First of all, let me say that it is incredibly bizarre to be writing 'fanfiction' involving people who actually existed. Besides the obvious issue of a possible Critical Research Failure, I bet the real Leonardo must feel awfully silly wherever he is, having all these people write all this stuff about him.

Second, a note: while the random Italian phrases littered throughout ACII's dialogue are a side-effect of the Animus 2.0's translating mechanism having glitches, let's face it: when you're in an ACII mood, you want to see some people speaking Italian. So while I maintain that everyone here is always speaking Italian unless otherwise noted, I've still thrown in a few Italian phrases. It wouldn't feel like ACII if I didn't. I do feel like I still overdid it, though.

This oneshot contains things I do not own, Italian swearing, and Leonardo da Vinci. He owns himself!

"Merda, that man runs fast..."

"Now is not the time! He could not have gone far. Check the alley while I take the left fork."

"Yes, sir!"

They were right: he could not have gone far. The injured Ezio could hear the guards' orders from his refuge in some hapless stranger's rooftop garden, hidden from the sight of the soldiers searching fruitlessly for him down below. They must not be very experienced, he thought: most of the time they would have the sense to at least spare an upwards glance, if not outright send someone to scale the walls and search any possible hiding places. Apparently their superiors had not taken the time to debrief them on the assassin's usual escape tactics. Ezio snorted. They would never catch him like that, no matter how injured he ever was.

"Any sign of him?"

"No, sir."

"Ugh... Well, it could be worse."

Much worse, Ezio agreed silently. The youngest of the squad now trudging away was not yet in his twenties, and Ezio would have been very sorry to take his life.

The assassin was becoming more and more infamous among the city guard. He'd been doing nothing flashy of late, thinking only of a short visit to Leonardo's workshop to decode yet another codex page, and upon turning onto the main street leading there was instantly spotted by a group of fresh recruits. He noted their nervous glances and decided both parties would be a little more comfortable if he took a side street instead, but then their captain arrived. Completely by instinct, the moment the Florence-born noble's ears caught the word 'Assassino!' being cried in his direction, he was off. Aside from a mishap with a throwing knife from a guard who had seen him coming and taken initiative, the assassin had no trouble outrunning his pursuers.

Ezio hopped over the edge of the garden, hissing as the slash in his side burned with pain, and scaled the wall beside it. The street below was guard-free and filled only with a few very confused civilians, some of whom were, to Ezio's amusement, yelling curses back to the soldiers. Even he'd never been quite that bold as a young man. He carefully let himself down onto the street, fished out the pain-dulling medicine in his pouch, and went about his way, as though nothing had ever happened. Somehow he'd managed to run himself very close to his original destination when making his escape, despite having turned tail and bolted in the opposite direction once spotted: Leonardo's workshop was maybe two minutes away, one if he ran. The assassin did not keep track of where he was going, or in what direction, while running from the guards, as he could always figure that out as long as he was not sitting in jail.

He stopped a moment to have a look at one of the very few notice boards in a largely illiterate country. As only nobles could be expected to know how to read, these always had something funny to look at. An advertisement for a party (as though it weren't invitation only), a petition to local artists for a possible commission (Ezio might have told Leonardo, but there was no need to bog the painter down with even more work), a wanted poster for the notorious assassin Ezio Auditore da Firenze (which was of course immediately torn down and thrown into a nearby puddle), and what looked like more Templar propaganda.

Ezio frowned, stepping closer to have a closer look. Assassins... Dangerous killers, obstructing justice, murdering innocents, spreading chaos... It was one thing to have these accusations yelled up at him, and another to have them written out for the public to see. The same concept was what made the heralds so annoying: few people ever liked to hear what the heralds had to say, but the people often heeded their words more than those of the lords and nobility.

Although choosing a name like 'The Assassins' certainly had not helped. The word 'assassination' was synonymous with selfish, malicious plotting. Why not choose something a little less blatantly aggressive? Ezio sighed, tearing down the paper and sending it for a little swim next to its friend the wanted poster. He had to get to Leonardo's workshop.

