Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.

A/N: This is short. My apologies. I'll try better next time. Mostly because I miss Leonardo – he was my soulmate in a previous life.

Also, I was just waiting to poke fun at Machiavelli and his satire, The Prince. Maybe more to come on that, but I really liked being able to mention it in this chapter. And I really like the interaction between Margherita and Machiavelli. The two of them banter back and forth and it's so rare to find someone that Margherita is honestly intimidated by that when those two get together, you know there's gonna be a party. Or a funeral. Either way, it will involve some fantastically overpriced alcohol.

Also, thank you to everyone who told me how happy they were that the two lovebirds finally tied the noose - I mean, um, knot. You know. They tied the knot. The knot. Yup.

Enjoy!

When in Rome

By: Ginny

Margherita arrived back at the brothel. Claudia was awake doing some late night work and greeted her sister-in-law with a confused look.

"What's wrong?" she asked, standing up from her desk and crossing the room to the blonde.

Sliding the cloak off, Margherita frowned, "Everyone is still alive and kicking, if that's what you're asking. Ezio and I had a fight. Can I stay here?"

"My home is your home, Margherita," Claudia guided her out of the office and down the hall to the spare bedroom. "What happened? Was he that upset about you teaching the courtesans?"

Uncharacteristically ditching her cloak on the bed in a haphazard pile, Margherita huffed. "Well, Maria was wrong. He certainly wasn't trying to protect me – he's under the impression that I can't teach the courtesans because, you know, what do I know about being a courtesan besides screwing a man?" Plopping onto the bed, she groaned and wiped her face – she didn't even mind if her makeup came off at this point. "I'm getting too old for this, Claudia. I feel like all I've been doing is fighting with Ezio. It's gotten so frequent that I just don't have the energy anymore. Normally I would have bitched him out, or screamed or just responded – instead I just nodded and waited for him to take a bath and then I left. I didn't want to argue anymore. I didn't want him to try to stop me – I've always wanted him to stop me before, always wanted him to tell me to come back because I always wanted to come back. I don't want to go back now." She buried her face in her hands, "Was it a mistake to marry him?"

"Margherita, I can't imagine you two being with anyone else except each other," Claudia sat down next to her and put an arm around her shoulders. "This is probably just a rough patch – I know after our father and brothers were killed Ezio definitely went through a bit of a mental breakdown. You weren't there to see it."

"I was with Leonardo," Margherita mumbled.

"Exactly. So, I think it'll just take some time, but you'll get back where you need to be. Okay?" Claudia leaned her head against Margherita's shoulder and the blonde moved closer to the physical contact.

"Yeah," she muttered.

"I need to get back to work, and it's late and you've had a long day. We'll talk tomorrow, okay?"

"Yeah."

Claudia untangled herself from Margherita and stood to leave. She nearly bumped into Ezio.

And boy did the assassin look pissed.

He apparently hadn't even gotten redressed – instead he was clad in old breeches and a nightshirt. Even his hair was still damp from his bath, and unbound, falling around his shoulders. His honey eyes were glittering with rage.

"I would have thought you had been kidnapped," he began. "I would have assumed that someone had snuck into the hideout – that the Borgia had found Tiber Island and had gotten in without a sound and had taken you!" Ezio took a step into the room, but didn't come any closer. Mostly because Claudia had shifted so that she was positioned between the two newlyweds and that was threat enough to keep the assassin where he was.

Some people fight fire with fire. Margherita fought Auditore with Auditore.

"She left," Claudia informed him, snobbishly.

Ezio growled, "I'm aware that she left. After my meeting with Machiavelli I went looking for you," he addressed Margherita, but when she didn't even make eye contact, suddenly interested in the pattern of the bed sheets, he focused back on Claudia. "When I couldn't find her, I naturally thought that something terrible had happened – I have a lot of enemies and she can hardly take care of herself. Immediately I left to go find her. Thank God Machiavelli was still there and had seen you leave and had asked where you were going."

Margherita still didn't respond.

So Claudia did. "Well, she's here, she's safe and next time she'll get your permission before leaving like the good wife she is."

"Claudia," Ezio warned. "Stay out of this. I'm here to speak to my wife."

