TMWolf: Woo! That vacation was a good one and I feel recharged some. Definitely a good visit, and ready for an early-late update hehe xD So this is a fun chapter. Just fyi. It's all 'Cat this time and sets up some important things to come, so keep an eye out! :'D

Your reviews are loved and I appreciate any and all who read my story! If you have any comments, questions, critiques, or what not, feel free to drop one and I'll be happy to answer! :'D

Not much else to say beyond the song is from Taylor Swift. Definitely not, ah, related to the lyrics, but the title definitely fit xD

08 – Look What You Made Me Do

March 19, 1500

Castel Sant'Angelo

Rome, Italy

Catherine held the broom out in front of her, feet set apart just so; enough to keep her balance, but in a such a way she could move any which way. She grasped with both hands, eyes set ahead. She breathed in deeply, and then pounced; slicing up and then in a wide swing with one arm, the other held out for balance. She bent a knee slightly, and then ducked beneath an invisible sword. She grasped hold with both hands against as she rose back up, swinging her arm up in a high arch. She spun back around to face towards her vanity, broom still set in front of her; ready to strike, but with no need to—the battle had been won.

Clapping followed, and the redhead grinned at the young woman standing by her bed, excitement bright in her eyes. Catherine shifted her grip on the broom and held it out to Paula, whom reclaimed the tool and started to sweep as she had been just a minute earlier.

"That's one swordplay stance and a few moves I was taught back home. There's plenty more to go with it, and you have to adjust for every type of sword or weapon you have. I'd throw in a few rolls, but these stones are pretty hard, and my belly is a little big for it right now," she chuckled, patting at her abdomen, which had begun to swell some as she'd said. Not too much, but enough to make it obvious she was with child. It was both a source of delight and dismay, but it was what it was. At the very least she could still wield a weapon, which was something.

"I can't believe you really know how to use a sword! I don't think I've heard of any women who do!" Paula laughed before suddenly swinging the broom, attempting to copy the motions. Her attempt was poor, of course, but she still laughed once more. "It feels so strange! How did you even come to wield a blade?"

Catherine shrugged, "Well, I wasn't really fond of becoming a 'proper' lady. I like to run around and make better use of myself. And, well, fate deemed it that way, I guess you could say. It's a lot more fun than you think. I'd personally recommend more women take it up."

"Oh, no, I couldn't! I'm certainly not made for such things," the young woman giggled as she shuffled dust towards one corner. "Mother would faint if I did! And Lord knows what my Papa might think!"

"Oh, come now. Is it really that disturbing for a young woman such as yourself to swing a sword around?" the redhead grinned impishly, settling down on the edge of her bed. She played with the heel of her slipper as Paula turned to face her, a pout on her olive face.

"I'll have you know, I was raised not to be so… so… uncouth," she huffed, and Catherine clutched at her chest, right over her heart, in mock-pain.

"Ah! I'm so offended! I'll have you know, though, I am hardly uncouth. I prefer 'savage'."

"My Lady, please. You tease too much."

"Paula, you're pretty much my only friend here, I've got to tease you a little," the redhead snickered, pausing only to lift her feet so the maid could clean under there. "That, and I feel bad you have to clean for me. You seem too smart for this kind of work."

"I'm afraid I was not blessed to be an educated lady. My family is not poor, but not noble, either. Other noble ladies such as yourself are educated," she replied, gaze falling some.

"Well, that's silly… you would have like my home. Most any girl could be educated there if she wished it, although most did end up learning home skills, which are just as useful. Most men can't cook or sew to save their life. Hell, I had to learn to sew for Ezio when Annetta—our maid—refused because he got his shirt ripped too much one time."

Paula laughed, but then stifled it quickly, "Forgive me. You just… you speak it so plainly. I am torn between believing what you say, and wondering if you really are a noblewoman."

"Just because I'm educated doesn't mean I'm going to act like most noble women. I mean, I do, when it calls for it, but I grew up around mercenaries and warriors. I prefer to throw a punch then hide behind pretty words. As the saying goes, 'actions speak louder than words'."

"'Actions speak…' I've never heard that before… It seems similar to: 'let us not love with word or with tongue, but in deed and truth'. Do you mean like that?"

Catherine paused, staring, "Uh… I've never heard that before."

"Ah—What? It's from the holy book!"

