Part Two

Chapter 3

Kenny Chase:

Sometimes he wonders if he did something wrong. If he did something unspeakably horrible in some distant past life. Or if his future deeds will be so bad that Karma has decided him to punish him beforehand just so it will amount to the horrors he will commit.

Whatever the answer may be even he can't believe that he's done or will do something horrible enough to deserve this.

Happiness is but an arm's reach away. He knows it is. As he gazes at Ezio's face, relaxed in a well-deserved nap and awkwardly sprawled across the couch in a position that can in no way be comfortable, he has to fight the need to pull him close. To pull the man out of his awkward slouch and push him to stretch across the couch.

And if doing so will put Ezio's head on his lap, so what? It's not like Ezio hasn't done it of his own accord before. Still, he holds back. He keeps his hands firmly planted in his lap even as his eyes never stray from Ezio's face.

He looks younger when he sleeps.

He looks unburdened by the weight of revenge for his father and brothers' deaths. Asleep as he is, the years spent fighting for his life one day and worrying for the wellbeing of his mother and sister the next melt away. Leaving behind something that looks a lot like that young, seventeen-year-old who had his childhood ripped away from him by the greed of others.

He looks happy, as he mumbles something in his sleep and slumps further into the couch cushions.

Maybe he did commit some unspeakable horrors in his past life. He must have to end up the way he has now. Disowned by his family and trying not to yearn so obviously for the scraps of attention the Hernandez's throw his way.

Not that they don't give him more than enough. They treat him as one of their own and better than his own mother ever did. Better even than his absentee father that was always off working and never around.

But it's not the same.

It doesn't fill the hole in his heart that yearns for their love. It doesn't soothe the little abandon boy inside of him that cries for his mother's attention. Or the young fourteen-year-old who looked out into a sea of people, high school diploma clutched proudly in his hands, only to see no one waiting for him.

No. Wait. That's not right.

The Hernandez's had been there. They always have been even when his own family hadn't bothered to show up. He can still remember a ten-year-old Jen screaming her lungs out, big, neon-blue board held as high above her head as she could.

"You did it, Ken!" scrawled at her best attempt at calligraphy. It had been God awful, honestly, and almost completely illegible but the sight of it had eased the throb in his heart. He had treasured that sign for years. If only because it meant one thing to him. Messy scrawl and plain words aside, he had treasured it as the only proof he needed to know that the Hernandez's cared.

They had been there, during his biggest accomplishment so it was no surprise to see them during his biggest failure.

He can still remember the car crash with a vivid memory. Can still see the bright headlights of a car going too fast to stop, can still hear the squeal of tires desperately clinging to asphalt and the smell. That's the worst part. The one that makes everything too real.

The smell of burnt out tires, ruptures oil lines, and blood.

So much blood.

His own family hadn't stuck around after that. They'd abandoned him and taken Anissa with them. Somedays, in his darker moments, he wonders if maybe this was his penance all along. If the reason he never had a family to begin with had been because he would one day cost Anissa her leg.

But then he wasn't alone. Not even then, fresh from a car crash, stitches holding many parts of his skin closed, and disowned, had he woken up alone.

Jen had been there, tears streaming down her face and hand clutching his so tightly it had stayed numb long after she had finally let go. They had all been there. Mrs. Hernandez, Alexis, and even Mr. Hernandez had been crowded around his bed, a strange mix of relief and grief on their faces.

It had been then that he realized they were the only family he ever really had.

So he has them, the family he so deeply cherished but he's man enough to admit that having a family scares him. So he shies away. He puts distance between Mrs. Hernandez's attempts to coddle him and tries to ignore the proud, fatherly looks Mr. Hernandez's throws his way if only so they won't get tired of him.

He tries so hard not to outstay his welcome.

If his own family didn't want him, why would they?

Why would Ezio?

And that's the question isn't? The one he's been trying so hard to pretend he has no reason to ask himself, because Ezio doesn't really want him, right?

It's just a passing fancy, right?

Right?

Jen says otherwise, of course. Or well she hints at it with her knowing looks and smiles. And he may be dense, but Ken's not an idiot. He can see how the whole family looks at them when Ezio so much as glances his way. He can see the softening look in Mrs. Hernandez's eyes as some long-buried worry for him melts away.

The worry that he'll end up alone.

