"The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them."
― Ernest Hemingway
Her hand hurt.
This wasn't strange. What was strange was waking up in a warm, comfortable nest of light, soft blankets, staring up at a red silken canopy hanging from the dark, smooth wood of a bed she had never seen before. And stranger still was the hazy, distant memory of the sensation of hot liquid on her face, and a deep, familiar voice calling her name. Jessica blinked slowly and shifted with a soft groan, bringing her left hand to her chest and stretching out her clenched fist, massaging the aching and tense muscle of her thumb. As she moved, she felt something wrapped around her head, and, frowning, she grumbled under her breath as her mind gradually shook away the sleep. It was dark, so she assumed night had fallen, and for a moment she considered rolling over and going back to sleep. But she was worried that if she shifted too suddenly she would fall out of the tree.
The throbbing cramp in her hand distracted her from that sudden, worrisome thought. She felt the strings in her wrist as they were plucked by an invisible musician, but there was no music to be heard; only a pain that vibrated up her arm and settled in the crook of her elbow. A golden light filled the darkness around her and she saw that the Mark was glowing on her palm and she wondered if it was the musician which was hurting her so.
With a sigh she slowly pushed the covers away and sat up, her hand rising to her forehead and coming into contact with a rough, thick strip of material which had been tied at the back of her head. Pressing on it gently, she felt for any tender spots which would indicate cause for such a bandage but all seemed well, other than a distinct light-headedness that made her feel as if she were swaying gently upon the mattress. She supposed it was just the branch swaying with the breeze, but she grimaced in confusion because she couldn't feel the wind. She was about to lift the bandage off her head when a quiet voice hummed through the night air.
"You're awake."
Jessica tensed, suddenly painfully aware of the dim but warm glow emanating from the hand raised to her face, no doubt illuminating her features just enough that the mysterious other could be sure of what they were seeing. She was too shocked to panic and so she sat in frozen silence as her eyes adjusted and a familiar silhouette formed in the shadows, and slowly grew a straight nose, thin lips, high cheekbones and two sparkling blue eyes.
"Leo," she breathed, confused. Was he in the tree as well?
He held her eyes for a long moment, before they moved to the Mark. She could see him swallow hard as the glow reflected in his eyes. She didn't know what she expected, and she knew just by looking at him that he had no idea what to say. A wave of unsteadiness washed over her and she leaned back heavily on her right hand to steady herself as she blinked blearily at her friend. After a while, his eyes met hers once more, and then rose to her forehead.
"Are you alright?" he asked quietly, his voice not rising above a whisper.
She nodded slowly and finally took the bandage off. Leo took in a breath as he observed her smooth forehead, with only a section of hair crisp with dried blood as evidence of the injury that had been and which no longer was. Jessica's heart pounded in her chest and she wished she could make out more of her friend in the darkness, for cues of agitation or horror could not be seen in this low light; the pale of his cheek, the restless twitching of his fingers. She lowered her left hand, closing her fingers around it and trying to hide it amongst the sheets in her lap, trying to pretend that he hadn't seen it at all, and that there was nothing about her was out of the ordinary.
Of course, this was all but true, and she had a feeling that on a deeper level, Leonardo had known it just as well as she had, but knowing and seeing were two different things entirely. Though Jessica hoped and prayed that she, by some strange luck, was the only one who could see the Mark's glow, she knew she was kidding herself. Leonardo's form solidified further as her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she saw by the set of his shoulders that he was nervous – perhaps as nervous as she was -, yet his gaze was steady upon her face. She dimly wondered if she should ask him how they got into this tree in the first place, and why there was a bed in it.
"I came as soon as I heard. You gave me quite a fright."
"I'm sorry," she whispered back, staring at the bloodied bandage in her hands, afraid that now she could see him she wouldn't like what she saw. Her insides felt dry and a hand wrapped around her torso and squeezed as she tried to remain calm.
Leonardo was her friend. She could trust him.
"How long have I been asleep?"
"It is nearly morning, so almost a full day."
Jessica glanced up at him from beneath her lowered brow; an expression of wavering and uncertain hope that her trust was not misplaced, terrified that she would be beaten and crushed by rejection and fear.
This was Leonardo. If she couldn't trust him then who?
There would be no one left.
She would be alone.
"And you've been sitting there all this time?" she asked in a voice that she hoped sounded just like it always did. She didn't want him to know how small she felt, or how much she wanted to hide within that nest of soft blankets and go back to sleep as if nothing had happened. Her hands shook in her lap as the tree trembled beneath them and an owl flew past Leonardo's head. Jessica felt its wings as it swooped between them but Leo didn't react. Didn't he see it?
"Of course."
Her breath stuck in her throat at his simple answer. They sat and stared and she could see the stars burning cautiously in his eyes, and the concerned kittens sitting upon his brow and the tilt of his lips that meant that all would be well if she trusted in him.
Did she trust him?
