After a year of listening to his epic adventures, to the tales of deeds both dangerous and impossible, Fiorentino finally met the legend his saviour had spoken of.
It was raining, such as on the night he came to be in Leonardo's care, and the now one-year-old infant had been busy trying to climb over the new defences around the workshop. His curious mind wanted – no, needed – to get to the boxes the artist wouldn't let him have, if only to see what all the fuss was about.
"Fee, no." he heard a familiar, exasperated voice, imbued with affection; "Will you come away from there? I built them to keep you in one place."
Theirs was a quiet life. Leonardo preferred to stay out of the public eye, far away from scrutiny so he was the only influence to his paintings, and he kept Fiorentino with him in this self-exclusion. The boy had learnt to occupy himself. There was always a wealth of things to do in the workshop, such as trying to climb over the high walls of the baby pen, or standing on his small unsteady feet to peer at whatever his saviour was working on.
Today, it was different.
"More rain?" Leonardo sighed, hearing the water hit his windows in little pellets. He placed the paint down to the side of him, unfinished work left to dry, and looked back at the rectangular window above, which was clearly splattered by rain. He glanced at Fee. "Not unlike the rain I found you in, hm? Let's hope there are no more babies who need a home."
Fiorentino did not understand, but grinned like a madman anyway. Leonardo's voice had always managed to coax smiles from him.
The artist went on; "No news of Ezio from the guards, I've noticed. They never could catch him. I suspect they've either given up or are trying to keep everything he's doing quiet."
Again, the boy said nothing. It occurred to Leonardo that he had told Fee much of Ezio's conquests, perhaps more than a baby should know, and definitely more than any civilian. How he was grateful for someone to discuss it with though, his continuing fears for his friend's safety.
"If that man hadn't been through such injustice, I would have told him to quit long ago. In fact, perhaps when he first came through my door. He's in danger, Fee. Constant, never-ending danger. I shudder to think how he sleeps at night, knowing all of Firenze seems to be after him."
Fiorentino's eyes had caught something in the window; a shadow, it looked like, but denser than any shadow he had ever seen. He was rooted to it as Leonardo carried on talking, the artist's hands busy with some sketch or other, and his voice soon became a drone in the background. The shadow moved again. Fee watched it.
The noise he made when the shadow disappeared caught Leonardo's attention. He looked at the child, who had now drawn his balled up fist to his mouth to suck at the knuckles, and followed his eyes to look at the rain-splattered window above them. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary – rain in late summer, but Fee had no concept of its strangeness.
"What is it, Fee? Did something frighten you?" the artist moved to pluck him from the ground. He was heavier now, he noted, still riddled with baby fat and innocent smiles.
A rapping sounded at their door, followed by quiet, and then another rapping. Whoever was on the other side of it was trying to be discreet, but urgent. Who would be fool enough to walk in the rain? Apart from Fillipa, who they weren't expecting to arrive for at least another hour.
"Who could that be?" he placed Fiorentino back down in the pen, on the off chance their caller was dangerous; "You wait here, Fee. Be good. Don't try to climb out, now."
Creeping towards the door, Leonardo reached for the handle and took a deep breath. He had no idea if there was a guard or a desperate buyer on the other side, but with Ezio back in town, anything was possible. He had been on edge for months.
With a final pause, Leonardo twisted the knob and the door swung open.
There, standing in the rain, hood up and face mostly shrouded in shadow, was Ezio Auditore.
"Leonardo!" he cheered, pulling the man in front an embrace as he was ushered into the workshop; "It's so good to see you! Tell me; how goes things?"
"Very well. Yes, I have a new assistant now; Vincenzo. And a…well, see for yourself."
He ignored the fact Ezio was holding something in his hand to lead him to the play pen, where Fiorentino had pulled himself to his feet and was trying to climb over the walls.
"I told you to stay there, Fee," the artist chuckled as he picked the child up. With a smile, he turned to show Ezio his new companion, so long having found him on his doorstep. "Ezio, meet Fiorentino; an addition to my workshop."
The assassin peered at him with curious eyes. He had expected a lot of things in Leonardo's space – strange equipment, mostly, and half-finished projects that he noticed were strung up to the ceilings – but what he hadn't expected was a live, moving, drooling baby.
"Un bambino," he said, dumbfounded and confused.
"Yes. He was left here a year ago, and I've had him ever since."
Without thinking, Ezio reached out and took the child from Leonardo's hold. He peered at him as though facing a complex puzzle, noting that he was wearing a strange blue overall thing that covered his feet (one of Leonard's many designs), and watched as Fee's bottom lip jutted out and he glanced anxiously from stranger to artist.
"He's lighter than he looks."
"It's baby fat, I assure you."
"Did you search for his mother?"
"Every lead I had," the artist sighed; "She was nowhere to be found."
"Why did you not turn him over to the guards?"
"I tried. They planned to…" his voice dropped to a whisper, "They were going to murder him, Ezio. For being a bastardo. How could I have walked away and done nothing?"
There was a soft look in Leonardo's eyes, affectionate, even, as he looked at Fee in Ezio's hands, dangled by the assassin from under his arms so he had a better view of his face. He knew exactly what would have become of that child if he had walked away. It made his stomach twist just to think of it.
"Here, that's not a comfortable way to hold him."
Ezio's arms were moved until they sat in an arc, and the not-quite-crying Fiorentino was slipped into the space it created. The assassin watched as two brown eyes looked up at him, big and wide, with a river of water building up on the bottom eyelid.
"There we go," the artist smiled, "Much better."
"Grazie, Leonardo, but I think he wants you."
"He's just unused to you, Ezio. Give him a while and he will change his tune. Now; did you have anything for me?" he eyed the paper in his hand, now flat against Fiorentino's fat outer thigh.
"Ah, yes, I have a Codex page," as he passed the page over, he was careful not to let the baby fall; "I thought, since you helped me with the last one-"
"Excellent! These are quite fascinating. But it may take me a while to decipher. Are you prepared to wait?"
"Yes, yes; as long as you need." Ezio glanced down at Fee, noticing the water had drained off and now he was staring without restraint. What a wonder it was to be a baby, with no sense of personal boundaries or social conventions. "I should like to get to know the little one who's stolen my friend's heart."
"Ah, you should wait until he wakes me up in the middle of the night," the artist joked as he unfurled the page on his desk, arms careful to clear away some of the artistic debris; "Once the rain's cleared up, I'll have Vincenzo set up some training dummies for you. Oh, and…" he gestured to the kitchen; "You can put your blades there. I'm nervous about sharp things around Fee."
Fiorentino, Ezio thought as he unhooked the weapons; Leonardo never ceases to surprise me.
