EDIT: Wow remind me as not to try and post from the phone again. I royally goofed some things I see. Sorry for any repeat notifications.

Also just a head's up I plan on going back to edit/change some things to try to make the story more cohesive. One of those changes was the placement of Tristan's tattoo. It is now on her wrist since I came to realize that on her hand was... well it's hard to hide y'all. Also plot reasons. So yeah just a mix-up on my part.

ANYWAY, love you peeps and enjoy the show

-TK

~*XVI*~

Talk

December 31, 1476

Mom,

The day I left for Montréal; you told me to at least attempt in keeping in touch with the fam. I know, I know I've been slacking on that front, and I know what you would say: "If your brother can do it from a ship in the middle of the Indian Ocean, you can do it from Canada too." And you'd be right, and I can't exactly make excuses. Worst even, I pick the shittiest time to make do on my promises.

Of course, there lies a problem.

I'm not in Canada. I'm... I'm not even in North America right now.

If you can't tell from the date, I'm not exactly in the same century anymore.

Much as I want it to be mom, this is not some kind of fucked up prank. I am in the past, in the middle of Renaissance-era Florence to be exact—which is ironic given that history was always Dad's domain. I can already imagine him listing all the accomplishments and how important this year was...

Hell, knowing him he'd ramble about all of the important Assassin figures who resided during this time too.

Right, shit, going down memory lane isn't the reason I'm writing this.

I'm sorry Mom for not doing something sooner. It's killing me inside that I'm telling you all this from a damned letter that may never actually reach you. And, who knows, maybe I will still show up on your front porch in the end and I can burn this stupid thing with the greatest of satisfaction and relief knowing I'll never have to send it. (Would 'send' be the right word in this context? I'm rather stuck 500ish years in the past... so how would that even work out given a post office isn't really a thing here? Ha ha fuck, this is a weird thing to dwell on. Dad would probably know, though.)

But if that's not the case, and if this does reach you wherever, whenever you are, then I am probably dead, have been for a long time, and—

"Well, this is beginning to sound fucking stupid. May as well start calling myself 'McFly' and pretend I drive a goddamn DeLorean."

Tristan stifled a humorless laugh and ran a hand over her face, but she stubbornly kept going as the pencil scratched across the paper. She got four lines more lines in and managed to even sign on her name, before:

P.S. Please tell Dad I'm sorry. I was so stupidly angry—

Frustrated sounds soon ripped out of her throat as the pen clattered out of her hand, right before she angrily shoved the journal away, nearly toppling both of them to the floor. Writing a letter should feel normal, just one word at a time; yet as she looked around the tiny room with sparse but neat furniture lit only by a single sconce, none of this was normal.

She resisted the urge to cup her face again; Hell, to throw things across the room. To curse and snarl. Rip everything apart with her bare hands. Instead of any of those, she pawed aside the thick curtain to glance outside, briefly squinting as sunlight flooded the room. A few hours must have passed since Ezio had left, for the sun was beginning to sink behind some of Florence's smaller towers, casting deep shadows across the streets. As she watched a few late denizens out and about, Tristan's lips thinned. Her current predicament was not helped by her mind being preoccupied elsewhere with things far out of her control. Not just with Ezio's absence, of course. She had wished him a bit of quiet good luck before he had departed on his grim quest. Nor was it the two women in the few rooms over doing their best in keeping brave faces despite their best efforts in comforting a life in peril.

"I'll just be here to pick up the pieces after your mother has to bury you too."

Tristan emitted a long sigh before letting the curtains drop again, eyes tightly shut. Now she wasn't in the mood for writing, but she didn't quite blame the man for avoiding her. She ran her hands over her face, proceeding to put her head against the desk, lightly hitting it with the accompanying chorus of "stupid, stupid, stupid..."

Eventually, she stilled, a deep sigh escaping her before she stood up. Maybe a break and a good stretching of the legs would do her well. Clear her head, even. At least grant herself a much-needed change of scenery that didn't involve her scraggly handwriting in poorly lit conditions.

She stumbled as a wave of dizziness struck her, and she caught herself on the table, making it rattle subtly. "Or maybe get some food," she muttered ruffling a hand through her hair as she glanced at the mounted sconce. Just how long had she been glued to trying to write that damn letter, anyway? Didn't quite matter now since any construct on what time it was either didn't exist or was wholly different from what she knew. Tristan scowled but shook her head as she walked heavy-footed through the doorway.

