A/N: To everyone who reviewed, Thank you so much. They are a wonderful source of inspiration and are greatly appreciated.

Ezio sighed deeply as he sank into Leonardo's bathtub. The water was the perfect temperature as it flowed across his aching muscles. Although he had to bend his knees a bit due to the tub's small size, it was far from uncomfortable, and as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, he was sure he could fall asleep right then and there. However, he resisted the temptation of his drooping eyelids and scooted himself into a more seated position.

He couldn't rightfully spend all night lounging, since he was in desperate need of a good scrub down, and knowing Leonardo, the worried inventor would probably think he had drowned in the tub or something if he took too long.

Ezio chuckled at the thought and untied his ponytail. Remarkably thick and dark, his straight hair fell about his shoulders. He submerged his head and gave his hair a quick rinse before resurfacing and slicking it back and away from his face. He reached down to grab some soap out of the basket and wondered whether Leonardo had made the bars himself. The artist did have a sort of domestic flair about him.

Ezio scrubbed himself rather robustly, eager to rid his body of all dirt and grime. He winced slightly whenever he passed over a bruise, and the discomfort, along with his growing achiness made him press his lips into a tight, thin line. As much as he tried to deny it to himself, he was getting older. Although physically he appeared to be quite a bit younger than his current age of forty-two, the constant abuse that he subjected his body to- especially his shoulders, back, and legs- would one day catch up to him. To make matters worse, his elderly nemesis-Rodrigo Borgia- had been eclipsed by his more ruthless son Cesare, who himself was only in his mid-twenties. Although Ezio could put most younger men to shame in all matters of strength and agility, he could not help but wonder how long he would be able to continue his fight against the Borgia. He may have been fit and strong, but he was still human, still just one person. The vast scope of his duties, upon taking up the cause of the Assassins, often left him feeling so very small- so very isolated and alone, although he would never divulge those feeling to anyone.

One day, he knew, his body would fail him and he would pass on from this world. As he climbed out of the tub, Ezio hoped that he would spend his final moments drifting off into an endless sleep after many more quality years of life, rather than dying alone and broken amidst the refuse and chaos of battle. Such grim thoughts weighed heavily on him, but he pushed them to the deepest regions of his mind, exited the tub, and proceeded to dry himself off.

For the moment at least, he could rest assured that he was in a place of refuge- a tiny workshop where he could drop his guard without worry, and allow himself to relax.

"Leonardo, you are far too good to me," He repeated the words he had stated earlier. Greed, corruption, ruthlessness, selfishness- these were the things that Ezio had grown to expect from others. As such, he often wondered why Leonardo had gone so above and beyond to help him- eagerly, unconditionally, and without any sort of compensation- throughout the years.

And always with a smile on his face.

Ezio bowed his head. What had he done for the selfless inventor in return?

Nothing...besides thoroughly soiling his bathtub.

Ezio cringed at the filthy water he had left behind and pictured Leonardo emptying and fastidiously scrubbing the tub for hours after he was gone. The assassin reached for Leonardo's supplied bathrobe- satiny soft, nearly ankle-length, and an attractive midnight blue. He tied the sash tightly around his waste and headed out of the bathroom to join his friend- A friend who was practically frolicking around the workshop wearing his white hooded robe. The sight was so unexpected that Ezio didn't know what to make of it. He leaned against the wall, crossed his arms, and watched the spectacle with one eyebrow raised.

When the assassin decided to make his presence known, Leonardo was so startled that he tumbled across the floor. He approached the clearly flustered and apologetic artist and lifted the hood from his face.

"What is the meaning of this, Leonardo?" He questioned calmly, and tried his best to hide his amusement. He couldn't quite keep the smile from showing through in his eyes, especially upon seeing the pathetic pout on the inventor's face.

"I...uh...just...Oh Dio...I wanted to see what it was like...what it felt like..." Leonardo blurted out.

"What it felt like?"

"Damn me and my curiosity. I'm so sorry, Ezio. I ruined it."

The assassin looked at the right sleeve of his robe, the ebony oil paint already seeping into the fabric like tar, "Well...I could always have the whole thing dyed black, you know."

Leonardo appeared not to have heard him, because he quickly removed the robe and once more erupted into a flurry of activity.

"I have prepared a small meal over there by the table- some bread and tea. Nothing special, but please help yourself while I find something to remove the stain. Excuse me for a moment."

Ezio quietly sat down at the table and poured himself a cup of the tea, realizing that it was pointless to try and stop the frantic artist. He did, however, feel a bit guilty about startling Leonardo in the first place. Holding the cup to his lips, he caught a whiff of the tea's strange, strong, and unexpected cheese-like aroma, and set the cup back down on the table to inspect it closely. The liquid inside was a light golden brown instead of black.

"Do you like it?" Leonardo appeared once more with the robe and a moist rag in his hands, and sat next to the assassin.