Sometimes he wonders when their attitudes changed. When Altaïr and Ezio had first arrived, priority number one had been to get everyone back to their appropriate timelines and close the swirls. Priority number two, unbeknownst to Jen, had been to keep the two from falling in love and experiencing unavoidable heartbreak.

Now?

Well, now he's not so sure what the end goal is. Not when everyone has been gently suggesting that Jen breaking things off with Altaïr might not be for the best. And, honestly, he can see why they would think that way, too.

With just one look at Jen's face, he can see why the whole family is so hesitant to even attempt to split them up as they should have since the beginning. And it's all because she's happy.

Unlike anything, they've ever seen before. She's out and about and not locked up every day in her room, ignoring the world. She's trying. She's living. She's mending long broken bridges and just going out and living her life.

She's free.

So why can't he be too?

Why can't he let himself have this? Why can't he shake the chains that bind him to his corner of solitude and let them all in? Why can't let himself be happy for once?

So what if it all ends in pain?

He'd rather have even an amount of Ezio's passing lust than sit here wondering what could have been. If only so he can finally stop being alone.

Happiness is but a hand's reach away.

Ezio's body is warm under his hands when he finally allows himself to touch. The muscles under his fingers are firmer than he would have imagined but yet Ezio allows himself to be moved easily. He even shifts towards him when Kenny pulls him across the couch.

Ezio's head is heavy and just as warm as the rest of him when it falls into his lap. He can't keep the smile off of his face then, small as it may be, Ken lets it come onto his lips as he runs his fingers through Ezio's hair.

And when those brown eyes open, sleepy and dazed and yet no less bright, and a soft, warm smile comes over those scarred lips, Ken thinks, "Yeah."

Maybe it's time to reach.

~oOo~

Jennifer Hernandez:

Life waits for no one.

It will continue to move, never stalling. Earth will continue to turn, the sun will rise every morning and set every night. Nothing will stop Earth from spinning. Not even as the whole world as you know it is ripped to shred before your very eyes.

So even though it feels as if the world has finally unfrozen, as I wake from slumber on my first day back home Jerusalem, it's with something akin to surprise that I realized it's only a few days to Thanksgiving and it's already halfway through the holiday season.

The world has continued on without me. The days have come and gone and all the houses have long since put up their decorations in preparation for Christmas. My own house has decorations I'd failed to notice in my need to escape last night.

Tinsel and wreaths decorate various parts of the house. All while a lone, bushy Christmas tree sits in the corner of the living room, forgotten and undecorated. There are boxes of lights and ornaments crowded around it, as forgotten as the tree.

"How many days are there to Thanksgiving?" I ask Kenny. He sits next to me, sprawled across the couch with me as some random movie plays on the screen. Not that we're watching it. We're both too engrossed in our own thoughts, both minds playing over last night's conversation. "Or did it pass already?"

"No, I don't think so," Ken says, absentmindedly fishing his phone out of his pocket. He glances briefly at the screen, only turning it on for a few seconds before he turns it off and tosses it down next to him. "We have twelve days to Thanksgiving."

My hum is ignored by both of us as we dive back into our thoughts. Mine, of course, instantly go back to Altaïr. Circling between stressing about what decision he will come to and stupidly wondering if he will be back in time for Thanksgiving.

"I need a vacation," I mumbled to Kenny, slumping deeper into the couch as I do. My sore muscles both protest the moment and relish the shift as they relax against the soft cushions. Still, as tired as I am, my leg doesn't still. My knee bounces restlessly as my body begs me to move.

To do something.

"You technically just came back from one," he answers, sparing me a disbelieving glance as he does. He's almost as sore and tired as I am, but nowhere near as restless. In fact, he looks seconds away from taking a very well earned nap. "And you saw how well that went."

"It doesn't count as a vacation if you're almost killed."

"True," he agrees without a fuss, eyes drifting shut. He relaxes further into the couch, no doubt fully intending to give in to the need for sleep. He even goes as far as to toss one of his long legs over mine, effectively stilling it's not so quiet bouncing. "But where would you even want to go?"

"Venice?"

It's mostly a joke. The answer comes out with no actual thought on my part. It's an automatic response to something I had been contemplating about days ago. Thoughts of going to Venice had been on mind since Ezio's swirl first opened and, despite the disaster my trip to Jerusalem was, I don't see any reason not to go.