"The Bible? Oh, well, I never read that," she shrugged, and Paula gasped. Her eyes went almost as wide as the first day they'd met, and her face appeared to pale. Catherine raised a brow, "What? I haven't. And I don't have to. I've had more important things to do, and I don't need a book to tell me how to live."

"But—but it is the word of God."

"I don't think he minds—so as long I do my best to be a good person," she shrugged, and then waved her hand. "Look, don't think too hard on it. I'm just a fan of the Church—especially considering the man who leads their army kind of destroyed my home and killed my people for no good reason. Or, okay, my husband did attack the Pope, but he had a good reason. But he spared him in the end, so I mean… Wait, you're not going to get scared of me again are you? I promise I'm not some Devil spawn or a heretic or anything."

Of all things, Catherine didn't expect the young woman to huff a little, "I-I wasn't going to think that! I am merely… surprised. You are… very surprising in many things. It is unusual. You are unusual… but I do not think you are a bad person. You don't look down on me like the others, and you've faced the guards for me. You're… you're a good person, I think, my Lady."

"…Well, took you long enough to figure it out," she smirked, and was once against surprised by the young lady, whom threw her wiping rag at her. She managed to catch it and hold it back out to her, grinning. "I'm glad, though. You're a pretty good person, too. This might not be the best job for a lady, but I'd say your parents would be proud of you. I would be, to have a daughter with a heart like yours."

Her smile was soft, cheeks flushing some, "Thank-you… I do try to make them proud, even if they worry for me. The Borgia are a prominent family to work for, but…"

"Scary, too. Trust me, I know. They…. Haven't hurt you have they?" she asked carefully, but, to her relief, the young woman shook her head.

"No—no, they haven't… Lady Lucrezia can be harsh, but she has not struck me. Only the guards really bother us, and this allows my family to live comfortably after the hardships we've faced," she replied, glancing to the redhead. Catherine scrunched her brows both curiously and with worry. Paula waved at her this time. "Nothing serious. Just… the Borgia are kind, but… their rule is harsh. I serve to repay our debts is all."

"Tsk. Bet it's an overpriced charge, too. Typical tyrants. Well, when my husband is finished here, you won't need to work for them anymore," the redhead snorted, folding her arms tightly.

Paula looked to her, hands fumbling with her rag, "You… you think so? Your husband—this Ezio Auditore… he will… he's fighting them?"

"Yep. Been fighting them and their kind for a long time, and we've always come out on top."

"Not all the Borgia are so bad, though…"

"No, not all of them… but Cesare can't be left as he is. He's too dangerous. Lucrezia, maybe, although I'd love to punch her in the face," Catherine snorted, earning a shocked look. "What? She's the one that suggested taking my child as her own, or her brother's or something. She's not exactly in my good graces."

"My Lady is… she's not that bad… she can be kind… she is just…"

"Look, unless she goes around killing people for her own gain or doing as bad of things as her brother, then she'll be fine. Ezio's not fond of killing women, nor killing those who are innocent, even if it's only in a small way."

"Your husband does strange work. What are you, exactly? I've never heard of people doing such things."

"We… No," Catherine chuckled, gaze dropping to the floor. She shook her head, meeting Paula's gaze. "It's… better you don't know our names. The Borgia will get mad, I think, and I'd rather you be allowed to keep coming back here. But just… just know that… we work in the shadows to protect the light—the good in the world. To protect people like you and your mother and father."

Paula was quiet for a long while before she answered, "The city could use people like that… I think."

"Try and keep a look out. You might find the city is changing every day, little by little… and if it's for the better, then you'll know it's us."

The young woman did not reply beyond watching Catherine for a good long while, and then nodded with one of the stronger smiles the redhead had seen thus far. It was a sight for sore eyes, and let hope press a little further into her heart. It had been hard since coming here, but it honestly felt like there was a chance—a real chance. It wasn't the best option, but an ally was an ally, and if she could be swayed to the cause—if she could be willed to helping them, then Catherine could potentially escape. Or, at the very least, Paula could get word to the Assassins and her husband. If some of her allies had come here—she vaguely recalled Niccolo Machiavelli saying he would the night before the Villa attack—then maybe she could get word to them, too.

Paula was a ray of light in a very dark sky, and Catherine was going to do all she could to keep hold of it.

