Chapter Text
-Chapter 1: Flight & Reunite-
It was a warm, sunny Roma afternoon - well, rather on the hot side actually - but the sun beating down upon the crowded streets below was made mercifully bearable by an occasional cool breeze swept in from the sea.
Leonardo da Vinci walked those streets on that very afternoon, red beret in one hand and fanning himself as he went. Perhaps it was folly for a man of such fair complexion to be outside at a time such as this; but these moments of freedom were rare in his current situation and heatwave or not, the heavy heart he’d carried for the past few weeks was feeling somewhat lighter by even this simple act.
Of course, that wasn't to say that Leonardo's surroundings were precisely the most ideal for his creative mind; the current state of suppression under the Borgia had long taken its' toll on the populace and was known to Leonardo even in his highly closeted state. These people of Roma were truly a dismal lot; and with no work, no hope to be had, it was little wonder.
Although the area he wandered about was not the worst by far, still there were signs all around of what had become of the once thriving metropolis. Just here, a woman shuffled by with a painfully skinny, squalling babe on her hip; deaf to its cries as her glassy gaze wandered at her feet. Over there a man paced about on threadbare shoes, wearing what looked to be a wheat sack and giggling and muttering to himself as his eyes darted everywhere, deep in the throes of mania. The moaning and groaning of the unfortunate frequently cut through the usual din of the busy city, and Leonardo had no doubt that in poorer sections of Roma hopelessness could take on an almost tangible quality; stifling the life out of everything.
All too frequently he witnessed thefts in broad daylight and it wasn't uncommon to hear of bodies being found in the streets either, broken and stripped clean for what pittance they could offer; though mercifully Leonardo hadn't been witness to it himself. Thieves and murderers thrived in the catatonic state of the city, and the guards would not lift a finger to intervene if it didn't concern one of their own.
Indeed, the Borgia's men - cruel and unfeeling with their power - were perhaps the very worst of the lot.
As he walked, Leonardo studied the architecture around him too. With the exception of so many boarded-up shop fronts, the buildings in this sector were in good shape, their finely hewn stones showing few signs of the degradation seen elsewhere. This was an area firmly under the Borgia's control, and if one would ever deign to forget that, there was a whopping great tower with red bull banners blocking out the sky, and a heavily armoured guard on every corner to remind you.
Leonardo remained especially wary of them.
No stranger to harassment, Leonardo knew how swiftly rumour of his connections to the Auditore usually spread through each new city he visited. Never would he feel anything but pride and honour for his ties to this family - Ezio in particular, if he were very honest - but with what little freedom he still had, he dreaded to imagine his cage could be made even smaller if he gave cause to be made a target by the Borgia's men. He had already had several unwarranted run-in's since first arriving in Roma and the outcome had never been good.
Taking a moment to divert his thoughts from the sour direction they had headed in, Leonardo leant against a pillar by the side of the street and wiped the sweat from his eyes. Blinking through the sting it left, he took a few deep breaths and focused instead on the intense blue of the sky. With only a scant few wisps of cloud drifting lazily across it, the artist let that serenity permeate his mind - capturing it and keeping it for the countless hours hereafter where he'd likely see little besides his four walls and piles of paper.
Somewhere amidst his idle gazing, a movement on the skyline caught his attention, and observant as he was his eyes immediately flicked down to follow and discern what it was.
For a moment, his mind registered it as the wing of a bird as it disappeared from his sight, but then- ah! There it was again in the gap between two buildings, and this 'wing' belonged to no bird - at least, not of the feathered kind.
A soft swathe of silk attached to a very solid, agile form; caught in the momentum of flight for several seconds before lapping against the broad, hard plains of the figure’s back.
As the moment seemed to freeze in time, and he along with it - Leonardo became acutely aware that his heart skipped a few beats, stuttered, possibly even stopped for a spell before it suddenly came to its senses and began to beat crazily.
He knew that figure so very well, even clothed now as it was in unfamiliar attire and shadowed deeply by the walls surrounding it.
Yet never had he truly had the chance to witness it in action, in its element.
Fingers and booted feet easily found purchase on the walls as he watched, strong arms effortlessly pulling the armour-encased body up behind them; in barely the blink of an eye the figure had already moved onto the tiled roof and was leaving his sight.
Leonardo felt his body tremble, the usually calm artist feeling something franticly propelling him not to let go of this, to hold on with his eyes from fear it would all just be a dream as soon as he closed them. Therefore, he followed.
He had never liked crowds at the best of times, but now as he fought through the throes of people in his path he grew almost claustrophobic in his desperation, apologies thrown in every direction as he forced his way out the other side and found some relief in a calmer stretch of road.
There too was the hooded figure again - a dozen paces in front on beams that crossed overhead - all black, red, gleaming metal and shadows in spots where the sun beat down and none should exist.
Leonardo gasped for air as he gave chase, his endurance truly dismal but fighting anyway. He watched as the swift, learned gate of that figure easily navigated the wooden structures; heavy boots barely gracing each beam before moving to the next. Up there on that level it must have looked the epitome of grace - a master in his element - and in that moment the artist yearned to see it.
Four, five leaps, a shop sign on the wall, an overhanging lamp, an aptly placed pot-plant dangling from an eave, and still that armoured form never slowed. The small, wilting gerbera bore this considerable weight and swung it in a wide, uncontrolled arc back onto the rooftops where he once again vanished from sight.