"I'm listening," Margherita finally spoke up from behind the younger Auditore. "Truly, I am." She spoke softly, tiredly. "Claudia, it's alright."

The girl looked between the husband and wife and finally, slowly made her way out of the room. As she passed him, Ezio gave her a wide berth, still angry at her interference. And then the two were left in silence. The assassin crossed his arms and stared at his errant wife.

"I'm only going to apologize for not telling you where I was going," she said.

"You want to stay here?" he asked.

"I don't want to stay at Tiber Island."

"Why? Because of what I said?"

"Partially. Mostly, I just think we need to take a break."

This furrowed his eyebrows. "A break? Margherita, we're married. Married people don't take breaks."

"I want to stay here," her voice grew in determination. "You have some assumptions about me – not unfounded, most certainly, but I'm trying to do something and you're telling me that I can't do it based on those assumptions. So, the way I see it – I need to do what I need to do and when – or if – I succeed then those assumptions will be forgotten. Until then, I can't be there. I'm sorry."

Ezio didn't say a word. He dropped his arms to his side and finally Margherita had the guts to look up at him. She had only ever seen him look this distraught once in a blue moon – it was an expression that made her feel uncomfortable… knowing that she was the one that had caused it.

But she knew what she needed to do… And even if she didn't, at least this felt right.

Giving her a half hearted nod, he turned to leave. He made it to the door before he paused and looked back. Margherita had since lowered her gaze – it was one thing to watch his retreating back when the Borgia was tearing him away, it was another thing to watch him leave knowing she had decided she wanted him to go.

So, she didn't see him approach her again. She did however hear his footfalls as he came to stand in front of her. She felt his wet hair stick to her cheek and his hot lips press against her forehead. She heard the light pop of his kiss concluding. And she heard his footsteps retreat out the door again.

"That was painful."

"It gets worse."

"How much worse?"

"You'll see."

"You're a sadist."

"And you're making too many mistakes. I'm just correcting them."

"Using very painful methods!"

"The ends justify the means."

"That is so… Machiavellian."

"I don't know what that's supposed to mean."

"And you never will."

"I'm okay with that. Now, get back into position."

"But that position hurts."

"I don't care. No, lower your hips. And your right knee needs to bend a bit more."

"Like this?"

"Perfect."

"You aren't checking out my ass, are you?"

"And risk Ezio's wrath?"

"…"

"Oh, yes, still a sore subject I see."

"Can we just focus on the lesson, please?"

"Oh, now you want to focus on the lesson. For someone who practically begged me to teach them, you make a terrible student."

"Well, apparently I'm a spoiled little girl. I also was not aware it would hurt this much. Ezio makes it look so easy."

"For Ezio, it is easy."

Taking a deep breath, Margherita shifted ever so slightly to take some pressure off her knee. Instantly, Machiavelli was behind her, repositioning her leg. And this time, she tried to maintain that position. Margherita had thought he would just show up and run her through some elbow strikes or eye gauges… apparently not. First, she needed to know how to properly balance herself. And that hurt. Like a bitch.

In fact, Margherita was so focused on the pain that she didn't see the hand shooting out until it was inches from her face. Luckily, the fist stopped half an inch from her nose.

"What the hell?" she asked, popping out of balance-position and into what-the-fuck-position, complete with hands poised to slap the philosopher.

Machiavelli pulled his fist back. "Next lesson, blocking from that position."

Margherita blinked at him. "I asked for basic defense lessons, Machiavelli! Not a full course in hand-to-hand combat!"

The man raised an aristocratic eyebrow at her. "That might not be what you asked for, but it's what you want, isn't it?"

Her gazed dropped to the floor in thought. He was right.

"I have a lot of enemies and she can hardly take care of herself," that was what Ezio had said. Those had been the words bouncing around her head all night.

She had thought back to all the times she wished she had had the strength to fight back – when she had been raped, when she had been attacked by the thief in Leonardo's workshop. What if she had had the ability to take care of herself? How would her life have been different?

Slowly, she returned to the fighting stance.

"But I do need something to teach the girls, so can we eventually go over some basics?"

"Of course. Now, prepare yourself, this time I won't stop."

"Bring it on, dickhead."