The door suddenly slammed open, causing both women to jump. Paula spun while Catherine turned, fists clenched and body tensed; ready to spring. If it was a guard come to cause trouble, she could handle it, which was why the redhead had to pause when she saw not a guard, but a man she hadn't seen since he'd burned her city down.

Cesare Borgia.

He wasn't in the same outfit, so she almost didn't recognize him. His silver, ornate armor was now just a black tunic with a white undershirt, both lined with a rim of gold. The sleeves went all the way to his wrists, where white gloves covered his hand. His pants matched his top, brown boots coming up to his knee. A cape flowed off his shoulders, and a dark-colored hat with rims of gold to match the rest sat on his head. His eyes, though—she could never forget them. While not as harsh, the vileness was there; the empty, soulless chasm of black on white. Those eyes belonged solely to her most hated enemy, and for him she had only a venomous stare.

Worse still, her second most hated being stood behind him: Micheletto. He wore the same coat he seemed to always enjoy, although the tunic and pants beneath were different. His wicked smirk was at is always was, and she dared to think it was permanently etched there. She could smell the blood from here, imagined or not, and was doubly aware of his movement; of how he watched her like a starved beast. With but a word, he would kill her, and he would take his time doing it. Worse still, he would enjoy every single moment of it.

"Enjoying the traitor's company, mm?" Cesare asked, eyes matched against Catherine's for a moment before turning on Paula. The young woman flinched and immediately dropped her gaze.

"Be grateful, Cesare—she's one of the few reasons I haven't tried to kill myself yet. You don't exactly give me much to not die from boredom," the redhead snapped, pulling the man's gaze back to her.

"My new son is not enough reason?" he replied coyly.

"My son is good reason, but boredom could make me do something dangerous."

"I see," he chuckled. A silence followed, and one could very well hear a heart beat during the long pause. Then, his eyes still locked on Catherine he spat, "Get out."

Paula didn't even look the redhead's way as she raced out, leaving her bucket and broom behind. Micheletto shut the door behind her and leaned against it, hands lowering to his side. He pulled back his coat slightly, revealing a dagger on his hip. Catherine only spared him a glance before focusing on Cesare once more, whom was no better than the Devil himself right now. She could sense his presence; feel him trying to subdue her; to make her fear him. She would never submit, though. Not to him. Not to anyone.

"I trust you are treating my son well?" he inquired.

"As well as any prisoner in a castle can grow a baby inside them," she spat back, and then growled, "What do you want? Get on with it. You wouldn't come here just to see how far along I am."

"Ah, so you are not as foolish as Micheletto said. Interesting," he hummed, looking over at his comrade, whom merely shrugged with a chuckle. Cesare went over to her vanity then, grabbing her chair, and bringing it back over to where he'd been before. He sat down, still facing her, and crossed one leg over the other. He motioned for her to sit, but she refused. He motioned to his dog next, and the dark-haired bastard came over and grabbed her shoulder roughly. She held back a wince as he forced her to sit and then returned to the door. "There. Now that we are being civil… It is time we spoke of your other purpose."

"The Apple," she rumbled, narrowing her eyes. Within, her heart raced. Last time she'd used the Apple was when she'd combined it with the Clock and the time before, and both had caused her great agony. It had made Ezio wary when they activated it to find the Vault, but it brought him nothing but knowledge, for which she had been a little envious, but mostly relieved. However, that did not mean it would still not harm her again. Others had expressed some form of pain or a headache when it would activate, and she could only believe it because the power was not for them. Or, rather, it was only meant to lead them to a message—to lead Ezio to a message. The rest of them? They were unworthy, in a way, and who knew what "God"—what Isu—had put what program into it. A woman called Minerva her husband had said?

"Yes, that, but first… something else. Something my men were wise enough to bring to me after we ransacked your pitiful fortress," he hummed, rummaging through a pouch in his tunic. It took a great deal of restraint for Catherine not to rush over and slam her fist against his nose. To speak of Monteriggioni so casually! As if it were but a speck! Unfortunately, her rage ebbed and gave way to shock when he pulled out a necklace chain, hooked on which was the last thing she expected: her Clock.

