Another kinkmeme fill! Ain't it epic?

Prompt: "Recently I've been thinking about this magical 'medicine' Ezio's buying from the doctors. It's probably only dulling the pain, which means it probably is (or at least consist of) opium. This, again, lead me to think about possible addiction or overdose." Another anon added the idea of hurt/comfort. I wrote this rather fast because I couldn't rest until I got it done. It's also 2 am.

I am not sure if I got that right but.. I sincerely hope you will like it. It had been a long time since I last wrote such kind of fanfics.

Warning: None - well, aside from the usual bloodshed and angst and 'drug use' under the form of medicine.

It had been a long day. The Borgia guards had given him no rest and he had been on the prowl since dawn. It was well past dusk. Fatigue was seeping through his bones – but his enemies never seemed to rest. Far before him, he saw them. The damned Cento Occhi. Not that he could do anything about it, he had promised La Volpe to get rid off them. And so he let them come at him. His sword felt heavy in his hand – a schiavone was a very effective weapon but it was too much in his state. The cinquedea was a better option. He sheathed the sword. Closer still – one lunged. Side step – a knife behind the knee. Back on guard – one went for his face – wrong moved – he fell to the ground, his hand held up – the blade in his throat. No time to get up, one got his back. There were too many – his hands were unsteady from the weariness. He quickly went backward, avoiding them – having a sip of the infamous medicine that had kept him going for years. It was disgusting but it dulled the pain, helping him to fend off the rest of them. It was not after getting a hold of whatever goods they carried that he settled down. He was shaking, it was bad. The doctor had warned him – but it could not be. Adrenaline was still pounding its way through his veins. He had to go back. His vision swam for an instant – pain blinded him. A horse left unattended carried him back to the Isla Tiberina. There, he merely went to the table where a map of the area was displayed – overlooking the progress of his youngest recruits. One of them, Cipriano, was looking at him with concern. Well, what looked like it – but since half his face was covered, it was quite hard to tell.

"I'm fine." He was not. "Would you mind checking on the two novices that were sent to the Aventin? They should have come back."

"With all due respect, mentore, I won't unless you go and have some rest." The tone used by the younger assassin showed nothing of whatever emotions he was harbouring. It was mere matter-of-fact bargaining. Ezio did not feel like fighting. He was way too tired to even think about it. He slumped against the wooden surface of the table and simply nodded. Sure, he'd get some rest. Whatever. Again, the swimming sensation.

Sighing, Cipriano got up from the bench and just went to the door. He would drop by the Rosa in Fiore, just in case. He would never admit it out loud but in the whole time since he first met the man, he had never seen him in that state. As though reality had barely any grasp on him. He had seen it before but he really hoped it was not that. He stopped by the dottore, asking him if he could check on their mentore. The practitioner said he would. Reassured, the young assassin dashed across the rooftops to the Rosa in Fiore.

A light tap on his shoulder made him jump upright. Where was he? His vision was blurry and he had to wait to focus. Turning about, he saw the isla doctor looking at him carefully behind his mask. Did something happen to one of his men? Or his mother? His sister? Anyone? As though perceiving his restlessness, the man merely shook his head.

"Do not worry, Messere. None of yours are hurt in any way."

"Why would you be there?"

"One of your recruits came and asked me to check on you. He told me you seemed weary – and he was right." Seeing that Ezio was going to protest, the doctor went on. "Do you sleep correctly? Your face is so drawn you seem like a man twice your age."

"Exaggerating again, dottore?"

"Nevermind. You are wounded."

"Just a scratch, nothing that cannot be dealt with." Almost unconsciously, Ezio motioned for the large remedy pouch he was carrying. The gesture was not missed by the doctor who looked at him in dismay.

"Those remedies are used to dull your pain, they won't heal you. Now, let's to your quarters and sew you back together."

Moving was painful, and each step towards his chambers hurt more than the last but he could not stop. He was feeling so cold. Even after the practitioner was finished treated his wounds and bandaging them.

"Ser Auditore, I will not lie to you: your body is not that of a twenty years old man. It takes longer for you to heal from those injuries. I advise you to rest."

"How can I rest when the Borgias still roam free?"

"If you die, who else would lead your men? They can take care of the field. Trust them and guide them. From a distance."