"I'm so sore!" Margherita massaged her thigh vigorously.

"You know, if I hadn't seen you and Machiavelli practicing out on the back balcony, I would assume that you and he were doing something else that would have gotten you… sore," Claudia smirked at the blonde from behind her log books.

"That might explain the sore muscles, but the bloody knuckles." She turned her attention to the aforementioned knuckles that had since scabbed over. Who knew hitting a wooden board would hurt that much?

"Um, not really, it just depends on what you're into… if you know what I mean."

"Screw you, wench," she snarked and left the office. God, she needed a stiff drink. Heading back to the kitchen, she found that it was already occupied by Masina and… a man. "Oh, hey," Margherita greeted. They weren't entangled together, or even standing too close – but boyfriends were forbidden under the roof of the brothel… clients didn't like that.

"Margherita," Masina let out. "This is my brother, Dom," she introduced.

"Domenico Grecco," he corrected and reached out a hand for her to shake.

"Margherita Auditore," she shook his hand gratefully. "Are you the brother who was nice enough to give Masina a dagger?"

"Why, yes, I was," he smiled.

Maybe it was because she hadn't seen Ezio in a few weeks. Maybe it was because all those endorphins from her new exercise schedule were running through her brain. Maybe his smile was just easy and nice and he seemed nice. Regardless, she returned his smile and was rather hesitant to let go of his hand. Short cropped brunette hair, flashing brown eyes, beautifully chiseled jaw… and probably a decade younger than her. And, not necessarily on par with her husband. But still, rather nice to look at.

"Are you the woman who is nice enough to teach these girls how to survive the streets?"

"Why, yes. I am."

From behind him, Masina grinned. She was just about to open her mouth when a voice from the lobby called out, "Margherita!"

She knew that voice. And she hadn't heard it in a while.

"Excuse me," she apologized and twisted to leave the room.

It seemed Ezio was too impatient to wait for her to respond – instead he decided to come find her. And find her, he did. Bursting into the kitchen, he glanced between his wife and the strange – and handsome – man who was also in the room. Apparently the other woman in the kitchen meant nothing. The tension was thick, but Margherita gave a light cough and finally Ezio focused on her.

"I need you back –" he glanced at the other people in the room. "I need you back home."

"Why, what's wrong?"

Margherita knew that Claudia had met with him and the other assassins two days before. The courtesans had found Caterina's location and Claudia had passed that information on to Ezio. Part of Margherita had wanted to go see Ezio yesterday… she missed him. She knew that rescuing Caterina would be a dangerous mission and she at least wanted to say her goodbyes. She also kind of wanted Ezio to remember that he had a wife – her greatest worry was that Ezio would get so caught up in saving the damsel in distress that, combined with their marital issues, he would do something he would regret.

"Just come with me," he said shortly.

Ouch. Fine. She would play good little wife.

It wasn't until they were in the street, midway to the hideout, that Margherita asked, "It's about Caterina isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Is she okay?"

Ezio finally spared her a glance, trying to figure out if she was sincere in her concern. "She was injured a little bit," he admitted, turning his attention back to the road ahead of them. "She'll be fine, but I want you to stay there with her."

"Um, what?" Margherita stopped in the middle of the street. The crowd parted to walk around her now that she was a living, breathing obstacle.

Giving a deep sigh, as though to say "God, she's misbehaving again," Ezio also paused in his journey and looked at her. "I want you to start living at Tiber Island again. Caterina can't move around – it was her leg that was injured and so someone needs to take care of her and keep her company."

"And you thought I would be the perfect person for this?"

He shrugged, "I didn't realize teaching courtesans was that time-consuming."

Well, it wasn't… but coupled with the fact that she was also juggling that and learning new moves from Machiavelli and practicing both the old and new moves alone to perfect them and not make a terribly big ass out of herself during the next training session… well, it was a wonder she had the energy to wake up in the morning.

"Well, it is," she argued. "And we've move on to some pretty complicated stuff. And I don't even like Caterina."

This surprised the assassin. "You don't?" he asked.

"Um, well… not really," Margherita finally admitted. "Can't you just ask Claudia for a courtesan – surely one of them can wait on the countess on hand and foot."