It was thankfully quiet this time of the day since most of the courtesans and their "patrons" were on the other side of the brothel. As she was told in a brief aside once, this part of the Rose wasn't used very much for a variety of reasons, and until Paola decided on how she was going to better utilize it in the future, it was an excellent hiding spot for fugitives, thieves, and their strange bedfellows.

And Assassins; she frowned, rubbing her hands together.

Dinner was a brief affair and while it was filling, more than once Tristan lamented under her breath, "What I wouldn't give for a goddamn taco." Even though peppers weren't a thing here nor the glory that was salsa. Either way, no mouth-watering tacos for Tristan.

And yet as the minutes ticked by, and as the other family members flittered in and out with their faces drawn tight, there had still been no sign of Federico. She had hesitantly asked around the surrounding women, but she had been met only with shrugs, some jealous side-eyes. and more than one dreamy stare as they ruminated on the man's prowess in bed and the size of his—

Well, Tristan snorted as she dropped off her now empty dish, didn't need to finish that thought.

But it hadn't been a total bust. Before she left to begrudgingly attempt to write some more, a rather jubilant woman with bright eyes and a plunging neckline by the name of Guilia had informed her she had last seen Federico making his way back to his room; all the while implying that he seemed to have had an eventful evening.

It was why she stood outside his room, worrying her lip. Tristan lifted her hand and then hesitated. Should she—? It was much better than working on a damn letter. "Hey, I was just wondering—" but the door swung open as her knuckles lightly brushed against the wood grain.

And all she could do was stare at the drapes fluttering about on the wind, the open window seeming to almost mock her as it slowly clicked in her head: Federico, gone; window, open.

"Fuck—" she practically shouldered past the door and flew to the window, her eyes flying to the rooftops as if that was going to magically summon the slippery bastard. When he unsurprisingly did not trot up, she stifled a groan, pressing her forehead against the ledge in an attempt to cool her rising ire. She dryly noted that it failed spectacularly.

"I'm going to fucking kill him." She whined in barely veiled anger smacking the stone in tandem with the words for good measure before throwing a dirty glare outside the window. "And then I'm going to bring him back just to kick his ass all across of Florence— that won't do. Kick his ass all over goddamn Italy the idiot."

She gripped the window's ledge with white knuckles, lifting a leg. This is stupid. She hesitantly eased herself out of the window, sitting on the edge as she snuck a glance at the rough-hewn streets below the awning that jutted out. I'm incredibly fucking stupid. But on the other, there was no way in hell she was going to let him do this on his own, the fucking idiot. If she had to physically drag him back, so help her. She sucked in a breath and then with one foot after the other, she went to step down and—

"You know that there are stairs, right?"

Tristan squawked in some unholy amalgamation of Spanglish, arms pinwheeling as she threw herself backward. She quickly caught herself and awkwardly shuffled around to find Federico casually leaning against the door frame, foot tucked back, and an undecipherable expression plastered on his features. Was it bemusement? Vexation? It was hard to tell given half of his face was covered in shadow, but it took Tristan far too long to realize he was only wearing pants, with the shirt (shirts? God how many layers did the man have?) he had been wearing tucked on one elbow as he clutched a large bottle while in his other hand, he carried his boots by the tip of his two fingers. "Unless you wish to take the hard way down. Although I wouldn't necessarily recommend that route."

She silently cursed, tearing her eyes away as her cheeks began to warm. "I saw the window open, and I thought—" she trailed off, realizing how this was looking. Shame had her looking down not unlike the family dog having been caught in a place where they weren't supposed to be. She ran a hand over her face, stifling a vent as she slid off the ledge, cheeks growing even hotter. Between getting caught and him being— Oh God, Tristan that wasn't an invitation to look. Idiot. Even if he was built. "Suppose it doesn't matter since clearly, you're still around. I—I guess I'll be on my way then—"

"And if I hadn't been?" He interjected quietly, subtly sidestepping to cut off her escape route as he dropped his boots.

"I..." She trailed off. What had she been planning on doing, exactly? Tristan had been fueled by such worry and spite, that she practically had been about to throw herself out the window. Without realizing how much of a liability she truly was. What good would she have done in her current state? Tripped a bitch? Right. Tristan slumped massaging her eyes, a dry laugh escaping her throat. "You know what— I didn't think that one through, honestly."