Her hand went to her side instinctively, only to remember she wore a plain dress, and that she had not put the Clock in her pocket before she'd raced off into the besieged city. She had forgotten it entirely in the Villa, and it seemed the Borgia and Papal armies had found it in her stead. Some part of her was relieved it was intact, but the other, more cautious part, worried how the man already knew what it was. Yes, Rodrigo had mentioned her former abilities, but to recognize it was important so easily?

"My father had something like this once… I thought I had dreamed it before—that it had been a figment of my imagination, but… no… it is very real, and it seems his stories—his ramblings—of you with one were true. Another 'Piece of Eden', I believe you call them? So, tell me, what does this one do? Father seemed to believe it had the power of God, but it looks nothing more than a paltry little clock."

"Even if it did work, it would only work for me," she decided to reply, taking a slim bit of satisfaction from the fact. "It's no use to you. Just a trinket now."

"Am I suppose I am to believe that? You must want it back, no?" he inquired, tilting his head slightly. Catherine might have hoped to have it back, if only to have a token of the past—a reminder of how she could overcome any hardship—but she knew better than to hold onto that kind of hope. Sure enough, he put it back into his tunic. "Ah, well. Best not take chances. Rather, let us discuss the other Piece of Eden. The Apple. That will work for more than just yourself."

"Then why bother having me use it? Can't you just do the honors?" she snapped, to which he chuckled.

"Once I have learned more, I aim to do so, but why not leave it to one well versed in its powers to teach me?"

She snorted, "As if I'd teach you anything about it."

"Ah, but that is beauty of it. I do not need you to do anything—except touch it, that is. I know the tales. The rumors. Touch alone is enough for it to reveal its secrets, and I do not need you to do so willingly," he smirked wickedly and motioned to Micheletto. Catherine's mind raced as the man approached, grabbing her arm. She wrung back, but his grip, as always, was firm. Her mind sprinted miles in seconds as she thought of something—anything—to keep him from going through with his plans.

"Stop!" she barked, half with panic. "It will hurt! It'll—it'll hurt the child!"

Cesare held up a hand as he frowned, "Wait, Micheletto… Explain yourself, woman."

"Touching it will bring pain—to me, anyways. When I've touched it, it's hurt—enough to make me nearly pass out and bleed. If it hurts me, it will hurt the child in me. It could maybe even kill them," she spoke quickly, all the while loathing herself for it. She didn't want to use her child in such a way, but she had to. She had to keep the Apple's power from Cesare.

"Or you could be lying."

"I'm not lying… or… I don't know for sure, but if a woman is hurt when with child, it can affect the baby. Surely even you know that. Just ask the Doctor. Ether way, can you really take that chance?"

Cesare hummed thoughtfully while Micheletto's grip tightened. Catherine shot a glare at the man, but he only smirked. He was enjoying this, of course; he was that kind of man—sick and twisted. He would kill her slowly if he could, but he was more subservient to Cesare than he was malicious. So long as the Borgia commander willed it, he would let her live and not harm her beyond the new bruises no doubt forming on her arm. In a way, it made her grateful for Cesare's presence, but she still wanted nothing more than to slit his throat.

"Yes, I suppose that is true… ah, well I am a patient man, and Romagna requires my attention, anyways. I had hoped to use you before that, but such is the way of things. You should be grateful to my child, Lady Auditore. It only he who spares you from me," the man mused as he put the Apple back into his tunic and stood up. His dog's grip loosened as the man approached, taking her chin into his hands. "But rest assured, once my son is born… you will show me all the Apple has to offer."

"Once my child is born, I'll show you exactly what it means to deal with the Auditore," Catherine hissed, fingers clenching her sheets. It took everything she had not to hit him, her thoughts focusing on the baby in question.

Cesare chuckled, "Oh, I already know what that entails. A pitiful attempt to resist before I tear down the walls and parade your precious commander's head on a pike…. Aaah, there it is. That fire I had heard so much about. A shame Mario Auditore did not have the same flare. Hhe might have proved a better adversary. I wonder if your husband will fare any better? Oh, but he has not come, has he? Not one word of any Assassins in Roma. It seems he was as weak as your pitiful commander. Yes, you are alone, Catherine Auditore. Alone in my Castel; my prisoner. I wonder, though… you will be just as fun as Caterina Sforza? I quite enjoyed my time with her…"

