Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.

A/N: Oops. College. RSOs. My life. Boys. Stupid boys. Not a thing. Whatever.

New chapter. New game. Notice a trend? I do. I do. I do.

Enjoy.

When in Rome

By: Ginny

Or, maybe she couldn't do this whole "good wife" thing.

Pulling her veil closer around her, Margherita glanced at the crowd mulling around her. God, she felt like a villain, a scoundrel, a wanted woman (and not in a good way). But mostly, she felt like a very, very, bad wife.

Don't go visit Leonardo, Ezio had said. It's too dangerous Margherita, Ezio had said.

Sure, he had promised to think about it, and he had. He had even gone to scope out whether the Borgia were anywhere close by. And then he had returned with disappointing news on his lips.

"I'm sorry Margherita, but right across the street there's a Borgia tower," he had explained. "Cesare is smart enough to know Leonardo doesn't appreciate women like that and a group of courtesans showing up would cause too much suspicion. I'm sorry," he had repeated.

And just as she had become accustomed to doing, she nodded her head obediently and feigned mild disappointment before making him a hardy dinner. All the while, thoughts of how to get around that minor inconvenience were circling her head. It might be a reckless decision on her part, but if the calluses on her hands and the ache in her bones had anything to say about it – she could probably survive anything mildly dangerous. She was on her way to being strong.

She sent a messenger to Leonardo's new workshop pretending to be the wife of a noble who often visited the Rosa in Fiore. In the message she informed Leonardo that she wanted to contract his work on a painting for her front room. His response had been in the negative. So, she sent him another message, this time writing on the bottom in invisible ink the words, "I need an excuse to see you". Then she ripped the corner of the letter so that he would know to look for some kind of secret message. This time the response was in the affirmative and she had begun the plans to visit him. It would be good to see her old friend.

So, with only mild regret in her heart, she continued on. Reaching the corner, she glanced around before crossing the street and knocking on his workshop door.

Within seconds the wooden door was yanked back and her dearest friend in the whole world stood in front of her – arms out poised for a hug, his face stretched recklessly with a smile.

"My dear!" he exclaimed.

And suddenly, all regret left her heart and she threw herself into his arms. She had never felt more at home.

Gingerly, she pulled back and allowed Leonardo to close the door and then guide her deeper in the workshop. Glancing around, she pulled her veil down.

"What do you think of the place?" he asked, gesturing about.

As per usual, the place was an utter mess. Apparently the inventor still hadn't learned how to pick up after himself. Sighing, Margherita reached down and plucked a piece of parchment off the floor, replacing it on the table.

"Still a pig," she commented.

The genius just laughed a hardy laugh and stroked his beard, which glinted in the firelight. Margherita squinted and took a step closer. In response, Leonardo stepped back, confused at her actions.

"You're grey!" she exclaimed, stepping marginally closer. "You've gone grey! Your beard has grey in it!"

Leonardo blinked for a moment before smiling and shaking his head. "Surely Ezio also has some grey hairs, Margherita. We are all growing old, it happens."

Silence descended for a moment as both contemplated those words. Finally Leonardo sighed and gestured for her to follow him. Turning around, the inventor led her into the kitchen and handed her a goblet. Putting her satchel on the floor beside her, she took the seat opposite him and allowed him to fill up her cup. Spiced wine always put her in a good mood. Together they sat and drank in silence for a moment.

It seemed that his comment has affected him more than he had thought it would. It was true, she realized. He had gotten old. Back in the 21st century she had seen his own renditions of himself as an old man – long beard, balded head, wise eyes. Now, however, he just looked tired. Weary. And that was saddening to Margherita. Where was her rambunctious mentor? Where had her spirited friend gone to and would she ever get him back?

Part of her ached for the older days – where things were so much simpler… or, maybe more complicated, but at least enjoyable. Back when Ezio would flirt with her but never try to dominate her – back when she could fiddle with inventions and then go bother Leonardo who would entertain her with vivid descriptions of his latest invention – or something he hadn't even begun to create yet. She missed Rosa. She missed knowing what would happen next. She missed everything she used to have. Not that she was ungrateful of her husband, or her new family, or her new hobbies. But she still longed for ignorance and simplicity.

Margherita was the first to break the silence.

"I'm married."

"I heard."

"I'm working at the Rosa in Fiore."

"Ah, as a…?"

"Instructor. Not a whore. Don't worry."