After a short glance around to make sure he hadn't been followed- he would be very upset if he brought any more guards to Leonardo's front door- Ezio rapped on the door twice. To his confusion and amusement, there was a loud thud from inside, accompanied by the muffled sound of confused yelling and what must be paper being thrown out of place.

"Leonardo?" he called uncertainly.

"Oh, Ezio! Ah, just a moment..." Ezio broke into a grin as he heard the painter yelling 'Nevermind!' back to his assistant before finally opening the door, the usual warm smile on his face and beret placed lopsided on his head. "Aha, I thought you were someone else."

"If you have a commission due today, Leonardo, now is not the time to be taking a nap." Eizio said, stepping in without waiting for the invitation.

Leonardo laughed, closing the door behind his friend. "It is hardly as though I can control whether or not I fall asleep, you know. And if I do not feel the inspiration and motivation to work, the quality suffers."

"Sounds like excuses to me." But Ezio knew the feeling: it was difficult to kill someone when you did not feel they deserved to die. "How are you, Leonardo?"

"Eccelente. Please, sit down." Leonardo gestured to the chair next to his desk- the one Ezio had a feeling he'd just been sleeping in- and promptly disappeared behind the canvas of his latest project, soon producing the telltale sounds of rummaging through a mess. "Where did I put it, now...?"

"What?" Ezio did as he was told, lowering himself into the chair and crossing his arms. "Aren't you going to ask me how I've been?"

"There is no need." The painter said. "I can see for myself. Ugh, I specifically kept it so I could find it, and now... Vincenzo!" he called back to his assistant.

"Yes?"

"Do you know where I put the roll of bandages?"

"It's right here, but it's almost gone."

Leonardo sighed, fishing his coin purse out from the space behind his cape. "Do me a favor and get some more."

Vincenzo appeared from the back of the studio, catching the purse as it was thrown to him and tossing the diminished roll of bandages back in return. "Of course. I'll be back soon." He sent a warm smile Ezio's way and vanished out the door.

"...Bandages?" the assassin said.

"Do not pretend, Ezio." Leonardo said, the smile melting off his face. "Your robes are ripped, and stained with blood."

Ezio frowned and looked down at himself. Leonardo was right: he thought he'd stopped the bleeding during his brief spell in the rooftop garden, but he had evidently aggravated the injury when he tried to climb down. The blood had soaked clean through his thick assassin's robes, staining them red and highlighting the tear in the cloth. Well, that explained the strange looks he'd been receiving on the street.

"What, this?" He snorted. "This is nothing. It doesn't even hurt."

"And that is what makes it dangerous." Leonardo said, for once sounding deadly serious. "Pain is a sort of guardian: it tells us when we are doing something wrong, and fear of it keeps us from repeating our mistakes. If you cannot feel pain, chances are you'll hurt it worse."

Ezio sighed. "Believe me, Leonardo. I've seen far, far worse."

"Take your shirt off. I will bandage it."

"There's no need-"

"Off, Ezio."

The assassin had never heard Leonardo sound so determined, and so with another sigh of resignation the younger man began to undo the many buckles and straps holding his weapons in place. The artist didn't even bat an eyebrow as pounds of weaponry were dumped on his workshop floor, instead fetching a bottle of clear liquid from somewhere in the desk Ezio was currently sitting at.

"You can't just dull the pain and go on as though the wound isn't there!" he scolded. "You won't know until it's too late. Look at how much blood you've lost!"

"Yes, I see." Ezio said impatiently, though he only felt the slightest bit lightheaded. With his effects stripped away, getting the robes off was easy, but as he was pulling the shirt underneath over his head he found himself biting back another hiss. "Get on with it."

"I will." Leonardo returned from the desk and knelt before the seated Ezio, wetting a clean rag he'd somehow produced with the liquid from the bottle. "Now, this is going to hu-"

He pressed it against the wound, and when pain shot into Ezio's side he did more than just hiss.

"Cazzo-!"

"See?" The painter frowned. "Hold still."

