"I do not fear you," he began. Ezio latched on to each and every word. "I concede that there are times when you do appear to be... less approachable, shall we say, but I believe that is simply your nature. As it should be! Considering your work, that is. The mere fact that I have been affected by it does not mean that is all I see in you. Rest assured, my friend," he said, pausing to set his free hand upon Ezio's shoulder, "that I will always be here to provide for you a place of repose. In whatever form that may take."

For all his anticipation, Ezio was underwhelmed. To him it was not clear that Leonardo fully understood his position. Despite the inadequacy, however, Leonardo yet possessed the ability to calm the assassin to rational speaking terms, if only through his soothing aura and not his speech.

"...I appreciate the gesture. More than you know, I expect. But... Still it is best that you resume your life in my absence. It is not right of me to think of your home as mine; it never has been. ...I should have admitted this years ago to save you the obligation. And you see, from our separation, I benefit as well. As you say, it is my nature to repel. I agree with that. It is not within my nature to participate in a domestic life. I would do well to accept this and leave you to your own devices." He nodded, as if the action would solidify the foundations of his argument for him.

The resilience Ezio showed was actually gladdening, to Leonardo, for he would have been most suspicious to have seemingly quelled the entire month's worth of strife in one act. Healing over this gap would, and ought to, require a new bridge at some axiomatic level of their friendship. As a result, Leonardo remained patient. Patient, but not patronizingly so, he was cautious to maintain.

"Ezio. I have provided my care to you for all these years because of who you are. I do not keep you because I feel obligated at all; trust me on this, Ezio. I have great sympathy for the trials you have endured—though I would not be so sure I can fully understand them. I aid you for this, but more so because I think of you as my closest friend. No one truly chooses their friends out of sympathy, you know. Not for so long as we have known each other. It is because I enjoy who you are that you are my friend, and it is because you are my friend that I believe you deserve better than what you go through as un assassino."

As a measure of his success, his hand was granted release enough into a tender hold. Ezio at last looked away. He shifted where he sat, numbly fiddling his fingers across Leonardo's palm. If what he heard was true, if he really trusted Leonardo, then just maybe... The subsided guilt suddenly cascaded over him: assuming it was no lie that Leonardo honestly cared for the assassin—no, cared for Ezio—then this was worse than constantly endangering some generous, innocent inventor; their years spent together, risking Leonardo's life by association, were as good as recklessly dangling the most genuine person he's known in front of the clutches of death—or worse.

It seemed that however the situation was reasoned, the solution rounded back to the same place.

"If one of us deserves better treatment, Leonardo, it is you. The whole of Venezia deserves better. Mia familia deserved better. You must understand, that while I am disconnected from all of these people, including you, amico mio, I am able to bring you all closer to the lives you deserve. The creed of the Order explains how we are to achieve good for the majority by removing ourselves from it. You are our valuable confidant, but in expecting from you anything more than that, I damage both you and the creed. I am sorry, I-"

Leonardo opened his mouth to interrupt (this stupid nonsense again, of uncritical obedience to the Order), but was caught by surprise when instead Ezio chose to assert the sternness in his decision. Finally taking a hand to himself, he gripped the left of Leonardo's jaw, and held it level with his own.

"People like you are too rare in this world to be held back by the burdens people like me would impose upon you. I know you do not think me a burden. I trust that you do not lie. That is precisely why I must remain l'assassino to you from now on," he expounded, "Because you do not deserve the risk that comes with any other affiliation." I do not deserve you.

At first the intimacy was... unsettling, to say the least, but the more Ezio explained, the more icy became Leonardo's nerves. He raised an eyebrow to accentuate the offense he took by the end.

"Ezio, really now. Be rational, for once. Do you think me so flawless that I am fragile? Perhaps I could not hold my own in a fight as well as you and your kind, but the common prospect of risk is absolutely no reason to just-" he threw his hands up a ways in frustration, simultaneously loosing himself from Ezio's lingering touches, "-just abandon any relationship between us! The protection you offer balances any adverse 'risk' you might carry. In fact, I think your inclination to protect me might outweigh the risk. You are simply exaggerating the issue at hand here—and another thing, where did you get the idea that I would rather you leave than accept a small amount of personal danger for your company? Let us end this pointless bantering. I would argue that it is what motivated your decision to leave in such an ill condition the last time you were here. The facts of the matter are plain: I care for you, Ezio. You are my friend. I value our time together much more than I would the thought that you are out somewhere, in one abused state or another, thinking you make the world a better place by isolating yourself from it. Things are not so black and white, I'm afraid, and I wish you would stop trying to force them to be."