"Ah."

"I'm learning how to fight."

This seemed to get the inventor's intention. Choking a bit on his drink, he placed the cup back on the table with an unintentional tink and leaned closer to his friend. Without making a sound, his raised eyebrows caused her to explain, "I started by just organizing the courtesans and then one of them mentioned that it would be beneficial to have some knowledge of weapons and so I've been learning some moves and passing them along to my girls."

The inventor gave a private laugh into his cup and then took another sip. "Of all the activities I could picture you doing," he said. "Roughing it out in a fighting ring never really occurred to me. What if you ruin your pretty face?"

"You're working under the assumption that anyone can land a hit on my face!" she snarked, raising her glass in jest.

"Ah ha! You used to complain for hours if you so much as stubbed your toe! I can't imagine you throwing a punch – much less taking a punch without wounding your opponent with that sharp tongue of yours."

"Leonardo, Leonardo – you know I can give as well as I can take." Taking her last gulp, Margherita held her glass out for some more.

"I'll believe you for now." Leonardo refilled her drink. Replacing the bottle back on the table, a thought occurred to her. "Do you at least enjoy it?"

"Well, I hate it as much as I enjoy it," she shrugged. "It's challenging – as you might imagine. I feel like it would be a lot worse if I had a different teacher, though."

"Well, I suppose Ezio likes any excuse to throw you to the ground," he joked. When all Margherita did was stare down at her drink, Leonardo cocked his head. Slowly he asked, "So, if Ezio isn't the one teaching you, then who is your miracle instructor?"

"Machiavelli. Ezio doesn't even know I'm learning."

The look Leonardo gave her was bittersweet. It was the kind of look that he had always given her years ago when she would sneak around with guys in Firenze, obviously still recovering from her rape. It was the kind of look that he had given her after he had found out she and Ezio had a thing. It was the kind of look her gave her whenever she was misbehaving. Normally it made her feel like a small child caught stealing cookies but now it reminded her of home and of simpler times. She certainly didn't appreciate the sentiment, but its familiarity was enough to make her smile inwardly.

Shrugging deeply, Margherita took yet another drag from her cup just because it was something to do. "If he knew, he would tell me to stop."

"Probably with good reason," he threw in.

"I'm the wife of an assassin, Leonardo. Even Claudia knows how to take care of herself. I'm not hurting anyone."

"And you don't think Ezio will be hurt when he finds out?"

"If."

"When."

"Well, you aren't going to tell him – are you?"

The inventor frowned at her and then got up to clear away their empty cups. "Did you have permission to come here, Margherita?"

Handing over her cup, Margherita watched his hands rather than his face. "I hate that phrase," she muttered. "It makes it seem like I'm his property. I shouldn't need his permission to come visit my oldest and closest friend."

Leonardo continued to frown at her over his shoulder as he left the room, but made no other comment. With him gone for the moment, Margherita furrowed her brows down at her lap – not wanting to think about this any more. She wanted to just have a lovely conversation with an old friend and instead she had brought with her all of her marital problems. Of course. Stereotypical Margherita. Standing to follow him, Margherita grabbed her satchel and that reminded her of the other thing that she had brought with her to the workshop.

"Oh! Leonardo!" she called, as she entered the main workshop area. "Do you still have the schematics for those rocket launchers?"

Bouncing down the stairs, the inventor scrunched up his face in thought. "Maybe," he said. "Why?"

"I was changing some linen a few months ago and I remembered the equation we were trying to use and then something occurred to me. Remember how we couldn't figure out the last part, because it kept bouncing back? Well," she reached into her satchel and shuffled around to a few moments. "I came up with this." Yanking a bunch of papers from her satchel she flung them onto the table. Most of them were folded up because Margherita usually had very stupid (and occasionally brilliant) ideas and she would write them down and then shove them into her bag.

Leonardo, knowing her inability to keep anything organized and her usual method of organization, didn't even sigh as he got to work unfolding the papers to find their hidden messages.

Unable to keep still, Margherita let Leonardo do all the searching and instead just paced. He would find it eventually. She was just so excited to finally be talking about something non-courtesan-y. It wasn't that she didn't like her work with them, but there was something about being in a workshop with her oldest friend and working on a new invention that got her blood pumping and her heart soaring.