"Easy for you to say." Ezio growled, gritting his teeth and allowing Leonardo to continue with his work. He had always treated his injuries himself whenever possible, as they were rarely serious and the artist was hardly his first choice for a physician if they were. He now reasoned, however, that an anatomist would probably be a much better choice for a doctor than an assassin: Ezio's 'self-treatment' was usually just making sure the bleeding stopped and taking something to stop it from hurting until it healed. He had several scars on his torso as a result, and he noted that Leonardo would occasionally look up at one, and his lips would tighten into an even thinner line.

It was a mark of the older man's trust that he did not ask where all these injuries came from. As the minutes ticked by, Ezio realized that Leonardo's fingers were trembling as he worked, and the muscles in his face were much more tense than he had ever seen. Maybe he was just being a worrywart, as kind souls like him often did- Pettrucio's absolute refusal to watch his brothers practically fly across Florence's skyline came to mind- but it occurred to Ezio in a sudden rush of understanding that he had not yet told Leonardo that he was an Assassin. Not outright: of course Leonardo knew that Ezio often landed himself in dangerous situations, and Ezio had confided several of his assassinations to him, but for all his friend knew Ezio was merely a vigilante out to avenge his family's death. That was essentially his role in a nutshell, but being an Assassin was so much more than that: it meant blending in with a society you were no longer a part of, making yourself an enemy of people you never knew existed, doing whatever had to be done, even if it stood at odds with morality or law.

Nothing is true. Everything is permitted. It had become such an integral part of his life that he merely assumed the artist just knew.

"I'm not kidding, Leonardo." he said. "I've been hurt much worse than this before."

"I can see that." Leonardo said, putting the cap back on the bottle. "Look at all this! It's a wonder you haven't stumbled into my workshop with blood all over your clothes before."

"It wasn't all over my clothes-"

"You are missing the point! Here, lift up your arms." Ezio obliged, and Leonardo went on talking as he wrapped the bandages he had left around the younger man's torso. "I think I'll have just enough... Look at yourself. Ha, knowing you, you probably enjoy the idea of all these scars all over your body."

Ezio smiled. "It makes for... impressive bedtime stories."

"I can imagine, although if I were a young lady I would rather not hear stories about whatever made your arm look like a sausage."

"A young lady? Leonardo, you always assume the worst."

"Aha. Do not forget, I have known your mother longer than I've known you." The painter tied off the bandages and sat back to admire his handiwork. "See? I knew I had enough."

"Grazie, amico mio. I was surprised you had any in the first place."

"Haha..." Leonardo smiled sheepishly again. "I really must stop being so absentminded while holding sharp objects."

Ezio rolled his eyes, and heaved himself out of the chair. Ignoring the wide-eyed Leonardo that had instantly leapt to his feet and scolded him for trying to move so soon, he reached for his shirt and began the long process of putting all his clothes, armor and weaponry back where they belonged.

"They fit well." he said, pulling the shirt over his head. "I always tie the bandages either too tight or too loose."

"You shouldn't try to do it by yourself!"

"I never have the time to ask someone else. One mission always leads into the next."

"And yet with these 'missions' of yours you find the time to make social visits."

Ezio snorted. "I would hardly call them social visits." He paused. Should he bring this up now? "Leonardo, when do you think your assistant will be back?"

"Not for a while." the painter answered, and there was a slight change in his worried tone that told Ezio he already knew what the assassin was going to say. "He has other errands to run, and if he has any common sense he will be using this as an excuse to get them done early."

"Good. We need to talk."

Leonardo nodded. "I thought we might. But first, you should get dressed, and I should clean up all this blood."

Ezio looked down and saw that the chair and the floor beneath were indeed dripping with his blood. Had he really been bleeding that badly? "Oh. Mi dispiace."

"Nessun problema. Now get dressed! Before someone comes in and asks why all these weapons are on my floor."

Ezio laughed, pulling his assassin's robes back over his shoulders- he would have his mother sew the tear shut again later- and tying it before reaching for his armor. Leonardo had somehow found himself back in his usual cheerful mood, even humming idly to himself as he wiped Ezio's blood off his chair. Hopefully by now he had realized that despite all the blood, Ezio really wasn't that badly hurt: the knife had only nicked his side. If he could bolt across town on the injury, he could certainly live to tell the tale afterward.