"I haven't tried it yet. It looks strange, and smells even stranger."

"It's valerian. It promotes relaxation."

Ezio took a sip and watched Leonardo scrub at the stain so furiously that it seemed he would create a hole in the fabric, "Perhaps you should have a cup then, my friend."

"Yes, well," Leonardo sighed. He was quickly realizing the futility of his efforts. He had managed to turn the enormous black stain into an enormous dark gray stain, "So...how goes your progress?" He asked quietly, "It's been a week since I've seen you last. Are you any closer to recovering the Apple?"

"I have no leads," Ezio mumbled. He had taken an enormous bite of the bread, and crumbs flew from his full mouth as he struggled to form a cohesive sentence, "All I know is that it must be in Rodrigo's hands, because Cesare would undoubtedly be using it by now."

"Odd that he would so willingly give it to his father after obtaining it. He must not have been aware of the power...the knowledge that it holds. If only I could have studied it more when it was in our possession," the inventor lamented.

Ezio chewed thoughtfully for a moment before speaking. "We will have it again soon enough."

Leonardo shifted in his chair as he observed the contrast between the assassin's determined voice, and his body language. Ezio was slouched forward, with both elbows on the table, and he rubbed his brow with his thumb and index finger. The man looked incredibly worn out.

"I worry about you, Ezio."

The assassin looked down at his tea, and swirled the cup slowly. Had Machiavelli, La Volpe, or Bartolomeo said those words, they would have sounded strange to him. In fact, Ezio would have probably taken it as an insult coming from those three. But coming from Leonardo, the concern seemed genuine, and somehow appropriate.

"If only you had some sort of help," the artist continued, "How can one man be expected to stand against an army?"

"I already have help." Ezio placed his hand firmly on Leonardo's shoulder.

Leonardo bowed his head and smiled, "You flatter me, Ezio. While you run off to save all of Rome, I spend my time squatting in this dark workshop. If only I could do more..."

"You've done more than enough, amico. More than you should have, and more than you know."

After finishing their light supper, Ezio offered to help Leonardo clear the table and clean the dishes, but the inventor promptly refused to let him perform such a menial task. Instead, he led the weary assassin beyond the main chamber of his workshop and into a diminutive back room, devoid of everything except a modest yet tidy bed.

"Good night, my friend. May your sleep be restful and your dreams, sweet." The gracious artist gave Ezio a small bow before turning to leave the room. Before he could clear the edge of the door frame, he was stopped in his tracks by the assassin's deep voice.

"Now wait just a minute, Leonardo...where exactly are you going to sleep?" Ezio was well aware of the humble dimensions of Leonardo's workshop, and he seriously doubted that the inventor was even in possession of another bed.

"I...um..." Leonardo scratched the back of his head and hesitated a bit too long for Ezio's liking.

"Surely you don't plan to sleep on the floor." Ezio's arms were folded in front of his chest and he stared at his friend with a piercing gaze.

"Well..."

"I cannot allow that, Leonardo. This is your bed, and I will not take it from you," The assassin took the inventor by the arm and brought him back to the foot of the bed, "I will sleep on the floor."

"You are my guest, Ezio," Leonardo tried to reason, "There would be no greater shame than for me to sleep in the bed and leave you with the discomfort of the cold, hard floor."

"I have spent many nights under far worse circumstances."

"That's not the point," The artist raised both of his hands before slapping them against his thighs in frustration, "Why must you be so stubborn, Ezio?"

The assassin did not respond to the question, and the duo simply stared at one another in silence for nearly a minute.

"So this is how it's going to be then?" Leonardo huffed, "If one of us doesn't take the bed, then neither of us will? We're just going to stand here like a pair of idiots all night? What good will that do for either of us? Take the bed, Ezio. Please."

To Leonardo's relief, Ezio finally and wordlessly gave in- which was good because Leonardo's legs had grown tired from their little stand off. The assassin peeled off the bath robe and lowered himself onto the bed, Truthfully, it warmed the painter's heart to know that Ezio had been willing to sacrifice a much needed night of comfortable sleep in order for him to have one. Although Leonardo wasn't looking forward to the prospect of laying down on the hard floor, he knew he needed to make due for the sake of his house guest. He turned once more to leave the room, but again he was halted by Ezio's voice.

"There is another option..." the assassin stated quietly. His words seemed to hang thickly in the air.

"...And what's that?" Leonardo turned on his heels and stared across the dimly lit room. Suddenly his eyes grew wide and he bit his lower lip when he realized what the assassin was implying. Sure enough, Ezio shifted himself to the edge of the bed and patted the small, empty space next to him with his hand.

"We can share the bed, you know. There is no shame in doing so."

An enormous lump formed in Leonardo's throat.