"It probably won't work – or at least, it will take some new tweaking, but it was just a thought and I wanted your opinion. I know you're probably super busy with new things for the Borgia and really if I'm going to help you with anything, it probably shouldn't be another weapon, especially not one that can be used against the assassins eventually. But, it was just a random thought and… and you aren't speaking." She stopped rambling and twisted to look at the inventor. Yes, he was holding a sheet of paper but when she clumsily rounded the corner she realized he wasn't grasping the correct schematics.

"What… is this?" Leonardo asked, pulling the paper closer to his face and squinting. Apparently the genius was also becoming farsighted with older age. One more reason for Margherita to be convinced he was getting old.

"Oh, that was just something I was bouncing around a while ago."

He was holding the sketches Margherita had quickly penned ages ago when she had first been approached with the request to arm the courtesans from Masina.

"Hm," she made a noise in the back of her throat as she took the paper from Leonardo's hands gingerly. "It was just something I was bouncing around a while ago," she repeated in a murmured voice.

"The hairpin daggers would be the easiest to make," Leonardo mused, stroking his beard. "But the shape might give away their deadliness. I really like those fans."

Rubbing her chin, absently mimicking her mentor, Margherita spoke up. "The fans would involve some pretty complex spring technology."

"Like the assassin's hidden blade."

"And it would need to be just as deadly – it would involve more blades too, assuming they would spring from each line of ribbing."

Without much thought involved, Margherita stalked over to the cluttered tabletop and grabbed a quill. Suddenly every little thing that had ever been wrong in the world slowly slid into its proper place as she remained bent over the table spilling new ideas onto the paper. Leonardo came to stand over her shoulder and muttered small suggestions to make the device workable.

"Do you think I would have to totally rework a premade fan or would I have to do this from scratch?" she asked absently, mentally trying to decide if the springs should be automatic or manual.

"I would need to see what kinds of fans you're working with," he said.

With a final stroke, Margherita held her schematic up and admired it for a moment. It was perfect. She would need to work out the calculations later but for now it was certainly a starting point.

"I'll bring one with me next time and we can see how it works. In the meantime I'll start on the hairpin idea."

Stuffing the schematics in her purse with the same care she probably would have given a spare piece of paper, she bounced to the door. Surely it was time to get back home before she was missed and Ezio got suspicious and also, she was anxious to get home and start plans. It was one more thing to add to her list of responsibilities but at least it was something she enjoyed – no, not enjoyed – this was something she loved.

"Margherita," Leonardo started.

The blonde was at the door already, hand on knob, about to open it and show herself out. She turned back to the inventor with a smile.

"Margherita," he repeated. "There won't be a next time."

"Hm?" she made a subtle noise in the back of her throat, a smile still on her face. Obviously it hadn't sunk in yet.

"There won't be a next time. You can't come back here, Margherita."

Slowly what he was saying washed over her. It didn't matter that she hadn't even asked for his logic, it didn't matter that at some level she knew why she couldn't come back – all that mattered was that her best, eldest and dearest friend was telling her that she couldn't come back to a place that had instantly made her feel like she was back at home. The tears welled up in her eyes as she took her hand off the doorknob.

Leonardo immediately realized that what he had said upset her and he crossed the room to hug her.

"Margherita, it's not that I don't want you here," he explained. "It's not that I don't miss you every second of every day – but I work for the Borgia now. You're the wife of the most wanted man in Roma. It's not safe here. I let it happen this one time because I missed you so much and thought that if you wanted to see me that desperately you must need something very badly."

"I did need something very badly," she murmured into his chest and raggedy beard. "I needed to see you. And talk to you. I needed to be reminded of a time before this." She sniffled loudly and pulled away to wipe her nose. God, she was twenty-nine, she shouldn't be this emotional. If she hadn't been totally upset she might have been worried that she was pregnant or something. "I thought being married would just be a continuation of all the happiness we had been experiencing prior. You remember how happy we were, don't you? I didn't just make that up?" At his nod, she sighed. "I just thought it would be different."

"Marriage is difficult, Margherita," he smiled sagely.

"Our marriage wasn't difficult," she shot back, brushing the hair out of her face.

"Our marriage was fake."

"I miss our fake marriage."

"I know."

With a deep sigh, she wiped the tears from her face and squared her shoulders. "This isn't goodbye," she stated.

"No. Never goodbye."

Leonardo took her in his arms one last time and stroked her hair. Margherita didn't even have the energy to tell him not to mess up her hairstyle – it had taken her a half an hour that morning. Instead, she just melted into him and let go of all the troubles in her heart.