Ezio was nothing if not stubborn. He sat facing Leonardo, but then turned toward the fire with a crease to his brow. The artist seemed to address each item of concern with impressive logic, but Ezio had always put faith in his instincts, and right now they told him to stand firm in his convictions. ...Then again, his instincts had also led him to excruciating near-death experiences involving flinging himself off a rooftop in more than one occasion—certain recent instances came to mind in a mental field of blood and plumy, dusty squalour. Where the quiet would have been seized by the assassin to refute, Leonardo took the opportunity first.

"...I'm sorry. I apologize. I should have said this earlier, important as it was to have started all this... I want you to know that you do not have to live only as an assassin. If nowhere else, then at least with me. Even if you do not see the importance in this, I do. Are you listening to me? Ezio you need to have people in your life who exist in ways that do not require your constant protection. It cannot be against the creed to allow oneself a degree of humanity. I mean, deductively, the creed must have originated from someone with an understanding of the human limits, for that person to have advised against them. Now, I mean no hostility toward the creed, its followers, or its makers. I don't even claim to speak of it with the knowledge of one who has learned it with proper training. But there is a logical pattern to every tick of the world, and this is no exception. I think, based upon my previous deduction, that the truest comprehension of what is required by your Order, is to both know what it is to love that part of you which is restricted to the virtues of the human soul, and to know what it is to venture beyond. I think that separation of the two is not only a misreading, but it is impossible."

The flames fluttered in Ezio's contemplative, narrowed vision. He brought his knees up a ways so that he could rest his elbows on them while at the same time keeping his arms crossed. He was never a particularly philosophically gifted man, but he believed he understood the general idea of Leonardo's characterization of the creed. It was conflicting, though: Leonardo was not an assassin. The creed, manifest by extracting oneself from the human essence, was something experienced. The words were only a signpost. Yet the way that the artist could decode them was not dissimilar to the writings of ancient and accomplished assassins themselves. It felt wrong, in a way, to be tossing such a subject around. The words had a sacred, unquestionable air to them. Debating them in his head, Ezio felt somewhat guilty. Maybe this was what the faithful Catholics felt like for skipping a confession.

"I think I see what you are saying."

Leonardo waited for him to elaborate, but he only concentrated on the embers rolling into in the hearth, like some vigilant prison guard.

"...You do?" he prompted.

"I do. I think. But... It is not how the assassins alive today would have it."

"I have always thought that most people of the modern day could do with a bit of reflection. Tradition is so easily warped over a short period of time, counterintuitive as that may sound. People reshape their gods to resemble what the current era finds acceptable. So too I believe that the assassins are subject to changing their ways to suit the circumstances. Em-" he startled, "I mean, it is a natural occurrence. I do not mean to say that the assassins are... inconsistent."

"No, I understand."

"Oh."

"...In wishing to abandon you, I blindly follow what has been shown to me. The greater assassins who came before us would forge ways of their own. You are right, Leonardo. The creed does not create a mould for me, or anyone else to fill. It is meant to guide one's thoughts, but in direction, and not in result. It is... ...I guess it is easier, for me to be consumed in the role that I know. You have shown me that it is against my own beliefs to allow that."

Time passed. Leonardo cautiously watched Ezio work in silence, the meditation of the assassin. After a while that neither man could quantify, Ezio expired in a fatigued sigh, and gently let himself down to lay on his good side. The rug was new; still soft and plush.

"You will ever be a better person than I am, compadre. If you learned to fight one of these days, I have no doubts that Italia would crumble in your wake. Peacefully, of course," he joked. He closed his eyes.

Leonardo cracked a smile. This was victory. Ezio would stay. He had a difficult time quashing his desire to throw his arms around the other man in celebration.

"Better? You think so? Do not depreciate yourself so quickly, my friend. You possess several qualities I myself do not, nor do most men."

With a smirk, Ezio rolled to his back and attempted to shove off his left greave with his right foot.

"I mean aside from the killing and the running."

"No!" Leonardo retorted with a chuckle, and laid himself down too. "You are uncommonly determined, which is most evident..."

Ezio snorted, grinning.

"You are cleverer than you believe yourself, too."

"A pitiful comment from un genio."

"And we can safely agree that you are quite adventurous."

Leonardo found it adorable, though a tad concerning, that Ezio tried to stifle his laughter with a tense arm around his bandaged ribs.