"I appreciate the concern, Leonardo." he said, as the artist stood up and tossed the dirty rag into a corner of, to Ezio's amusement, other dirty rags. "But as you can see, I'm perfectly fine."

Leonardo chuckled. "What did you expect? It's not every day a good friend walks into my workshop dripping blood."

"I really hadn't noticed."

"And that was what worried me. Although..." He frowned. "I suppose that simply means I should really be concerned if you arrive dripping in blood and asking for help."

Ezio grunted. That would never happen, as there were plenty of other people he was much more at ease with bothering before resorting to startling the living daylights out of his friend. "A guard threw a knife at me, and I was hit. Honestly, it could have been much worse than it was."

"Agreed."

The noble frowned. "I know you want to ask what the guards were chasing me for."

"I do." Leonardo agreed. "But that is your business, and if you wish to keep it from me there is nothing I can do."

"There's nothing to stop you from asking, though."

"True, but I assume that you would rather keep any perceived misdeeds to yourself."

...

"Perceived?"

Leonardo smiled, and Ezio got the feeling he did know a little more than whatever he'd been told before. "I know you would never do anything to provoke the guards unless you had a good reason."

"Sometimes they attack without provocation."

"Well, if you are getting into fights like that, perhaps you've become a bit of a celebrity."

Ezio sighed, reaching up to rub his eyes. No use beating around the bush, or trying to lead into it slowly. They'd never get around to it before Leonardo's assistant arrived.

"I have, in fact." he said wearily. "But not in the good sense. I am l'assassino, Leonardo, and I'm quite sure there are several people in this city who would love nothing more than to hear that I've been killed or captured."

There was a long silence following this statement, but by the time Ezio's hand had fallen back to his side Leonardo was already heaving a long sigh.

"Yes. I wondered when we would be having this conversation."

"You knew." Ezio guessed.

Leonardo shook his head. "Never for certain. Of course the Assassini are the chief subject of the codex pages, and I see that you have adopted their attire and mannerisms, but nothing is ever for certain."

"Leonardo," Ezio said impatiently, "I have told you about the people I've killed."

"I remember." the painter said. "And I suspected, but I never asked. I'm not sure why... It must be the same impulse that prevents so many people from acting when they see cruelty right before their eyes. Uncertainty. Because you could always be wrong. I didn't want to imply that you were a murderer."

"I'm sorry, Leonardo."

The painter shook his head, smiling. "No apologies! I've been dreading this conversation for an entirely different reason. It has nothing to do with what you have or haven't done."

"Oh?" The assassin raised an eyebrow. "Then why?"

"Aha... You see, Ezio..." Leonardo's smile became noticeably forced. "I am a Templar."

It was a good thing Ezio was no longer sitting in the chair, or he would have fallen out of it.

Leonardo broke into a real grin. "You ought to see the look on your face! It's priceless!"

"This is not a laughing matter, Leonardo!" Ezio said, rather irritated to realize that his voice was shaking a little. "Truly? A Templar?"

"Truly? No." the painter said, causing Ezio to throw his arms up in exasperation. "Not in practice. But my mentors were Templars, and as such I had adopted their beliefs and taken them as my own. I have considered myself a Templar for a long time."

Ezio sighed- again. "Che idiota. You had me startled there for a moment."

"More than startled, I think." Leonardo chuckled again.

"...Truly? A Templar?" Ezio repeated dumbly. "Leonardo, the things the Templars have done..."

"I am aware." Leonardo visibly sobered. "Their beliefs as I was taught them are not their beliefs as they now practice them."

"How is that possible? They use their beliefs as justification."

"Everyone does."

"..." Ezio crossed his arms. "So you believe the Assassins are in the wrong."

Leonardo sighed. "I detest violence. I do not believe you should kill."

The Florentine noble's jaw tightened. "Leonardo. Someone like you could not possible believe...?"

"That the Templars are in the right? Or that this world can move on without violence?" Leonardo sank into the chair Ezio had been occupying and rubbed his eyes. "In a perfect world, Ezio, people should not kill. But this is not a perfect world, and I understand that many people believe that this is something they must do."

"The Templars and the Assassins are different." Ezio said. "The Templars kill innocents without restraint."