"I thought you wanted a break," Ken says, one eye slitting open to pin me with an unbelieving stare. I just shrug, eyes going back to the long-forgotten movie on the screen.

"There's nothing for us to do in Venice except sightseeing," I tell him, shrugging. "Ezio's time doesn't really need us to intervene. At least not until he defeats the Borgia Pope. Then we have to warn him to evacuate Monteriggioni before Cesare Borgia attacks and kills Uncle Mario. Oh and kidnaps Leonardo too."

"This is doing nothing to convince me to go."

"Well how about this," I tell him, sitting up and pushing his leg off my mine. He sits up too, nap forgotten as he realizes I'm being serious now. "Ezio's time isn't anywhere near as dangerous for us as Altaïr's. As far as I remember, there aren't guards ready to chase you all across Ezio's world outside of the major cities unless you gain notoriety. But it's been awhile since I played the games so I could be wrong."

"Still not convinced."

"Alright, well, right now, game-wise, we're actually on a break between major missions for Ezio," I try again. "He has nothing big to attend to, which is why he's always been here with us since the swirl open. In fact, this is the part of his life the game completely jumps over because there's just nothing interesting going on, which means there's really no danger to him or any other Assassins up until his birthday where he is told about the apple by…what was her name?"

"If you don't know, I have no hope of knowing."

"Right, I think it was Rosa, but whatever. Point is it's an almost peaceful time for Ezio right now so what better time to take a trip to Venice but before shit hits the fans and he has to fight the Borgia?"

"And if it isn't peaceful?" he asks trepidation in his voice as grabs his phone and lights the screen up. "What are we going to do if we get attacked?"

"Will take weapons, of course!" I tell him, watching as he taps away at his phone screen. "And Ezio, we can't forget about Ezio."

"What about me?" Ezio asks, coming out from the kitchen, a bottle of water in one hand and a mug in the other. He hands the mug to Kenny before scooping up Kenny's still outstretched legs and plopping down in between us. He settles Kenny's legs on top of his own, skillfully ignoring the slight blush on the other's cheeks. "I only understood a few words of that, but I think my English is definitely improving."

"I'm trying to convince Ken we should take a trip to Venice," I tell Ezio as he opens his bottle of water and takes a deep, long pull. "Say, how long does it take to get to Venice anyways?"

"On horseback? Two or three days. Depends on how hard you push the horses," Ezio says as he pulls the bottle away from his lips. "If you do not care about your horse breaking down, you could probably make the trip in a day and a half. Though your horse will probably not survive the trip."

"So let's just say three days, then?"

"Yes, three days sounds fair," he agrees, turning to Kenny with a slightly heartbroken look. He has the puppy eyes out full force as he does. "Why would you be against visiting Venice?"

Kenny, bless his soul, can do nothing but stutter and mumble out incomplete sentences as Ezio hits him with the full force of his puppy eyes. Unwilling to displease Ezio anymore, Kenny fumbles for an answer that won't offend Ezio.

"He thinks it's dangerous," I answer for him, snickering at the glare Kenny throws at me. Ezio just pouts at the answer. "I'm trying to convince him it's not."

"I will admit the trip is dangerous, for an assassin, which neither of you are," Ezio says, a thoughtful look on his face as he considers all the points to this. "The only danger that you would face on a trip to Venice might be a bandit but you will definitely not be hunted down as Assassins. In fact, you would be relatively safe even if I were to escort you there directly."

"Oh, why is that?" I ask.

"I have not been out causing trouble," Ezio says, shrugging when I give him an incredulous look. "I have been here all this time with you lot. My notoriety actually has not increased in weeks. In fact, I am pretty sure the guards have even completely forgotten of my existence by this point."

"Oh, so definitely nowhere near as dangerous as Altaïr's time?"

"Absolutely not. In fact, it might even be your safest trip yet," Ezio agrees, a smile on his face. He shoots off his seat then, rushing to his feet in his excitement. Though he only stays standing for the time it takes him to bow and hold out his hand. "So how about it, Kenneth Chase? Would you allow me the honor of escorting you and Miss Jennifer to the beautiful city of Venice?"

Kenny's blush is a sight to see then. With how light and clear his face is, the blush reaches from the tips of his ears to down his neck. I can't help my giggles then, but I try my hardest to choke them down when Ken throws another glare in my direction.

