his head. "You have no idea what you have here, do you?"

Emiliano raised an eyebrow. "Money, why? I can't sell it till I get the other weapons out."

"You have my ancestors' armor. From eleven hundreds."

The boy's eyebrow raised disbelievingly, then it morphed into something contemplative, then into something wicked. "I'm going to be rich, aren't I?"

"Don't sell it. Please."

"What will you give me in return?"

Desmond tried to think of something, opening and closing mouth like a fish. If Emiliano was anything like Salai, he wouldn't be bought by anything except something worth more than what he had. His brow knitted together, and he thought, hard. Ezio materialized, his arms crossed, and the boy snarled as Desmond stepped back.

"Go away, you fucking ghost! Who do you think you are? This is my shit, not yours, and I'm going to milk it for every penny its worth!"

Inspiration struck him like a hammer as he stared at the ghost, and he turned to the boy. "Emilano, it may be worth a fortune right now, but just imagine if you wait until after we're done digging through my ancestor's memories of the Renaissance, and they get released, just imagine how much the value will spike. You could become a millionaire by selling just the armor."

Emiliano's lips pursed, and he eyed Desmond critically. Desmond watched in his peripheral vision as the ghost beckoned him down the stairs. The silence stretched between the two as he looked at the paintings. The armor felt comforting against his skin.

"Fine. You have a deal, but you have to help me dig out the other weapons, or I'll rat on you."

"Deal. Let's take… You know what? It's be better if we didn't take this back to the others. We'll leave this here. All of it except a few of your pillows and blankets, so you've got something here in case Abstergo comes back."

Emiliano watched him strip, setting the armor back carefully.

"Ready?"

He waited as the redhead picked out three blankets and a pillow. "I guess. Promise we'll dig everything up?"

"Promise."

"And I get to try the Animus?"

"Promise."

"And I get a meal?"

"Of course. I'd feel bad if you didn't get one. You're so skinny."

The boy followed him quietly down into the Sanctuary, where his eyes grew wide.

"Desmond, what the Hell do you think you're doing?"

"He gets me a good meal, you stupid ass."

Desmond laughed at Shaun's shocked expression and said, "You certainly know your insults well."

"It's the first thing anyone learns in a foreign language."

"Fair enough, fair enough."

"English, please?" Shaun asked, holding his hands out and giving them an expectant stare. "Look, Desmond, I know you're not all here, but please, don't go recruiting people. This is not the Renaissance. You are Desmond, not Ezio."

"And you are stupid," Emiliano said. "Be quiet. We talk—you quiet."

Shaun drew himself up. "You belligerent little—"

Desmond laughed when Emiliano plugged his ears and gave him an "I'm not listening" look.

"Remind you of anyone?" Desmond said.

"Yes," Shaun growled, "and I'm reminded of the millions of different ways to murder someone."

Emiliano unplugged his ears and started walking around, looking at everything.

"You seriously thought bringing him here was a good idea? How much stupider can you get, you Neanderthal?"

"Look, Shaun, the kid lives in Ezio's old room; he knows the layout of Monteriggioni; he's all ready sent Abstergo packing once; he's been digging out artifacts—why shouldn't we keep him? He's an orphan. He needs a place to stay, and he can go out in daylight when we can't."

Shaun pursed his lips, watching as Emiliano touched the statue of Altair, then hissed, "Fine. But I'm not defending you against Lucy."

"That's cool, man. I don't need you to."

He walked over to where Emiliano was. He was peeking into the passage that led to the sewers.

"So this is where they lead out to."

Desmond nodded. "Wanna see the Animus?"

The boy straightened and spun around. "Of course!"

Desmond led him over to the giant chair, and Emiliano raised an eyebrow. "Surely that is uncomfortable."

"Well, yeah, but we don't exactly have—"

"I will make it more comfortable for you. Why do you let that English pig-dog talk to you as if you were stupid?"

Desmond grinned. "It's easier the more people think you're an idiot. You get away with things 'intelligent' person couldn't."

Emiliano smirked. "Can I try the Animus?"

Desmond shrugged. "I'd say yes, but I think we should wait until the girls get back."

"Tell me they're nicer than him." Emiliano pointed at Shaun, who caught the gesture and frowned.

He laughed, causing Shaun to scowl. "Yeah, they're nicer than him, but he's a good guy for our team."

"How? Because he is so cruel?"

"Because he remembers how unpleasant reality is for us."

Emiliano scowled. "He should not need to do that." The boy plopped down in the chair. "This is hideously uncomfortable. Surely your back hurts, no? You need to get more cotton to stuff into the chair. This is ridiculous."

Desmond laughed, sitting in Rebecca's chair. "Well, let me catch you up to date."

He spent the next few hours telling him everything that had happened, and the boy listened with interest, reclining in the Animus and watching him with a disbelieving look. Shortly after he finished, he noticed that Emiliano's eyes were drooping, and he kept talking until the kid had fallen asleep—despite Emiliano's best attempts to stay awake to hear everything he had to say. Perhaps their biggest difference was the boy's willingness to learn. Desmond moved him to his sleeping bag and watched the grungy boy nestle onto the bag. He smiled, whirling around when he heard Lucy come in.