Her heart fluttered and pounded spasmodically and she wondered if it would simply stop at the moment he finally recoiled from her in revulsion. If not for the mere fact that she was simply a freak, but that he might not even believe that and think that she was lying to him, or worse, that she was completely mad.
Would he think that? Would he tell her even if he did? Did she trust him enough to believe him even if he didn't pull away from her?
Was she simply being unfair? For the words he spoke were gentle and caring, and filled with a concern she had come to know from him. Surely such tender sincerity couldn't be falsified.
She watched a family of fireflies dance on the tip of Leo's nose as a kookaburra laughed at something the owl had said. Her fingers tightened on the blanket as she slowly began to realise that something was quite off. Were owls usually that articulate? Or funny?
Somewhere beneath the blanket of charged and damaged thoughts, Jessica knew that something was definitely not right. Her body was a helium balloon and her head was a cloud and the room was swirling and turning and the glass bubbles that were her eyes couldn't keep up. They fixed to the windows in Leonardo's face and she saw the sun and the sky and all the happiness in the world. Her vision swam away.
God. Was she mad?
"Elmo arrived with me, and he stayed until night fell." She heard him say, as she closed her eyes and tried to figure out what was real. "I told him to go home, and that I would stay and watch over you."
The corner of her mouth twitched, and she winced as she felt the wire which moved it tug too hard. "Like you always do," her voice was small. But she knew that was real. That was true.
He smiled gently at her with a shrug of his shoulders, shifting on the chair he had pulled up beside her bed. It swung precariously over the edge of the thin branch he had balanced it upon, but he seemed so unconcerned. That was Leonardo; confident and assured and brilliant in every way. She admired him so much. He was amazing. All she wanted to do was to be like him.
A gentle pop of her ears and suddenly the little girl was there, sitting on the bed beside her. She didn't look very happy. Jessica couldn't remember her name, or why the fiery worlds burning in her eyes made her feel so sad. She stared at those eyes for a long time until something warm and wet on her face startled her and Leonardo's very real touch on her arm drew her attention to the understanding goodness that was his face.
The sky in his eyes shifted from her face and looked at the Mark again, glowing like an ember in her hand, and his eyebrows rose in a silent question.
And then there was nothing else to do but to tell him.
Jessica pulled away from him and drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around them, hiding her face in the covers and clenching her eyes shut as her body became a body once more and everything was that body and the only sound in the world was her voice in the emptiness, reaching out to the one who would hear it.
"My name is- was Jessica Raso," she whispered into oblivion. "I was born on the 20th of October, 1991 in Perth, Western Australia. My mum was a teacher, and my older sister Jasmine was six when I was born." A shuddering breath escaped her as her heart cracked open and whatever walls she had built crumbled to dust. The warm wetness spread to her knees and down her legs. She tasted it on her lips. "My dad died working in the mines when I was nine, but Mum took care of us. And she had Tommy, my little brother, a year later. We lived in a nice house and went to a nice school and had lots of friends and family around. And we were happy."
Her chest was open and bleeding. Was it supposed to hurt this much? Was it supposed to feel so good?
"I had just finished high school and was about to start a degree in Biomedical Science at one of the best universities in the country. I had lots of friends, a family who loved me and a future and goals I was ready and determined to achieve. And then one day, I woke up on a bench, in Florence, Italy, on the 27th of December, 1476. And that was that. I was nineteen."
Was she supposed to feel so broken? Little pieces of her were scattered across the bed. They floated in the air around her. She was too weak and too scared to reach out and pick them all up. If she opened up anymore, would there be anything left?
"And then I met you, and the Auditores. I knew that whatever reason it was that I had been brought here, it was because of them. Because of who they are and what they do. But, for some reason, I look like Marietta Sanfilippo, whose parents are dead and whose aunt is trying to hunt her down and who Federico is still completely in love with."
A wave of pain, no, agony, flowed through her, settling in her gut and squirming there like a worm pulled from the dirt.
"And then there's this thing on my hand. The Mark. I think it's the reason I'm here. I can't remember how I got it. But when I'm hurt, it knows, and I get better. And then it glows. And when some people come near me, it tingles, or burns, depending on who it is. It tingles for you. It's like an itch, but a nice one. When it burns, it means that something bad is going to happen. It burned the night I met Elmo. I was alone and a man attacked me," She didn't stop, even when a strangled noise burst from Leo's throat, "and I, because of the Mark, was able to fight him off. And then I pushed him into the Arno and he didn't come back up. I kept trying to tell myself that he hadn't died that night. I tried to imagine that he was pulled downstream and then climbed out, cold but alive. But the truth is, I don't know. And I don't want to know."
The owl and the kookaburra screamed and soared around and around her head, but she didn't move. The worm ate away at her insides and the tree swung frantically, trying to fling her from its boughs. But the bed held tight. Her heart pounded and her skin was hot and she could feel black bile bubbling up her throat. How much was left of her?