His hand moved from her chin as he spoke, lightly brushing the side of her check and drawing down along her neck. It brushed her collar and went lower still—and then her will broke. Catherine forgot the danger and lashed out at the man, striking him clean across the jaw. He yelped in pain, and then howled when she brought her other fist around to ram it into his nose. Blood splattered onto her knuckles, and she meant to ram her knee between his legs, but a hand found her throat first and squeezed. She tried to gasp, but she could get no air as Micheletto shoved her into the bed, eyes burning with malice. She reached up, clawing at his face and trying to push her thumb into his eye sockets. He grabbed one hand, but the other found its mark and he howled in pain, but he did not release her. Black spots appeared in her vision and each breath felt too short. Struggling was useless; he was too strong and she didn't have the leverage to move. He was too far off to one side to kick, and her fingers couldn't break the grip on her neck.

"Let her go! Now!" Cesare bellowed, and, with reluctance, the pressure on her neck vanished, and she gasped and sucked for air, coughing roughly. She was only given a moment's peace, however, before a new hand had her, this time around her chin, the fingers digging into her cheeks. Cesare's face was there next to hers, blood pooling down from his nose and dripping onto her dress and the bed. Pure rage was there, and she briefly wondered if the child would not keep him at bay. "How dare you! How dare you strike me! When that child is born you will rue this day, you wretched whore. I will make you suffer for this, and if I ever see your husband—if Ezio dares set foot in my city… I will make sure you watch as I kill him slowly. But first he's going to watch me destroy you little by little. I will break you before him, and then you will watch him suffer as I break every bone in his body. You will see each other suffer at my hand, and only when you can no longer speak and beg me for mercy will I finally let you die."

"F-fuck you," she managed to rasp, her voice a little hoarse. His hand released her chin, but only to slap her with the backside. She tasted blood in her mouth, her face tingling from the blow. She kept her glare up, though, staring right back into his raging eyes. He looked far less intimidating with the red running down his face—no longer the God he believed himself. Gods didn't bleed, after all. She had no doubt, though, that if she didn't carry the child in her belly or that she had no use for the Apple, he would have struck her down right then and there. He wouldn't even bother asking his dog, whom pulled out a cloth for him to wipe his face with; no, he would do it himself. Probably strangle her, too—make it slow and agonizing.

Catherine did her best not to flinch as he grabbed her chin again, and this time she latched onto his wrist, though there was no more fight in her—not right now. Breathing hurt her throat still, and her head felt dizzy from the slap. She would never surrender, however, and by his deepening scowl, she knew he saw it, too.

"If you're not careful, wench, I will kill you—child or not. Your use is not indefinite," he hissed, low and cold.

"Papa?" a voice called, and all eyes turned to the door. Once closed, it was now open; the soldier outside had entered when he'd heard the struggle, but now he was not the only one there. Beyond him, a young boy stood, eyes wide and his stance unsure; fearful even. He had dark hair that fell to his jawline, and while his eyes were dark like Cesare's, they were far kinder. Innocent. He didn't bear quite the same look as the Borgia commander, but one could see they were related. He even wore a fine tunic with red and black.

"Giovanni," Cesare spoke, frown less harsh—more so unhappy. He looked to Catherine after and scoffed, of all things. He brought her close, his voice almost a whisper, "Look what you made me do—showing such a sight to my little Giovanni. You are lucky, you know."

"What are you doing here, boy?" Micheletto growled, turning sharply. The young child flinched immediately, even shying behind the guard, whom looked nervous now.

"Leave him be… in fact, come here, my child," Cesare hummed, releasing Catherine by shoving her back. She managed to land back on her elbows, flashing a venomous look, but then sheathed it when she looked at the boy. He was reluctant, but his "father" ushered him in again, chuckling now. It was hardly welcoming with the blood still dripping from his nose, but the boy finally shuffled in—making sure to stay as far from the Borgia dog as possible. Cesare was uncharacteristically gentle as he brought Giovanni to his side, hand resting on his shoulder, pushing him close to his side. "Say hello to the woman who will give birth to your new brother."

Giovanni met her eyes wearily, a far cry from the man next to him, "H-hello."

"It's… good to meet you… Giovanni," she replied, earning another glance before the boy shied away.