"I don't know why you all insist in calling me Kenneth," Kenny grumbles in embarrassment even as he places his own hand in Ezio's. "My name is Kenny, Kenny Chase, but very well. I accept but so help me, if I die, I will come back to haunt you and your whole bloodline."

"I will not let you die, Kenneth," Ezio teases as he pulls Kenny from his seat and onto his feet. Ken yelps at the sudden pull and barely has time to catch himself on Ezio's chest lest he falls into him. "I'll protect you with my life."

Whelp, it seems that ship has sailed.

"We call you Kenneth exactly because your name is just Kenny Chase," I tell them him, watching the scene in front of me with a huge smile splitting my lips. "No middle name and incredibly plain. Even if we use your whole name there's no dramatic effect to it unless we go and extend it to Kenneth."

"You're one to talk, Jennifer Hernandez," Kenny says, shooting me another glare though this time it's from Ezio's arms as the older man goes to wrap one strong, sturdy arm around Ken's waist. "You don't have a middle name either."

"True but my full name is already long enough to add the necessary dramatic effect if you say the whole thing," I tell him as I stand, stretching out sore muscles. "Just like 'Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad' and 'Ezio Auditore da Firenze'. You really can't lengthen 'Jennifer' any more than that unless you're going to go and give me a middle name."

"You would love that, wouldn't you?"

"Maybe," I tease as I turn off the television. Ken stays in Ezio's arms for a little longer, pretending he's not melting into his arms as he does. "Anyways, are we on for a mini vacation to Venice, or no?"

"You really think your parents are going to let you go off on another adventure so soon?" Ken asks, hands still firmly pressed to Ezio's broad chest. They haven't stepped away from each other and it doesn't look like they will any time soon.

It warms my heart to see them that way too. To finally see Ken stop fighting. To see him relax and finally let something good into his life. That boy really knows how to push away all the good things in life and I can't even blame him.

With a mother like Victoria, no one can.

"They really can't say no," I tell him as I make my way out of the living room. With another trip on the horizon, I need to start packing now. Though this time, since the trip will be so short, I'll only be taking a few sets of clothes and toiletries. "Minerva seems only to be able to really hijack my dreams and talk to me when I'm on their side."

"Hasn't she done it before while you were on this side too?" Ken asks as he finally pulls out of Ezio's arms to follow me. Ezio lets him go reluctantly but there's no hiding the way his eyes trail over Kenny as he watches him move.

"Once," I correct him as we make our way down the hall and towards my room. "When Ezio's swirl opened. That's the only time she visited my dreams while I wasn't in their world. Other than that she only disturbs me when I'm over there."

"The Energy!" Ken shouts then, hands shooting out to stop me from walking into my room. Instead, they pull me back towards the living room and up the stairs before I can even fully process what he's saying.

"Ken, what energy?"

~oOo~

Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad:

He doesn't look at the papers for days. They stay carefully tucked away in Hamza's saddlebag even days into his journey to Masyaf. They're not forgotten though. They stay on his mind constantly, teasing him with their existence long into the days and nights.

It's only sheer force of will and determination that keeps him from reading them the second Jennifer is out of sight. Then it's just the knowledge that he knows he's not ready.

As much as he wants to know the answers that the papers hide, he knows he's not mentally prepared to read the words painted across the pages in black ink. He really isn't ready, not when they hold so many secrets.

Too many.

It hasn't escaped his attention how the family tiptoes around him every once in a while. How they stall, words stuck in their throats as they try to figure out whether whatever they are currently discussing is something he can be told about. Never mind that the actual papers in his hand, The Codex Pages that the family has been trying not so subtly to hide from him, reveal more than even he thinks he's prepared to know about.

He's caught a glimpse of them before. Just passing glances at words written in a language he can't read as they cluttered a table or two. But, as with everything else, he knew better to ask. There's just so much at stake. So much that can could go wrong if they say the wrong thing.

Jennifer has said it herself.

"Ah, but the question isn't: What is Minerva hiding? It's: What she was trying to stop? What was it she saw if she showed you everything? What would happen if I just opened my mouth and told all that you would come to learn in the next few months? See the real question is: What's safe to say and what isn't?"