"But the Mark does other things as well. It let me read the Codex pages you and Ezio had to decode; I could read every line without doing a thing. And I think it helped to heal Federico's leg far more quickly than it should have. And I think it helps Petruccio with his illness too. He's not sick when he's around me. And I think it helped me save them all in the first place. From the gallows. For whatever reason... this thing has brought me here and it has kept me and the people I care about safe. And... I don't know. That's not all bad, right? Right?"
Who was there to pick up the pieces? There was no duct tape left.
Her voice trailed off into the darkness, and she realised that the silence was worse and more oppressive than anything she had experienced in her life. She raised her head and slowly opened her eyes. She saw Leonardo sitting at her bedside, upon a chair, in a room that was dark and unfamiliar, but real. Heavy curtains smothered large windows, thick rugs hugged slick wooden floors and pompous furniture sat smugly against the walls which held vain portraits of people long since dead. The air was empty and enclosed. There was no tree, no birds and no stars in this cold room. Jessica's thoughts were like honey, but the delirium appeared to have passed. All she wanted to do now was sleep.
She didn't breathe as she looked at her friend, who was staring at the blankets before him with an unnerving intensity. Her entire body thrummed with the beat of her heart as the silence dragged on and she wondered if she had broken him.
Until, at last, he spoke.
"I remember, a long time ago, there was a night that we sat by the fire, and we ate and we drank and... you told me your name was Jessica." For a moment his words failed him and he gaped and blinked, gaze fixed to the bed, before language returned and he continued, speaking slowly, "And I believed you, to a point. People do strange things in the wake of a trauma. And you—Marietta had never been quite the same after her parents' death. Perhaps I believed you wished to be someone else, and so took on a new name, a new personality. I do not know," he stammered, shaking his head incredulously. "I did not question it further. You were you, no matter the name, no matter the face. But this is... incredible."
"I know."
"Unbelievable."
"I know."
"Impossible."
"I know."
Jessica waited for more. She didn't know what 'more' meant, but surely anything was better than this silence. She needed something more because she could still feel the holes where the pieces she had strewn about were supposed to be and she wasn't entirely sure she knew how to function without them or if she even could.
This all had to be a dream. She couldn't have just spoken those words out loud. She wasn't a reckless person and yet she had just risked everything. And Leonardo wasn't saying anything. He was broken. She was so stupid. So horrible. She had broken him. Broken him—
"Okay."
... What?
Jessica did nothing but stare as he came out of his reverie, with what appeared to be a determinedly accepting nod, and turned his gaze to look upon her stunned visage with a staggering beam which split his face from one end to the other in the most wonderful of ways.
"I believe you."
She felt as if it were several long hours before she found the strength and the willpower to form coherent thoughts and thus coherent words.
"You do?" Her voice sounded small to her ears but she was too astounded to be embarrassed. He laughed and she flinched, only able to watch as he surged from his chair and grasped her hands, both of them, apparently uncaring that the left one continued to glow within his hold, and shook them wildly.
"Of course! I admit, I was surprised at first, but in all of these years I never imagined that you were... you were from the future!" he cried.
"Wh—why are you so happy?" Jessica spluttered.
"I am happy because I finally understand. It makes perfect sense!"
"Does it?"
"Yes! I only wish you had told me earlier. Silly girl!" With that, he flung his arms around her and held tight. "I am so sorry," he whispered.
She was still too surprised to move. "What—?"
He took a deep breath. "That you are so very lost."
Jessica knew that he didn't realise what he had just done. He couldn't see himself scoop up all the pieces of her broken self and put her back together, but she did. He didn't have any duct tape, but he was Leonardo da Vinci, and he didn't need it. He stuck the pieces together with everything that was good and right and true in the world, everything that was happy and fun and worth it. Everything that was him.
He wasn't perfect, she knew. She had lived with him for nearly five years now, and she knew he could be childish and immature and selfish and sarcastic and lazy. But he was perfect to her.
"I was lost," she told him as her arms slowly wrapped around his waist. "But then I found you."
There was a wet sniffle behind her ear, and she watched as the urgent glow of the Mark ebbed and faded away and they were left in complete darkness, and she couldn't remember feeling so light.
"I have many questions," Leonardo mumbled some time later, still not releasing her from his embrace.
"I know."
"Many, many questions."
She chuckled and rubbed his back as he shuddered and sniffed into her hair. "I know, Leo."
Jessica wasn't quite sure when he fell asleep against her, but she found that she truly didn't mind. She gently detangled his arms from around her and rolled him onto the bed beside her and pulled the covers over him. Then she sat beside his sleeping form and simply breathed.
Somewhere in the midst of it all, Uni stood from where she had sat and observed in silence at the end of the bed. Beneath a veil of long black hair, fiery orbs glared out at Jessica's still form, and thin, grey lips curled into a snarl.
"They are a means to an end. You cannot trust anyone, Jessica," the little girl who was not a little girl sneered.
Jessica Raso didn't flinch in disgust or fear, but merely stared steadily into those eerie dark rimmed eyes and smiled with a conviction she had never before felt.
"You're wrong. I can trust him."