"If you ever need me, just tell one of the courtesans."

"I will."

Then he released her and without looking back she pulled her veil up securely around her head and walked right out the door.

"Crouch."

"I hate you."

"You aren't crouching."

"I am crouched."

"Not enough."

"This is as far as my body goes."

"If you don't crouch more you won't get the push off you need to get across to the other roof."

"I'm not jumping to the other roof."

"You won't get to the other roof if you don't crouch more."

"This is so stupid. I didn't ask for this."

"You say that every time I make you do something you don't want to do. Just admit you're enjoying yourself."

"I'm not enjoying myself. I'm up on a ledge and you're telling me to get to the other side without dying."

"Could be worse – I could be asking you to do a Leap of Faith."

"Now you're gonna tell me that that's next week's lesson."

"No. That's only for full-fledged assassins."

"Good, I have no intention of being a full-fledged assassin."

"Right – because that would involve telling Ezio about your little escapades."

"Shut up."

"Crouch."

"Hate. You."

The next month found Margherita situated in her room at the brothel. Even though she was living at the Tiber Island hideout, she still kept some things in her spare room. There was a rare day where nothing else required her attention and she decided to get a start on possible weapons. After some discussion with the girls, Margherita decided to keep it simple first. Each girl would be outfitted with necklaces that held poison and a hidden dagger in the boning of the corset. Later if finances were available it would be possible to make the hairpin daggers and the fans.

A tumble of dark brown hair peeked into the room. "You wanted to see me, Margherita?"

"Masina!" She rose to greet the girl with a hug, then pulled her into the room. "Yes, yes, yes! I cleared your schedule for today because I need your help." After dragging the olive skinned girl to her bed, Margherita sat her down and shoved a needle and some thread at her. "Your mother was a seamstress."

"Yes… how did you know that?"

"Dom might have mentioned it a while ago," Margherita spoke while rummaging through a pile of corsets.

Earlier that day she had pestered a few of the girls into giving her their corsets to borrow and alter to accommodate the new dagger sheath. The idea was to make the sheath removable. So – Margherita was going to sew two ribbons on the inside of the corset and then attach ribbons to the sheath. That way before putting the corset on, the girls could tie the ribbons together. And the sheath would be situated high enough in the dress so that it would be in the cleavage and could be easily removed without nicking any skin.

Masina fiddled with the needle a bit. "Hm. It seems like you've been talking quite a bit."

"He's always here, checking up on you."

"And flirting with you."

Margherita picked up the first corset – it was old enough that if she managed to ruin it, she wouldn't feel bad about replacing it. "I'm happily married."

"You're married, at least."

For a moment, Margherita was floored. She stood with her mouth gaping and her pride flaring. It only took a second for the younger girl to realize what she had just said. Her hazel eyes grew double the size and her mouth opened to apologize. Then Margherita started laughing. It was probably the shear look of panic on the girl's face. Throwing the corset at the girl, Margherita giggled and said, "Close your mouth, girl. I love seeing this side of you."

"I'm sorry," she stared down at the corset, smoothing it down.

Margherita came to sit next to her. "Don't be," she sighed. "I like honesty." Reaching under the bed, the blonde popped back up with a box of the daggers she had picked out especially at the blacksmith the day before. They were too thin to block any heavy weaponry, but they could cut flesh in a bind.

"Are those daggers?" Masina asked, leaning over to get a better look.

"Yes, we'll be sewing these ribbons into the corsets so that the sheaths can be moved from one outfit to another. And when the corset comes off… as it typically does, it won't be noticed."

"When do you think the lessons will move on past getting out of holds?"

The blonde blinked at the brunette for a moment. The girl was rather petite – granted, she had all the assets needed for this kind of work, but she was still pretty small and the bloodlust she had just expressed was rather uncommon. Margherita had begun taking the girls' lessons from outside with distraction techniques to inside with tricks during close combat.

"Probably next week. I still have a few more rotations to get through."

Masina nodded and began to thread her needle. Margherita watched her for a solid minute before threading her own. If the girl had a problem, she would come to her when the time was right. This wasn't it.

They worked for a solid two hours and got through the first batch of corsets. Masina was just returning with the second batch when a knock on the door startled them both. For a moment Margherita worried it was her husband and began to try to block the intruder's view of the weapons, but when she looked up she realized it was only Machiavelli. God, just seeing his face made all her muscles sore in remembrance of all his abuses in the fighting ring.