The frown on his face was all she needed to see to know that she had disappointed him. To hit the point home even more, he said, "I'm asking you to do this because you are my wife and she is a valuable ally."

"And a great bedmate too, I'm sure," Margherita snarked as she continued forward.

Ezio followed but still shot back, "Oh? Is that what this is about?"

"You like damsels in distress. Caterina made a very good damsel in distress, locked in a tower."

"And you like beefy, scruffy men. That man in the kitchen made a very good beef-head."

"That was the first time we had met – he's the brother of one of the courtesans. He was thanking me for teaching her."

"Don't act like you still didn't appreciate the view."

"I appreciate your view more though."

"Well, I love you. Sometimes I even like you."

Margherita shot him a glare from over her shoulder. Despite the seriousness of the topic, though, she was glad that they could still at least snark with each other. It stunk of normalcy – something she missed greatly.

They walked in silence the rest of the way. Once they reached the hideout's entrance, Margherita turned to look up at Ezio. "I'll do it. I'll try to do it. My first priority is my responsibilities at the brothel because what the girls know directly affects how safe you are. After that, my sanity is my next priority. No, I don't really like Caterina – she has the hots for you and I may or may not have, in the 21st century, stumbled upon a scene of you two together – having sex, which obviously didn't happen here because I'm here but it still in kind of stuck in my head and just the idea that it could happen is a little unnerving. Also, I feel like she looks down on me. If I, for any reason, have the sudden desire to throw something at her, I will. And you will not fault me for doing it because I'm your wife and you love me and you probably should have known better. But once again, I will try. I will try very, very hard."

He smiled and her whole world lit up. It was funny how he could do that to her. "That's all I'm asking for," he said and opened the door for her.

Like the damsel in distress she was at this moment, Caterina Sforza, countess of Forli, reclined against the plush sofa in the office portion of the hideout. When she caught sight of her guests she greeted them with her aristocratic nod. She was still clad in a white (well, it had been white – now it was covered in grime and God only knew what else) shift and seemed to be favoring her left leg.

"Margherita offered to take care of you until you can get back on your feet," Ezio explained. His wife shot him a look that promised pain later.

"Oh, did you?" Caterina asked.

"Yes, yes I did," Margherita smiled gracefully. "Well," she looked over her patient with a clinical eye. "I suppose you're dying for a bath."

"You read my mind," she replied.

"I thought so too," Ezio chimed in. "But I figured you would be more comfortable with a female."

"Not necessarily," Caterina said. Margherita turned her head so that only Ezio could see her expression and gave him a look that translated to "See what I mean?" Caterina seemed to realize that she had been slightly brazen because she clarified, "Sometimes the desire for a bath trumps the desire to be comfortable." Ezio shot Margherita a glance of "See, she's not so bad?"

Margherita shrugged and left to draw the countess a bath. One more thing to add to her plate, apparently.

Reclining on her marital bed, Margherita thanked her lucky stars that that wretched woman was able to finally get on her feet again. And my God, it only took a week. Really, Margherita shouldn't call her "wretched", she had honestly been quite pleasant – probably because she knew that if she was nasty some of the blonde's spit might end up in her food. Margherita simply didn't appreciate having even more to do than normal. As it was, Caterina would still remain at Tiber Island – as would Margherita… She had no desire to return to the brothel. Sure, she and Ezio still had some tension between them, but they had been getting along. Also, Margherita didn't want to leave him alone with Caterina, now that the countess was mobile.

Who knew if the redhead would sneak into her husband's bed one night?

Margherita didn't want to find out.

Speaking of the white devil himself, Ezio came into the room and quickly made work of his outer armor. Margherita watched him.

"You missed dinner," she said, not unkindly.

"I know. Is there any left?" Ezio removed his outer robe.

Smiling, Margherita stood and walked to the door, "I saved you a plate because I'm the best wife in the world."

"That's debatable!" came Ezio's reply as she slipped into the kitchen and grabbed his cold dinner.

Presenting the plate, she smirked, "I think it's a solid fact, actually."

As Ezio took his plate, his eyes found her wrist. Frowning, he held the plate in one hand and took her wrist in his other, bringing it closer to his face so that he could inspect it further. "What happened?" he inquired.