Federico merely shook his head and threw the stray articles of clothing on the bed, leaving only the bottle as he leisurely strolled past her to the still-open window. "Well, I almost wasn't," he softly said settling his arms on the sill, stooping slightly with a drawn-out sigh. "I opened this window with all intents and purposes to follow after Ezio because the idea of him doing this alone..." He absently traced the bottle's rim. "But as I stood here about to do the same thing you were planning; I could not help but reflect on what you said. And no matter how long I tried or convince myself otherwise, I couldn't bring myself to... just do it. To jump. So, I decided to clear my head instead."

Her eyes flicked to the back of his head, his still damp hair sticking up at odd angles. Then to the red welts on his neck before finally lowering to the long line of scratches down his back. Well, someone got lucky. "Before or after the bath?"

"Ah." The devilish smile that flashed was a terse and contrive one. "Are we jealous, Tristan?" It was an expected response but it had her rudely snorting all the same as her eyes went skyward. "Please. Like I give two shits as to whom you bump uglies with."

It only had him smirking more, and she secretly was glad to see his old self peeking through. but soon, the false machismo disappeared as he once again turned towards the window, worry scrunching his brows together.

With the door wide open, Tristan knew she could easily walk out and leave him alone with his thoughts if she so desired. He wasn't going anywhere, that much was obvious and she felt reassured because of it. But no, she turned and took a couple of short steps before wordlessly sliding herself into the nearest chair. She said nothing, merely waiting patiently until the moment he felt ready to get whatever was on his chest off. They sat in relative silence for some time, occasionally broken up with him swigging his drink. Before long, he lifted his arm, offering the bottle. His shoulders had sagged even further as his gaze stayed affixed on the horizon. Notably in the same direction of where his brother had disappeared just hours prior— where Tristan hoped Ezio was alright. "I never imagined it going this way," was all he miserably said.

Tristan had never been one to turn down a free drink, and so, she readily accepted it; although she did not drink from it yet, absently passing the bottle from one hand to another as she stifled a frown watching the contents slosh around. "If you're referring to the sudden knowledge of discovering that your family belongs to an ancient cabal of philosophical killers throughout the ages, I truly don't think anyone would want to find out this way. And—" she paused, mulling on it before waving her hand about with the bottle, "technically, he still doesn't know what he's getting into."

He sharply glanced her way and she briefly worried that her mouth just got her in deep water again before a dry laugh like scraping leaves escaped him. "Alright… that is fair." He propped an elbow on the sill, cradling his head. "So that brings us to the next question: when did you learn?"

Tristan pursed her lips, memory flicking back to that fateful day. She remembered the office, walls adorned with old weapons and grand paintings. The creaking leather chair her father had sat on. His shoulders slumped with some great purpose's weight as he asked for them to sit in the seat opposite.

That had been the day she learned that the grand tales of the Assassins of Alamut and Masyaf had been real.

"…Brent and I were ten or so, but unofficially as early as six." She spread her hands about with a shrug as his eyebrows threatened to disappear into his hairline. "My father was a historian and used his job to procure Assassin artifacts for safekeeping. As kids, he would entertain us with rather unique bedtime stories to get us to sleep."

Tristan's mind flashed to the Clock sitting innocently on the nightstand in her room and her lips briefly thinned. But it was only until recently did I learn that some weren't exaggerated fairy tales to enchant the minds of children." Her gaze flicked back to him. "And you?" she could not help but ask.

"Shortly after my twelfth birthday," he said with a fond but bittersweet smile as he stole a glance out the window again, in hopes of spying a wayward Ezio coming home. "And it was a complete and utter accident. I don't think my mother has quite forgiven my father and Uncle for it." He sobered slightly. "And then I spent the next eight years wondering why he was so reluctant in telling Ezio. Even as I subtly taught him our ways. Like how to observe, to escape unnoticed, even as how to set one's foot in the right place so as not to disturb a roof tile." He then fell quiet, dropping his gaze. When he spoke next, his voice was barely above a whisper, wrought with anguish. "Now after everything that has happened, I realized why the hesitance. And I want nothing more as not to."

Her heart constricted at hearing him say that and she wished there were something she could do, to ease his pain. Even just slightly. And yet… She too found herself staring towards the city line. Daylight had already crept silently away, with the occasional blinking star or two to usher in the night. It had her wondering if Ezio was on his way right now. If he was one step closer to choosing this life or rejecting it outright.