And this, giving him The Codex Pages he will later come to write, seems a lot like something fairly unsafe in his opinion. Since Jennifer's first warning about the dangers of revealing too much, he's resigned himself to never being able to ask about what will come.

He's accepted that all his questions about the future Jennifer so fears are better left unanswered. So he's stayed quiet, never questioning and never peeking at the plethora of information always so carelessly strewed across their home.

That he probably wouldn't have been able to read well over half of it had never mattered to him. He'd still kept his gaze politely pointed away, instead focusing on the here, on Jennifer, and any bit of information she willing offered.

So this, being offered something from what is technically his future self is…well, intimidating is a word for it among many other things. Foolish being one of them, of course. Sure, he understands the importance of his decision on a deep, personal level, but when it comes to the greater scheme of things?

Why risk so much?

Why make such a foolish move over something like this?

When he already knows what his choice will be.

Codex Pages be damned.

Jennifer is his.

He almost tears the papers into sherd then. Almost lets them be scattered by the wind but he doesn't. The long-buried curiosity doesn't let him. Not after having been restrained for so long. So he doesn't rip up the pages like he should. Nor does he let the wind take them.

Instead, in the dead of night by the light of a dwindling campfire, he finally pulls the pages from the saddlebags. Somewhere a cricket chirps, slow and constant while Hamza huffs into the patch of grass he's munching away at.

He stares at the papers in the dying light, more than a little tempted to simply toss them into the fire. He doesn't though. No matter how much he wants to, he can't. Not when they have answers to questions he never thought he would get to ask.

So no matter how risky and dangerous he thinks this all is, he slowly lets his eyes take in the words.

He's only human, after all.

Thirtieth of March, 1478

First Entry:

'She dances under the moonlight. Sways to only a beat she can hear as she stares up at the stars. Somewhere in the distance Epona knickers, hooves falling quietly on the grass as he nears her. She doesn't flinch, doesn't stop her soft swaying as he comes to her, ears perked high on his head.

She just giggles, no fear in her movements as she goes to place her hands on his cheeks. He allows it only for a moment. He soaks up the warmth of her hands for a few seconds before he starts to bob his head. The giggles grow in volume and numbers as she follows the beat of his nods.

Soon they're dancing to a beat all their own as the stars shine down on them.

She knows him, trusts him so deeply she doesn't startle when he begins to paw at the ground. She only giggles harder. That's all it takes. It's not too long before they're off frolicking in the distance, slowly chasing each other across the wide open pasture.

"She was made for this," I whisper, not to her or the horse she so deeply trusts. No, I whisper to the babe quietly slumbering in my arms. "She was made to be here, with me, with us."

Despite so many doubts, so many trouble and so many pains, she belongs here. Under the moonlight, living a life free as the wind that brings her giggles to our ears.

Even in his sleep, the babe smiles at the sounds of her giggles, comforted by them.

Yes, Jennifer belongs here.'

Seventh of April, 1478

Second Entry:

'Giggle sounds, soft and low. Somewhere there are sounds of rustling hay as boot-clad feet shuffle through it, disturbing the otherwise quiet night. The guards on duty pay it no mind, content to ignore the giggles and rustling when it's already so late.

In the dead of the night, with only torches to keep the darkness away, danger lurks so they keep at bay. Willfully ignoring the rustles and the giggles, they continue on their patrols, never stopping even as the giggles grow louder.

I follow them.

Let them lead me deeper into heavily guarded territory as we scale the walls of some otherwise peaceful building.

I catch glimpse of her as go. Just small glances of a body as it disappears over a ledge or around a corner. Always just within sight before disappearing again with another litany of small, quiet giggles. But I don't speed up, I don't hurry to catch her.

Content to just follow her, I let her lead me up.

Up a tower, over a ledge, and to the top of a flanking tower of a building I haven't bothered to remember or identify. Not when my whole attention is centered on her and her giggles and the leisurely chase of my prey.

She stops when she finally reaches the top.

She stands there, back straight and shoulders heaving. Facing the moon that sits high and full in the dark sky, she stares at it. It bathes her in its glow. Showers her in pale light the makes her skin glow ivory.

Ethereal.

And when she turns, hood pooled around her neck and long brown hair styled in tight braids, there's a smile on her face. Bright and wide and oh so full of life. One that only deepens as pale blue eyes land on me.

"Maria."'