"You are exceptionally dedicated, something which freely becomes irritating rather than admirable. And you see, there is companionship where we each lack some qualities that the other has in spades. Despite the nuisance, I find yours are all very attractive— ah, I- I-i-in a friendly sort of way, I mean of course."

He felt infinite relief looking over to see Ezio serenely lying on his back, arm draped over his concealed, prone form, half asleep with a smile on his face. Leonardo decided it was a good time for him to do the same, lest he continue to run off inadvertent love notes in jubilation.

Once his eyes were shut, the assassin turned his head and opened his own. The exchange was not coincidental—something unnameable had always allowed him to sense the level of awareness in others. He could not pinpoint the exact feeling that drove him to cherish the warm, content form beside him, but he watched Leonardo, for no distinguishable reason, and felt the childlike urge to prod him—just to see him wake up. But he would not. It was vastly more rewarding to observe him in his tranquility, a setting that perfectly matched the feeling Ezio imagined he would lose for the rest of his life only minutes ago. The bottega did nothing of its own to generate this aura of sanctuary, he realized. All of the holy affects of the place were inextricably tied to the source himself, lying so quiet and nonviolent closeby. Ezio was grateful, at last, and not indebted. However, there was something more than that. "Grateful" did not seem to describe his feelings toward the artist in the bright, significant, unidentified manner he pictured it would.

He thought on this. He thought long and deeply, scrutinizing the projects within the studio by habit just for a place to put his eyes. He contemplated the nature of his work, the meanings and origins behind the ethics he was raised with—both in this life, and the one he had before. He contemplated how it could be that everything seemed so different around Leonardo. He tried to imagine how he might arrive at that grand understanding, the harmonious middle ground between assassin and man. It could have been hours he lay thinking. However long it really was, it was much too long for Leonardo to remain conscious. And soon, Ezio was beginning to wear thin his ability to formulate worthwhile thoughts. The scar stretching over his lips was red and mildly swollen from continuous, absent chewing. Negligible sounds had become distracting over time, and it was the dull shift of cloth to his left that finally brought his attention to the ludicrous hour of the night that it was. Gently he extended a hand out and rocked Leonardo's shoulder. The groggy petulance with which the man stirred brought a smile to Ezio's face.

"Leonardo. Wake up."

Reluctantly, he did.

"...What? What is-" he began, looking to the windows of his studio to find them inky and barely visible in outline.

"You should go sleep in your bed. I should... May I stay the remainder of the night in here?"

In his full capacities, Leonardo might have recognized the request as the significant change that it was. Unfortunately, in his state, he simply found it outrageous that Ezio would even ask.

"Wh- Ezio, of course you can stay here. Considering all I thought we accomplished in the last...," he whined, waving his hands lifelessly and trying to recall how long it had been since the pair was awake and speaking, "...However many hours—you know what I mean. I don't want you feeling like you need to ask my permission for things like this."

While Leonardo was visibly irritated (though more likely from a rude awakening than anything else), Ezio couldn't help but laugh at him. He dismissed his friend with a downcast wave of his arm, and stood to go find a more suitable sleeping spot himself. Or at least, he would have, if upon his attempt he did not wince and halt at the tearing, stabbing sensation that stole through his spine and abdomen.

"A-I- ...I th-ink, I will stay here on- ...On the rug. If you don't mind," he gritted out.

Leonardo was close by his side before he had fully set himself back down. Ezio propped himself up off the ground with his elbows such that his upper back was free from contact. He felt Leonardo's hand settle softly upon his uninjured shoulder. Wide awake now, his face was full of worry.

"Are you all right? Tell me what is wrong. There haven't been any complications to your injuries, have there?"

"Ah... Um- no."

To Leonardo this would assuredly sound like a poorly executed lie. But the reality was, that just in that moment, something clicked in Ezio's mind. The thought was so monumental, his speech could not meet its caliber. It must have been a thousand times he'd heard those caring words from Leonardo. Yet here and now, they illuminated that confounding, ambiguous feeling that Ezio had wanted to call mere gratitude. Leonardo's compassion was so easily discovered, so naked in its honesty, and what was more, it always had been. And suddenly Ezio felt ashamed, that one as trained as himself in apprehending the undetectable could fail to notice the signs. Immune to everything save the revelation that shook him, he did not realize that he interrupted Leonardo's half-hearted lecture when he at last found his voice.

"Leonardo, do you love me?"