"The idea of it is never easy," she eventually murmured, drawing on her experience. "The unknown of it all is a scary thing, but sometimes it's for the best given the 'Nothing is True' song and dance we grew up with. Of course, 'to say that nothing is true, is to realize that the foundations of society are fragile, and that we must be the shepherds of our own civilization. To say that everything is permitted, is to understand that we are the architects of our actions, and that we must live with their consequences, whether glorious or tragic.'" She was rather surprised at herself for having remembered that passage despite reading it only once years ago.

So too was Federico for a brow rose. "And where is that from?"

Tristan waved it off. "Some Mentor's Codex my father was in the middle of translating for the Archives. Anyway, the point is: we must come to terms with the fact that some things are out of our control. And it's up to us on how to respond to them. Sometimes a leap of faith is more like a leap into faith. Faith that everything will work out in the end. It's why I left the Assassins to pursue my own path. And it's why eventually you are going to tell Ezio the truth. Even if it hurts a lot."

The silence was initially her companion as he uncomfortably shifted. But then he stiffly nodded, massaging the side of his head as he stifled a long sigh. "…You're right, of course." Federico's gaze flicked sideways before averting to the city again, a shaky breath escaping him, despite his best attempt at inserting a little bit of humor: "Suppose you can say I told you so now if you wish."

But Tristan vehemently shook her head. "And I won't find any pleasure in it." She perched the bottle on a knee as she reached out and lightly placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it. "Because I don't want to be right in any of this. I wish this could have panned out differently. I especially don't think ill of you for wanting to help. From one older sibling to the other— okay not like significantly older, but I was five minutes before my twin—I recognize that you're only trying to look out for him. As you always have. As you always will. And I've faith you will do the right thing once more when the time comes."

Of course, he said nothing in response, merely bowing his head and closing his eyes.

"But do you want the honest truth?" She brought her hand up and pinched her fingers together, playfully squinting. "Last night, I was just a little bit selfish. Because, when I find myself with a new friend, I tend to want to keep them alive for as long as possible. Especially if they're the only ones whom I feel comfortable being myself around. Because, boy, let me tell you—if I have to pretend to be some English noble lady one more time..."

It was then he shifted slightly, doing a poor job at hiding his amusement as he peeked an eye open, humming, "Just a little bit?"

Tristan shrugged. "Claudia and I cannot be the only ones to keep Ezio in his place you know. Besides not having you trade jabs with would make for an absolute boring time."

"Is that all I am to you?" he straightened, looking mock indignant while setting a hand on his hip. "Cheap entertainment? Well, I will have you know—"

She hid the smile as he proceeded to go on a humorous mock-rant by occupying her lips and swigging what she presumed was a well-picked Italian wine. But oh no. That would have been too nice. She found it to be a bitter thing; dry as a bone with a back taste that kicked like an angry mule. Alas, she forced it down, shaking her head with a cough, and choked out, "Oh my God, what the fuck is that?" as she extended the suddenly offensive bottle back.

A humorless chuckle escaped him. "Unfortunately, the best I could find at this hour. And of course, it's utter shit." He still took a drink, however since beggars could not be choosers after all, even as he too grimaced. Federico ambled to the bed that was opposite her, easing himself onto it. But even then, it didn't stop the wince from flashing across his face as he sat down.

"You never did go see a doctor did you." She could not help but observe dryly.

He blew a stray strand of hair out of his eyes. "And pray tell, what good would one do? While clearly not as quickly as you, we Auditore often recover quicker than others. Going to a doctor now would be a pointless endeavor and worst, a waste of florins. Besides—" He flicked his hands towards the outside, somewhat amused. "I am a wanted man with my face plastered all across the city walls. Would

n't be very wise to go out right now."

Tristan rolled her eyes cupping her chin as she resisted the urge to throw a pointed but envious look at the significantly faded but still visible bruises that dotted his figure. However, her eyes did flick to the cuts across his face. But whatever, if he didn't want to get help, who was she to argue? "Well, fat lot of good it did me," she couldn't help but mutter, proceeding to make the grave mistake of slapping her leg in emphasis. Too late did she realize her mistake as she resisted the urge to keel over cursing every word in every language that came to mind. She spied from the corner of her eye, a rather curious but strange look about Federico as he glanced between her and the leg she clutched.

"I never did thank you, did I."