"Do not fret, my little one. She and I were just… having an argument. Adults do that sometimes, but it is nothing to worry for. She will be a good girl, and let your brother grow strong in her belly, and soon you will get to meet him," the Borgia smiled, eyes falling on the redhead, whom withheld her glare. She couldn't bring herself to do it to the young Giovanni, his face so pure, but she understood the veiled threat. Even a blind man could have seen it.

"I… I can't… w-wait for my… brother," the young boy spoke, but wouldn't meet her gaze. He refused to look at Micheletto, whom had not stop glowering at the young man. It was all so very strange, and Catherine couldn't help pitying him. He looked more like a prisoner—like her—than the son of Cesare Borgia.

"That's my boy…" Cesare chuckled, patting his head gently. "Micheletto, take Giovanni to his aunt, Lucrezia. Let her know I will come by to talk to her later."

"Of course, my Lord… Giovanni," the man called, but the boy hesitated. The Borgia dog scowled, growling now, "Giovanni, come."

"Go on, my son," the Borgia commander smiled, but it did not meet his eyes, even when he looked down to his boy. The young child appeared ready to run and hide more than anything else, but he ultimately nodded, kept his gaze to the ground, and walked over to Micheletto. He flinched when the brute touched his back and led him out. The guard nervously watched them leave, inching closer to the door and out of their way. Catherine, too, watched them go, and was a little surprised when the young boy looked back at her. She swore there was concern there, or perhaps just pity. Either way, she felt for him, too.

"Do not defy me again, Lady Auditore. I will not be merciful a second time—not even in front of that child," Cesare growled at her, eyes flashing dangerously. She thought about snapping back something smart, but the throbbing around her neck made her think otherwise. She still glared back and refused to back down. He did not strike her again, though, nor did he say anything else. He merely spun on his heel and headed out the door. Even as the door closed she heard him bark, "Do not feed her tonight or allow her any visitors—not even the maid."

That was fine by here. Her stomach was too twisted for any food, and she didn't want anyone to see her like this. Tenderly, she touched at her neck, and hated how weak she was; how she'd been unable to properly fight back. She should have been stronger than this—should have been able to take them on. She knew how to fight hand-to-hand, and yet that man's grip had been like iron. It would only get worse from here, too.

Cursing softly, Catherine walked over to her vanity and stared at her reflection. Already she could see marks on her neck forming, and a bit of blood had stained on her lower lip. She could still taste copper on her tongue, and when she rolled up her dress sleeve she swore there were indents of fingers on her bicep. She was bound to have grotesque bruises after this, although perhaps not so bad as her first beating, but grotesque all the same. Her cheek still stung and would probably swell a little later. She was certainly going to be a mess the next time Paula or the Doctor came, but at least her belly had been unharmed. She rubbed it gently, wishing better for the child growing within. She wished for a lot of things, actually, and wasn't sure if any of them would come true. She knew she had told hold on, but it was hard. In these moments, it felt impossible.

Catherine stifled a sob as tears formed in her eyes, the helplessness was too much. Hope seemed so fleeting once more, and she wasn't sure how much of the up and down she could take. Despair would be her company today, and perhaps tomorrow. Then maybe it would be hope. Then despair again. Hope. Despair. Hope. Despair. A never-ending game that twisted and wrung her heart and did worse to her mind.

"Ezio, please… please hurry," she rasped quietly, and it was a plea—a prayer—she held onto even as she Sun set and she curled into her bed, wishing she could just wake up. Yet, when the light of day filled her room the next morning she knew her reality was the same, and despair was her companion for a good, long while.

08 – End

TMWolf: Sooo yep! There's that. Some crazy stuff going on. 'Cause, well, Cesare was kinda crazy and cruel and Micheletto is even worse. They are not nice men and they don't care 'Cat is pregnant, and it's going to take a lot for her to face them in her state without risking her baby... or try not to. It can be hard to remember in quick bouts of rage and her own instincts acting, but Cesare is thankfully busy with the war. Still, it's not going too well for her, and her captors only make it harder.

At least she has Paula, eh?

Oh, and, yes, I am including Giovanni, who only shows up in little extra canon stuff, but he'll play his own little role... that and because God knows I love including characters with the same name too much. Got Giovanni Auditore, Giovanni II Auditore, Giovanni Borgia... at least it's not as bad as the Medici :p

Next chapter is more fun, with a mix of Ezio and 'Cat :"D