And with that he was gone, not even letting Ezio the time to protest. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps. But... he could not let go. Not until he was finally done with those wretches. Sitting on his bed, he looked at his hands. Scars, old and new, marred his skin. Even if the doctor did not say it, he was battered. Did his father sport so many scars? The thought clenched his heart in an iron grip. So long ago. But he had to keep on. Glancing to the side, he saw a few vials of the remedy waiting to be stored. How long had he been using those? Almost as long as he could recall since he first donned the assassin's robes. He caught his head in his hands, his body suddenly raked by what could only be described as intense, all-encompassing pain.

As soon as the doctor entered the main room, he was greeted with Donna Auditore stern expression. He was rather unused seeing Maria Auditore away from the Rosa in Fiore and apparently, she was not leaving any time soon.

"Madonna. How may I be of service?"

"To the point, dottore. I want to know what ails my son, as one of his men saw fit to seek me out."

Telling her would betray his vows. But again, maybe it would be better if she knew. She possibly was the only person whom Ezio would listen to no matter what. Sighing, the practitioner informed her of the Master Assassin's problems: "He does not rest, Madonna. His own body will fail him soon if he does not step down. What's more, I am afraid he is using our medicines in order to keep going well-past his limits."

"There is something more, isn't there?"

Perceptive woman, the doctor thought. She had to be, to have gone through so much and still managing to keep that regal demeanour of hers. "The medicines contain an opiate used to dull the pain. Doses vary from a product to another but there is a risk for your son to grow a habit. Once settled, such habit may not be broken."

"And you are afraid that it would kill him in the long run."

"I dare say the effects are multiples. But untimely death is inevitable in such conditions."

"Fine. Thank you, dottore." At this, the man bowed and made his way out, careful not being seen.

A knock was heard but Ezio did not turn nor replied. He could still hear it – the clamour of the mob, the nerve-wrecking sound of the plug being pulled. And them-

"Ezio, wake up my son." The command was made in a stern voice. A voice he did not expect to hear. Looking up, he saw Maria watching him in concern. Concern again! But he would never dare say anything against her. He owed her so much – much more than she might realize.

"Ezio, the dottore told me you need to rest. You look so pale..." Worry was evident in her tone and expression.

"That imbeccile! I can't rest now, mother. Not now that I am so close to-"

"To what Ezio? Getting yourself killed because you are too tired to avoid a stab? I think I have enough seeing the people I care for die. You can understand that, can't you?"

And right there, the mighty Master Assassin felt like a child again. It was so easy – forgetting the pain of losing his father and brothers – and so many other people – that it was not his alone.

"I'm sorry, mother." And he really was. He felt his hands keeping on trembling – he could not prevent it. He was tired, more than he ever felt. But... "But I cannot rest until they are done for. I have to do this. For father, for Federico, Petruccio... for Mario as well – and you and Claudia!" he was getting restless – the more he stayed here the farther his goal grew. Maria apparently sensed it because she laid a hand on his shoulder. He could overpower her, but she had this matronly strength in her that could not be swayed.

"If you go now, you would die. Those medicines... they are dangerous."

"But-"

"I am certain someone at least once told you that anything that can heal can kill as well. It's the same with these. And I will not allow for another son to be sacrificed to the Borgias, directly or not."

He felt like a little child again. He could not do this – but he had to. He could not go on – the pain was too great – he needed it. He needed the pain to fade long enough for him to finish what they started. He needed it like air in his lungs. Suddenly, the mattress dipped on the side and a pair of slender arms wrapped around his shoulders, forcing him back against his mother's bosom. How long had it been since he had been held like this? Too long. When he was carefree and merely running around. When Death was something very far.

"You will rest for now Ezio. You don't need those... drugs. If you don't do it for yourself – do it for us, and for all those who count on you. I will arrange for La Volpe, Machiavelli and Bartolomeo to take over for a while. No Borgia would get out of Italy." It felt strange to have his mother taking charge – the shaking seemed to subside. He was not alone – he did not need to be.

"I will rest, mamma. I promise you." And indeed, the remedies now laid forgotten – he did not need to fight for now.

Critiques and feedback are loved and cherished. Writing Ezio is a bit new to me and I never really know where to go with him. You will find rotten tomatoes to your left, in case of OOCness. I know for a fact that most Italian men can't argue with their mothers... mothers always win.

Thank you for reading!