"Margherita," he nodded his greeting. Asshole, though he was – he still had manners.

"Masina," Margherita pointed with her needle at the girl as a way of introducing her. "That's Machiavelli. He's the one that's been teaching me all the things I teach you."

Nodding to the girl, but otherwise giving her no other attention, the asshole sauntered into the room and picked up one of the daggers Margherita had been trying to hide behind her skirt. Spinning it around in his fingers, he commented, "Not bad quality."

"Glad you approve," Margherita snarked and snatched the weapon from his hands. He let it be removed from his grasp. Then, she began to stitch the ribbon around the sheath with small but reinforced stitches.

"So, when I'm not pounding your face into the ground, this is what you do to occupy your time…"

She scrunched her nose. No, he had never actually pounded her face into the ground, but recently he'd been getting rougher. Not enough to leave her crippled – but just the night before Ezio and she had been engaged in their usual nightly activities and he had put too much pressure on her side – right where Machiavelli had thought it might be a good idea to punch her the day before. Ezio had in fact noted her squeal of pain and had commented on it. Quick thinking had saved the day, but really it was starting to get out of hand.

Scoffing, she shot back, "Actually, this is rather recent."

"I suppose I'll have to teach you how to use these then, next time?" He raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms.

"Which is… tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"Alrighty." When the asshole/assassin/writer did nothing but continue to stand there obnoxiously, Margherita prompted, "Is there something else you needed?"

"Ezio has taken on apprentices."

Margherita nodded, her husband had informed her of this news about a month ago after recruiting two citizens who seemed eager to have the Borgia removed from Roma. Both of them had begun spending more and more time in the hideout. They weren't exactly living there yet (which Margherita was super grateful for because that would put a terrible dent in her sex life) but more often than not, they would all have dinner together.

She raised her eyebrows, trying to mentally tell him that that sentence didn't at all explain why he was here, in her room. "And… you're upset?" she questioned.

"No. Quite the opposite – we need new recruits. However, it's been a month and he's already managed to get the paperwork so disorganized that even I can't decipher it." If Margherita didn't know the philosopher better, she would think he was… pouting.

Giving a personal giggle to her sewing, she nodded, "Yes – I do believe Ezio hates paperwork even more than he hates the Borgia. Never has any patience for it."

"Right. So. I was thinking you could do it."

The needle paused. "What?"

"I was thinking you could do it."

"Oh." The needle started again.

"So?"

"No."

"You owe me."

"You're doing me a favor, I don't owe you anything."

"You owe your husband something – we need all the help we can get, Margherita. And if that help is lacking because your husband can't keep track of the different missions he's assigning his recruits, that's a problem. A problem you can fix."

The blonde glared up at the assassin, her needle still working. "Do you have any idea how overworked I am? I have to teach the new girls how to distract, I teach all the other girls how to fight – Claudia will still use me as a maid, I've been designing these things," she held up her sewing, "and now I'm actually making them and then I have all my wifely duties and – shit!" The needle had slipped into her finger, drawing blood. She quickly popped it into her mouth and sucked lightly. "Fuck…" she whined around her sore finger.

"It wouldn't be difficult – just keep track of the skills all the assassins are learning, send them on missions that would be suitable for their skill level, that sort of thing." Machiavelli uncrossed his arms in a show of pleading. "Margherita, you are the wife of an assassin."

"So I've heard."

"Please."

Margherita glanced up at the asshole. That was the first time he had ever used anything close to pleading with her. Fuck. She was going to be stuck doing this, wasn't she?

"Talk to Ezio. He probably won't think I'm qualified."

Machiavelli grinned a small, but cocky grin. "I already did," he gloated. "So long as he double checks important things, he's agreed to let you handle it."

Giving a small sigh, Margherita glanced down at her injured finger. A drop of blood has already pushed its way out in the absence of her mouth. So, she stuck it back in and muttered around it, "Glad that's settled – now, can you scram? I've got tons of work to do."

For once the man left without comment and Margherita was alone with Masina. The girl had a small smile on her face, though her focus remained on her work.

"You have something to say – say it," Margherita nearly snapped.

"You act like you're so overworked – and perhaps you are, but I think you enjoy it."

And even though Margherita wanted to argue and argue and argue, she saw the truth of that statement reflected in those wide, hazel eyes.