She snapped her attention to him, the pain swiftly becoming nothing more than a simmering pot that she pushed to the back of her mind. Her gaze did not remain there for long before they lowered to her hands to avoid looking at the shame and grief carved into his features. It was far too much to handle. Her hands soon began ringing themselves around and around akin to a dryer stuck on its cycle. The hunched-over inky bird that was both a tattoo and a family heritage seemed to glare accusingly at her in the brief glimpses she could see it.

"It's not like really necessary, though?" she absently stammered. "It was something anyone could have done. I just wish I could have done more. The damned thing stopped fucking time and I still couldn't even—"

"No," came the blunt interruption that had her head jerking up and ire rising again.

"You didn't even let me finish—" she began to protest but he stopped her once more, this time with a raised hand and a saccharine smile. Both of which made her instantly huff.

"And I already know what you're planning on saying and again, no." He grew serious. "I will not allow the woman who saved my and my brother's life from the hangman's noose to justify some twisted sense of self-hatred because of what she couldn't do. What more could you have done when you were the only one brave enough to do something? While I doubt I will ever understand what happened, I do know one thing, and that is you faced such an impossible task with no easy solution in sight, and I do not fault you for whatever choice you had to make in the heat of the moment. Even if I could, I wouldn't. Because none of this was your doing."

His eyes roved over her face and the hard edge softened. "But If you still don't believe me, tell me then: are you able to control it?"

She would have stared if it weren't for the prickly feeling that threatened the corner of her eyes. And yet, as her will to argue crumbled, a sense of liberation took its place. Yet she stubbornly rubbed her face against her shoulder, shoving back down the thoughts that threatened to rise once more.

"Honestly?" She cleared her throat. "I don't even know how it works. I know that there's an entity attached. I know it brought me here and it translates what everyone's saying around me— even converts books and text far as I can tell. And supposedly it can heal as well, but as you can see—" she gestured angrily at her leg— "that's a fucking gamble within itself. But beyond that? It serves nothing more than a paperweight and a painful reminder that I don't know why I'm here and that I had no say in my arrival here."

He nodded solemnly. "You are referring to the man who put it into your pocket initially, no?" It was said so casually despite the man's rather stiff demeanor, which prompted Tristan to narrow her eyes at him.

"You really were eavesdropping, huh?" She muttered in an almost accusatory manner. He sheepishly grinned despite the glimmer of unapologetic defiance in his eyes. Sorry, but not sorry the action said. Bless him. "But yes... him. And I do hope we never meet again because the temptation to kick him in the balls would be too much of a temptation to resist." She gritted through her teeth, the hand on her leg tightening.

In the silence that followed, a poorly hidden chortle escaped Federico as he put a hand over his face, rubbing it.

"What." She deadpanned.

"Ah, it is nothing significant I assure you." A cheeky grin broke out. "Just that while I have not met many to make a proper comparison, I am afraid to say that you make for an awful English noblewoman."

Her fingers twitched in the absence of something to throw at him and his dumb face. His dumb handsome face she added. "Oh, fuck off, and go put a shirt on already."

"Ah, but I thought you liked what you were seeing?" Federico smiled sweetly as he grabbed the nearest article of clothing, being sure to mock her with a flexed torso. "I will respectfully do so but only if you turn around. It is my room after all."

Tristan would have snapped a rather witty comeback if two things had not happened at the same time.

The first being Federico stiffening as his now golden eyes snapped out the window, a look of what was once shock and then relief washing over him; a strange but joyous sign that Tristan knew the prodigal son was returning from his grim deed.

The second was a breathless Claudia appearing at the wide-open door, her eyes red and despair nipping at her heels as she latched onto the doorjamb.

"It's Petruccio."

~*End*~

*hides* Sorry y'all

TK's History Fun Facts

I Dottori

We've all heard the jokes about medicine during this era. And we have a strange obsession with beaked masks because of the recent Plague (and how wicked they look). However, the Renaissance surprisingly had a lot of advances in the medicinal field. For example, an Italian doctor and scholar by the name of Girolamo Fracastoro (1478-1553) suggested that epidemics may come from pathogens outside the body. He proposed that these might pass from human-to-human by direct or indirect contact. And Ambroise Paré (1510–1590) a revolutionary French Royal Surgeon who also had experience with military medicine helped lay the foundations for modern forensic pathology and surgery. Paré also believed that phantom pains, sometimes experienced by amputees, were related to the brain, and not something mysterious within the amputated limb.

Thoughts? Theories? Random bouts of screaming? Lemme know! Reviews and constructive criticisms are always welcome. Have a good one, folks.

-TK