He froze. If any hint of sleepiness dwelt in him to this point, it vanished in an instant, leaving nothing but cold panic in its wake. The room seemed to flip upside down. Leonardo prayed it would, damn every last delicate project he had if it would provide a suitable mess of debris to hide behind. How on earth could he let this happen? This was it. Ezio had finally put it all together, bless his oblivious soul, and all they had just surmounted was going to fall apart because Leonardo had been too careless. He knew that Ezio's heart was stringently restricted to the opposite sex. And now that he was definitely aware of what Leonardo felt for him, a canyon was about to open up between them both and that was going to be the undeniable, irreparable end. In a desperate clamour the artist rummaged through the whole of the contents in his head to find some fast, miraculous way to stow Ezio's question.

"W-well, Ezio. That's- um," he paused, searching again for something to say that was less so akin to gibberish, "I-I mean I- you- I think you have m-many, uh, admirable qualities. A-as I've said before. But- And it's- well I mean, after having spent so many years knowing you... Um, I- I wouldn't say I... Necessarily... Em..."

"I see." Ezio nodded seriously, as if he was learning of a grave political situation he was about to become part of. "Say no more. Think no more of it. I am sure that we are both very tired, and this has been a long night. I will be fine on my own, so you should go on to your bed and we can meet each other in the morning."

Only about a third of what Ezio responded with made it to Leonardo's ears. It was perhaps the artist's most fortunate trait, his ability to turn to reason in the face of disaster: What in the world did I just say, he asked himself in the midst of Ezio making excuses for them both. This scenario was nearly exactly what Leonardo had been dreaming of for what felt like millennia, and for whatever idiotic reason he had decided to shove it aside. The man is obviously disappointed. It cannot have been pure suspicion that drove him to ask, he rationalized. Now it was Leonardo's turn to interrupt. If there was any truth to the excuses Ezio was finishing, it was that this was proving to be a most taxing night indeed.

"Yes," he said hastily, "Ezio stop. Yes, Ezio, I do love you."

And Ezio obeyed. There was a maddening silence while Ezio read the authenticity in Leonardo's eyes, but once he was satisfied, a small smile curled at the corners of his mouth.

"...Oh. Good."

He couldn't believe it. Leonardo couldn't believe that he didn't expect that response. Without fail, Ezio Auditore would always take delicate moments like these, and drop them right on the ground. A strange kind of fury built itself up inside Leonardo, awkwardly singeing away at the fluttering feeling of admitting one's long withheld love. It churned in conflict while he tried the task to reconcile both feelings into words. It was enough time spent for Ezio to shift his weight around just so, so that he could succeed when he reached over, caught Leonardo behind the neck, and pulled him to himself into a deep, sorely needed kiss.

The mind ventures to unusual places when presented with absurdity. Near death, those who escape will recount themselves in those moments thinking of things mundane, nonsensical, or irrelevant. With Ezio's lips pressed on his, Leonardo appreciated the fact that he could feel the other man's scar. Barely, only if he thought about it, but he could. He always wondered if he would. And it was over as abruptly as it had initiated.

He sat back, arched oddly in the way that he had been forced down to meet his lover. The smug, delighted look on Ezio's face rescued him from his dumb blinking and at once his own face flushed with colour. Ezio snickered. Ezio shouldn't snicker at things like this. Despite himself Leonardo wrinkled his brow in disapproval, but before he made his point further he was pummeled to the ground with little resistance by the strong arms around him. Ezio was determined to weasel each of his limbs—even the ones that hurt the most—under or over Leonardo's. Quite literally wrapped in his enthusiasm, Leonardo had to join in with the laughter. He wanted to scold the assassin, for he was sure that anywhere he would find to grab in return would cause agonizing pain. But he could not bring himself to do it. Once they were thoroughly entangled, Ezio rested his head (most uncomfortably) in the space between Leonardo's neck and chest. There he indulged for a time, simply happy to breathe in the familiar scents that lulled him to sleep on his worst days. But before he would entirely allow himself to drift asleep in this fantasy, he thought it appropriate to let Leonardo know.

"I apologize for waking you up earlier. You may sleep now," he mumbled with a stupid grin. He very well knew that soft as the new rug was, the pair's current position was anything but sleep-able.

"Am I given permission now? Because if you observe, I cannot escape this to save my life."

"Precisely."

The morning greeted them yet lying together among the intricate reds and whites, cozily strewn about one another but no less tangled.

- End -