"Many people would consider your targets innocent."

"Because they have no idea what my targets have done!"

The painter looked older than Ezio had ever seen him. "Do you understand, Ezio? For those who do not believe, no proof is enough. For those who believe, no proof is necessary. That is the way this world works."

Ezio rocked back, sitting on the desk when he found that he knees had gone weak. "My best friend, a Templar..."

"Understand, Ezio. I never condone the use of violence."

"And yet you agreed to repair my hidden blade, and hardly flinched when I murdered that guard who was abusing you the very same day."

Leonardo allowed himself a small laugh. "Well, that is a rather biased example, I must say."

"..."

The artist stood up and strode to the other side of the room, busying himself with clearing up the table; an action which, in the absence of work to be done, was only triggered by an intense desire to be looking anywhere but at his visitor. "The way my mentor spoke, the Templars were the guardians of peace and unity in this world."

"Strange. My uncle speaks the same way of the Assassins."

"I thought so. But we have both heard the arguments against such claims. Every assassin, every Templar must have. Why, then, do we continue to speak of them in such ways?"

"...Recruitment?"

"That would be the first guess."

"You think it's something else?"

"Your father and brother were likely assassins, and I am willing to assume your uncle is as well- just as my mentor was a Templar." Leonardo frowned at what was apparently a useless paintbrush and tossed it over his shoulder. "It sounds to me like we each want to believe our loved ones were not selfish fools."

"My father was not selfish, or a fool." Ezio said instantly.

"And neither was my mentor." Leonardo countered.

The two friends sat silently for some time, the only sound coming from the ruffle of papers as Leonardo shoved them aside and put them back again. Leonardo had not made any sort of personal attack on Ezio, but he still felt hurt. Somehow the knowledge that his friend agreed with the ideology of the enemy unsettled him, and he knew why. That would certainly imply that he believed the Assassins- Ezio, Ezio's family, many of Ezio's friends- in the wrong.

But the artist had always known Ezio was an assassin, no matter what he said to the contrary. And he had always done everything in his power to help. No doubt he would have attempted to build the various devices found in the codex pages regardless of whether Ezio would be using them or not, as the man's curiosity and ingenuity were boundless and not things to be restrained, but he had always built his inventions to be used- happily. And if the bandages wrapped snugly around Ezio's torso were any indication, Leonardo considered him a friend in spite of their conflicting creeds.

"...Explain to me." Ezio said slowly. "What do you believe, Leonardo?"

Leonardo looked up and offered him a brief, true smile, before turning down to continue clearing away his perpetually cluttered table. "What I believe? After all this, it's hard to say... But one thing I believe, and have always believed, is that there is no one entity- person, group, or organization- that has the right to remake the world to be 'ideal,' while ignoring the millions of other definitions of 'ideal' as determined by billions of other people who share this world with them."

"... I..." Ezio frowned. "I think I understand."

Leonardo looked up, and his expression had brightened so visibly that Ezio blinked in surprise. "Truly?"

"Yes. In a perfect world, everyone would get along, and things like violence would be unnecessary. But the reality is that this world is not perfect, and it is those who lack the strength to accept that who find themselves with enemies like you and me."

Leonardo nodded. "Yes... Of course there is no need to accept the world as it is. It is the desire to learn, and change, that creates such spectacle as our world has already seen. But there is a point where you begin to force your changes upon someone who does not want them, someone whose world is perfect as is."

"And you cannot judge a person based on their desire to change, or lack thereof." Ezio continued. "Every person has a story, and you walk past dozens of untold stories every day. They may have a reason you can never understand... Every case is different."

"And that... is the heart of what I believe." Leonardo smiled. "Thank you, Ezio."

Ezio smirked. "I suppose this means this assassin is still your friend?"

"Ezio, Ezio..." Leonardo abandoned his table, working his way back across the workshop and putting a hand on Ezio's shoulder. "No matter how much blood you find on your hands- Templar or Assassin, innocent or otherwise- no matter how many lives you take, you will always be Ezio, my dearest friend."

The assassin smiled, taking the opportunity to pull the artist into a hug. "Grazie, amico mio."