"W-w-what?" The inventor's tongue fumbled to form the simple question from within his now arid mouth. Thankfully, the room was dark enough to hide the blush that instantly painted his face red, "We can...share?"

"If you don't mind, that is," Ezio continued, his voice the very definition of innocent, oblivious, naiveté, "I would hope that our friendship is strong enough for you to overcome any reservations, or ill feelings, you might have with sleeping next to another man."

The artist's brow furrowed and his jaw became slack. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Ill feelings? Ezio...If only you knew...if only I could tell you...

Leonardo had always lived a life of the mind, and at all times, carefully guarded his heart. As an adolescent, the hormonal tug and pull had been weak on him, and he had never felt anything more than fleeting whims of romantic desire. He ended up falling in love with his work. Knowledge and artistic expression were his mistresses. Indeed, real women provided him with so little distraction, that Leonardo had been able to devote himself- mind, body, and spirit- to his studies. By his own choice, the humble genius had sealed himself away in his own little world.

He hadn't minded his solitude in the slightest until one day, by chance, Ezio had stumbled into Leonardo's little bubble. Still young, conflicted, and driven by vengeance and rage, Ezio provided Leonardo with an outlet for his creativity and ingenuity. The inventor had practically salivated all over those Codex pages whenever Ezio provided him with one. By aiding the assassin in his quest to purge Italy of the Templar dominion, Leonardo had begun to realize his desire to make a difference in the world. In Ezio's presence, the inventor suddenly found purpose.

And during the lengthy spans of Ezio's absence, Leonardo suddenly realized just how lonely his life could be.

Leonardo had grown very fond of Ezio, and over the years, that fondness had evolved into a genuine romantic attraction. However, Leonardo was afraid to tell Ezio about his feelings for him, out of fear the assassin would be the one to harbor ill feelings, perhaps even disgust, towards him.

But Ezio's offer to share the bed revealed that he was more open-minded and accepting than the inventor was giving him credit for, and it filled Leonardo's heart almost to bursting.

Ezio mistook Leonardo's open-mouthed, shocked silence for something else entirely, and it was the assassin's turn to become slightly embarrassed.

"Um, I..." he cleared his throat and then mumbled quickly, "I didn't mean to offend. Forget I mentioned it, Leonardo."

"No, no..." The artist removed his red beret and slowly ran a hand through his hair, "I do not mind at all, Ezio. Really. In fact, I think I shall take you up on your kind offer." The artist approached the bed slowly and began to remove his tunic, but suddenly hesitated. With Ezio shirtless and under the covers, Leonardo figured that he should probably sleep on top of the covers, if only to keep things from getting awkward- and to keep him from getting even more flustered. Since the artist tended to get cold at night he decided to keep his tunic on.

Ezio observed him quizzically before lifting the bed covers and motioning for the inventor to join him beneath them.

"I don't bite, Leonardo," he grinned, "...I merely stab."

Leonardo chuckled nervously and tried to appear as calm, collected, and nonchalant as possible as he lay down next to Ezio. His face still painfully red, the artist turned on his side with his back to the assassin. His bed was small, and Leonardo was barely able to suppress a shiver as he felt his back brush against Ezio's shoulder.

"I apologize for the diminutive size of this bed, Ezio. Fortunately, I do not snore. At least I don't believe I do, and I do not move very much in my sleep."

"Well, I can't say the same about either of those things," Ezio admitted quietly, "I apologize in advance if I end up on top of you."

Leonardo gulped audibly.

Ezio lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling for what must have been hours. Despite his exhaustion, he was unable to find sleep. He let out a frustrated sigh and covered his eyes with one of his forearms. It was still pitch black outside, and a dense blanket of clouds ensured that not even a glint of moonlight filtered through the window behind him. In that moment, he truly felt that he was the only person awake in all of Rome.

He rolled onto his side and faced Leonardo. It was so dark that he could barely discern the outline of the artist's shoulder and back, despite the close proximity between them. The weary assassin stared at Leonardo's motionless form. He couldn't help but feel that, throughout all of the years they had known each other, that he had been taking advantage of the man's brilliance. Ezio sincerely hoped the inventor didn't feel that he was simply being used. Leonardo was so much more than a mere translator of Codex pages, so much more than a constructor of weapons and gadgets.

Ezio shut his eyes tightly and tried his best to focus his troubled thoughts. He could feel a mounting pressure in his eyes, and when he opened them again, Leonardo had begun to glow. Ezio took comfort in the light as it radiated outward like a tiny blue sun.

Blue...Ally...

Ezio's mind instantly formed the connection between the color of the light and the status of the sleeping form enveloped within it. The light filled his vision until it was the only thing that he could see, blinding him to everything else. Eventually his eyes began to sting, and he was forced to blink, which rendered everything dark once more.

"Grazie amico," he mumbled quietly before finally drifting off to sleep.