"Lucy," Shaun began, "you'll never believe who Desmond met tonight."

"Tell me it wasn't…"

She trailed off as her eyes moved from Desmond to Emiliano.

"His name is Emiliano."

"And yes, he behaves just like his namesake," Shaun said dryly.

"Desmond!" Lucy said, rubbing her eyes, frustrated.

Rebecca came bounding in beside her, carrying to grocery bags. "Sorry, had to fix a cord up there. What'd I miss?"

"Desmond here thinks it's okay to go around recruiting people like his dead ancestors."

"Nice. Who'd ya pick up?"

Desmond gestured to the sleeping bundle. "He's an orphan, living in Ezio's old room. I figured the least I could do was give him a place to sleep. He deflected Vidic and the others for us once all ready."

Lucy looked shocked. "Are you serious?"

"As serious as I can get. He's got their number, apparently."

"He threatened to rat you out if you didn't bring him down here," Rebecca said with a sly grin.

Desmond flushed. "Well, maybe a little."

"Desmond!" Lucy exclaimed. "What if he's a spy! He could just be lying to get in here!"

Desmond shuffled his feet. "I think we should plug him in."

"And why is that? Desmond, we don't have—"

"Just listen, okay?" he said, looking at her. "I've been following Ezio's older memories, right? Right, well, in them, Ezio was often corresponding with Salai."

"Why would Ezio correspond with that tit's ancestor?"

Desmond gave him a look as if he had just grown another head. "He was his best assassin."

"Right," Shaun scoffed, turning back around, "assassin."

"And why on earth do you think Salai is related to the kid you brought in?" Lucy hissed.

"He's an exact bloody replica. Even down to the irritating, belligerent attitude," Shaun snarled. "I'll wring his neck."

Lucy sighed, rubbing a hand across her eyes. "Desmond…"

"Lucy, please? He can do all the errand running in broad daylight for you. The Templars are gone because of him."

"Fine, fine. I'm just going to go to bed right now and think this over. You'd better damn well not have made a mistake."

Desmond smiled and sat on his sleeping bag. "Awesome. You'll see."

He wrapped the blanket around him and the boy and closed his eyes. When Desmond woke, he stretched and sat up to see Emiliano sitting on the Animus eating an orange, the peelings scattered around the floor at his feet. The other three were still asleep. Emiliano smiled at him.

"Come with me."

The boy hopped down and walked up the ramp. Desmond rose, grabbing his backpack and following along as he led him out to Mario's office. He plodded along as they walked out to the courtyard and around the side of the house. Emiliano handed him part of the orange and started climbing after eating the rest. Desmond practically inhaled the other half of fruit.

Desmond followed him back to Ezio's room and to the hole where the ladder used to be. The boy jumped down, landing with a roll and looking up expectantly. He jumped, and startled when he saw Ezio standing at the end of the hallway. He had a sad, expectant look about him, as if he were waiting for something to happen.

"You see him too?"

"Huh?" He looked up to see Emiliano staring at him.

"You see the ghost? He's been here forever. He helped me find the armor. He always looks that serious and sad."

"Emiliano… that's the ancestor I told you about yesterday."

"Ezio? Really? No wonder he looks sad. So… this is his house?"

"Yeah."

"And that Caesar salad man really did destroy it?"

"Cesare, but yeah."

Emiliano pursed his lips. "Oops. I've been really mean to him. Oh well. He's still annoying, and I wish he'd leave me alone. Shoo!"

Ezio cocked an eyebrow, a hint of an amused smile on his lips before he looked to Desmond and shook his head disbelievingly.

"I know, right? He's just like him!"

Ezio smirked and ran off, jumping down another hole in the wall. Emiliano scowled. "I hate him. He's so stupid. Come on. We're going through that hole."

When he leapt through the hole, he inhaled sharply at where he was. The foyer of Monteriggioni was still largely intact. He looked down when he felt a hand slip into his, and he smiled softly as Emiliano let him look around, holding his hand. He wondered just how much contact this boy had had with other people. Twelve-year-olds didn't enjoy holding hands, from what he remembered. He followed when Emiliano pulled him into the room where Ezio had stored his weapons. Most of the ceiling had collapsed, and he was surprised to see the ghost standing by one of the piles of rubble.

"He always stands there. There's something under there he wants, I'm sure of it, but I'm not strong enough to lift that stone."

Emiliano kept his hand linked with Desmond's as they walked slowly to the large stone mess. There was a large slab of rock across it, fallen from the brutal attack all those years ago. The boy was looking at him expectantly, and so was Ezio.

"I can't lift this either. It's too big."

Emiliano deflated, and Ezio quirked an eyebrow and folded his arms, clearly not taking that for an answer, glancing to the other array of items around the room. Desmond started thinking. There really wasn't much beside a few old ropes and lots of stone. It hit him: he could move those stones.

"Wait here, Emiliano. I'll make something to move it."