A purplish bruise stained the delicate pale skin of her inner wrist.

Ah, yes. That had occurred just the other day when Machiavelli had thought it was a good idea to teach her how to recover from being flipped over someone's body. After about the third flip her wrist had begun to hurt from all the man-handling and after the tenth flip she had begun to get nauseous, deciding that if she threw up just being on a rocking boat, she could only imagine how far she could spew if being flung in a circle continued. It wasn't until she had threatened to throw up on him that Machiavelli had reluctantly admitted that she had the skill basically mastered. She actually probably didn't, but if some idiot decided to flip her over their back, they might be distracted by the vomit that would undoubtedly end up on their backs… so, it was moot point.

She hadn't realized however, that the exercise had been enough to bruise.

And really, that bruise was not one that had particularly worried her. In fact, most of her body was in some way marked by bruises that were all at varying degrees of healing. Having trained as an assassin, Ezio would recognize the marks of combat and undoubtedly put an end to her work with Machiavelli and maybe even the courtesans. So far, Margherita had been smart – only having sex with Ezio in the dark. The hideout made things easier because there were no windows and when they retired for the evening she would simply blow out the candles and have her way with her husband.

Apparently she needed to be more careful.

Coping Ezio's frown, Margherita stared at her wrist in false perplexity before announcing, "I have no idea. I might have slammed it into something."

Ezio gave her a long, hard look. But, when all she did was stare back at him with her blue eyes wide like a doe's, he finally released her and climbed onto their bed to eat his dinner. Absently, Margherita rubbed her wrist and sat next to him.

"Guess who I ran into today?" the assassin asked, still chewing.

Margherita wrinkled her nose at his manners but inquired anyways, "I don't know – who?"

"Leonardo!"

"Our Leonardo?" Margherita asked, nearly jumping off the bed in her excitement.

"Do we know another Leonardo?"

She thought for a moment, "No. Stupid question – don't make fun of me. Anyways! He's in Roma?"

"Yes, he's been making weapons for the Borgia." The assassin winced at his own words.

"What?" Why would their dearest friend help their most bitter enemy?

"He doesn't have much of a choice, apparently."

"Oh…" Yes, that made sense. And even if these were weapons of destruction, Margherita knew that her friend and mentor had always been happier with a schematic in front of him, rather than a canvas. Painting paid the bills. He had often tinkered with little things, but without painting, he would have been totally broke. It wasn't that he disliked his art – quite the opposite really, but he had always been jealous that Margherita could devote so much time to her hot air balloon. Finally, after a particularly expensive painting had been commissioned and finished was Leonardo able to take a break – the result was his flying machine.

"Yeah," Ezio swallowed the last bite of food.

"Where is he staying?" she asked.

The assassin shot her a warning look and leaned over to place his empty plate of the bed between them. Margherita picked it up on instinct, knowing she would have to go clean it to moment this conversation ended – assuming it didn't end with one of them storming out to go live somewhere else again.

"He is working for the Borgia," Ezio said slowly, as though she hadn't heard him correctly the first time. "I have no doubt of his loyalties and I know he will not hurt you, but should the Borgia be watching him and see you – the wife of the assassin that is trying to hunt and kill them, surely you will be in danger."

Snorting, Margherita shifted a bit. "Our marriage isn't exactly public knowledge, Ezio. Even some of the courtesans think I'm a spinster. I doubt the Borgia even know you're married."

"I still don't want to risk it."

The blonde sighed, and picked at the edge of the plate. "What if I go in disguise? I could borrow some clothes from one of the girls, and even take a few of them with me. It would just be two or three courtesans, visiting a lonely bachelor."

She looked up at him hopefully. The assassin seemed to be on the verge of giving in. Finally, his lips thinned. "Can I think about it?" he asked.

Nodding gratefully, Margherita was just glad she was getting even that little bit. For such a laid-back guy, Ezio was pretty uptight about his womenfolk. "Can you have an answer by tomorrow morning?" she shot back.

Ezio gave a quick nod and obediently, Margherita gave him a quick peck on the lips before leaving to clean up. Maybe she could do this whole "good wife" thing.