Emiliano looked at him as if he had claimed the world was ending as he started picking through the rubble, digging out the Sultan's knife and the mace, as well as several ropes and a couple strips of cloth. After a few minutes, he had it all rigged to the stone, ready to move.

"I feel like MacGyver," he murmured as he wrapped the fragile ropes across his chest and began to pull. The stone slid away slowly as he pulled, and Emiliano looked at him, amazed.

"Incredible! How did you do that?"

Desmond grunted as he pulled the stone. Whatever stone they had used, it was the heaviest fucking thing they could've found. It wasn't just a harness he had made, Desmond thought: the metal played an important part in helping it move. He just hoped he hadn't ruined any of it. Finally, it was pulled off, and Desmond was panting and sweating like a pig, falling to his knees and gasping. Emiliano tackled in him a hug, and he couldn't help but chuckle. The boy squirmed out and began moving some of the smaller stones from the pile.

"Go away, you stupid ghost!" he shouted, waving his hands in the misty figure as Desmond lay there. "It's my treasure!"

Ezio scowled and went to cuff the boy over the head, but Emiliano ducked and scowled.

"Leave me alone! This is mine, asshole! You're dead by, like, a million years or something!"

He dug through the rest of the debris, and Desmond watched him as he pulled out the Captain's sword and several others. The boy's eyes grew wide after he pulled out the others, and a greedy grin began to grow across his face.

"Sweet Mary, mother of Jesus." He shoved rubble out of the way and picked up a dented sword. "A little heat, and this sucker will be—Hey!"

Desmond had the sword in his hands. "Emiliano! This—you…" He looked at the kid helplessly. "Please, let me keep this? I can give you the cape of the Medici family and the sword of Ezio's uncle Mario—and the record book of his sister! Please!"

Emiliano was smirking as Ezio hovered near, letting his hand run over the metal of the blade.

"Really?"

"Really. Emiliano, this was the blade of Altair. And Ezio's once he got the armor. Please, I need to keep this."

Ezio placed a hand on his shoulder, and he stared into the translucent eyes of his ancestor.

"I know, Ezio. I know. And I'll bargain for the armor, too. I promise. Geez. I never thought I'd hold this again."

Ezio smiled as Desmond began swinging it. It felt so familiar to him, and even though it was dented, it felt wonderful. Ezio watched him closely, examining him as he moved across the stone piles, reveling in just the weight of the blade. Once he was done, he looked at Emiliano, who looked contemplative.

"If it's really as old as you say, I don't see why I should let you have it. I could make a fortune."

Desmond frowned, holding it close. He could saw Ezio stand between him and the boy, and Emiliano shrunk back a step.

"Why shouldn't I sell it? I could, I dunno, actually have a meal for once!"

"Please, Emiliano. This means more to me than it will some stupid collector. Please."

Emiliano scowled, staring through Ezio at Desmond. He almost felt bad asking the boy for the sword, but he desperately wanted it, and—in all honesty—he couldn't care less about the other artifacts he had found in the villa. The boy's lips pulled taut, and he seemed to be examining him. Desmond closed his eyes briefly, sending a prayer to whatever deity was up there to let him keep the sword.

"I've got the other weapons, I guess."

Desmond blinked, smiled, and walked over to the boy, scooping him up in a bear hug. "Thank you."

"If you let me keep it for a bit, I'll straighten it out when I go to the blacksmith here."

"What?"

Emiliano struggled, worming free and gathering the weapons. "Yeah. It's more, like, commemorative than anything, and in all honesty, it was started three generations ago so that the owner could keep his son busy."

Desmond laughed.

"I can use it occasionally. I'm friends with the kid there now."

"How old are you?"

"Twelve."

Desmond raised an eyebrow. "Wow."

"I've lived on the streets for four years now. Those men that came here killed my parents. It's not the first time they've heckled us. I started poisoning them from the shadows. They think the water lines here are poisoned because of the sewage here. I just put tansy juice in it."

Desmond frowned. "Shit. I ran away at sixteen. I don't think I could've made it on my own at eight."

Emiliano offered a shrug. "It's okay. I'm strong—pure Italian blood!"

Desmond laughed and ruffled his hair, causing him to sputter and scowl. They made their way carefully back to Ezio's room, and as Emiliano began to set out the weapons, he murmured, "You can have the armor, too, if you want."

Desmond was just as shocked as Ezio looked. "Here. How about in return for that, I'll build a rack for the weapons while you plug into the Animus?"

"How? There's nothing to build—"

He flashed a charming grin. "Leave that to me."

Emiliano quirked a brow and turned to shoo Ezio away again as he drew too close to the armor. "I said Desmond could have it! Not you! You're dead! Got it? Go away!"

Desmond clutched the sword tightly. "I won't let him take it. It's not like he could carry it off anyway."

Emiliano scowled. "That's where you're wrong. This is not your ordinary ghost. He's fucking scary when he wants to be …"

Desmond raised an eyebrow at the ghost, who seemed to be looking out the window. It faced the well. Setting the sword down, he said, "Well, we should get back. Lucy's probably having a hissy fit."