Just like a playhouse production, Leonardo fancied. The crowds on the street around him had stopped their afternoon activities to watch the display in rapt fascination, their bewildered murmurs humming in his ears as he continued playing his part in pursuing the hero of the story.
Weaving and ducking between them, he took a short flight of steps down, missing two in the process, and making a sharp left into a narrow alleyway.
Here, the damp cobblestone underfoot had clearly seen little of relentless sun overhead, deep shadows from the high walls on either side swallowing up much of the heat and, indeed, the light too. It was a pleasant reprieve for the tiring artist, and was it not for his cause he would be sorely tempted to stop; but a whistle and the echo of footfalls far above thrummed on the stone walls around Leonardo, and the realisation that they now moved in tandem sent a strange thrill through his body and renewed his vigour.
Out of the shadow and into the light again, a sloping curve brought him from the residential into the government district. Here the buildings were squat, sturdy and rather uniform in appearance; long free runs of rooftop that were ideal for archers doing their rounds, and even more ideal for wayward assassinos.
Best of all, the artist had a completely unobstructed view and a wayward assassino was keeping pace with him at this very moment.
He didn't know how long the shadow-in-the-light had been aware of his presence - possibly longer then the reverse - but as Leonardo looked up from the alleyway he became acutely aware that his target had deliberately slowed to keep abreast with him as he ran, and furthermore, was staring right down at him.
Leonardo almost tripped over his own feet then; the strange intimacy of running side-by-side coupled with the look on the assassin's face making him forget to watch where he was going. From amid the deep shadows of his hood, full lips curled open to reveal a sly, wolfish grin, a deep baritone laugh bubbling up from his throat to accompany it. The pleasantly nostalgic sound of it made warmth flood Leonardo’s chest.
Sadly, the bittersweet moment between them was over as quickly as it began. The assassin broke his gaze and turned away, distracted; veering around a chimney to emerge on the other side with a heavy crossbow drawn and aimed with one hand.
The artist felt completely thrown by the sudden shift in atmosphere, and as he slid to a stop and tried to wrap his head around what was happening, the dashing assassin had already loosed a bolt.
The patrolling archer noticed the flying projectile around about the same time Leonardo saw and heard it make impact. The brief look of surprise on the man’s face, and the resulting heavy, wet 'thwack' of the bolt as it slammed into, and through, his chest branded itself in the artists mind, stimulating his brain into a weird state of fascination that overrode all revulsion. The head of the bolt protruded crudely out of the archers back as he teetered upright for a fraction of a second, swaying like a man deep in his cups, then crumpled in a boneless pile where he stood.
It was only when the whisper of a prayer reached Leonardo’s ears that he managed to snap out of the weird trance he'd fallen into, noticing that his own target had already moved sufficiently ahead. All distraction banished from his mind, the hooded man’s primary objective had once again taken centre stage, pushing him forward with renewed urgency after the latest run-in, and the threat of discovery that now loomed.
Leonardo, from where he followed below, began to notice a dramatic change taking place in the assassin as they moved deeper into the heart of the district. Like a leopard stalking its prey, assessing his odds, the loose swinging gait he usually ran with transformed into a tight, slinking prowl. He kept himself low and took detours to avoid detection by the increased level of security in the area, chimneys and roof gardens providing excellent cover for a last-chance reconnaissance.
Several times the artist lost sight of the hooded man, but the sound of boots on the terracotta tiles was never far away, guiding him down twisting lanes and alleyways toward their final destination.
Leonardo knew they were close when his skin began to prickle, the sounds of the assassin’s footfalls mysteriously absent in his ears.
The latest road that he followed had come to an end, parallel lines of houses separating out to frame a large paved piazza filled with crowds and a higher level of noise then elsewhere. Besides the usual clusters of people, street performers performed their acts and several vendors plied their trades from shabby carts under the menacing shadow of a Borgia tower. Several groups of soldiers milled about the area too, never far away from the bannered stone beacon.
It would be several more minutes before Leonardo caught sight of the assassin again. In this time, his nervousness increased significantly, mouth dried up, and he unconsciously began edging towards the shadows of the nearest building in an attempt to be inconspicuous - perhaps due to the assassin’s influence.
Although his skill with blending could probably use some practise, he drew no attention to his presence as he sought and found the perfect vantage point from where he could observe the action, which now began in the form of the armoured assassin emerging on the roof of a far-side building to take down another archer doing his rounds.
Coming from behind, he ended the man's life in one swift motion; the barest glint of sun on metal before a hand clamped over the archer's mouth, hidden blade cleanly severing his spine as he guiding the limp body to fall out of sight.
Moving around the tower at his right, the assassin re-emerged directly above the entrance to the Borgia captain's post; poised on the awning above two heavily armoured brutes that barred the way, one wielding a heavy axe, the other a great-sword.
Leonardo knew how meticulously all of this had been calculated beforehand - guard positions, rounds and shifts committed to memory; the lay of the land and path taken all plotted with a careful eye - but looking at it now, the artists began to seriously question what the hooded man was thinking.
After all, hadn’t he patched up this very same man – numerous times - following encounters with brutes that had left him bruised and bloody? Many of them had been nasty wounds, and on one occasion had almost resulted in the assassin losing the use of one of his arms altogether. Leonardo had had grave fears that next time might well see him lose more then an arm.
Frustrated and trembling, the artist fisted his hands in his wrinkled beret, attempting to push the reawakened fear from his mind. Time and progress would march on regardless of one man’s misgivings.
Judging the moment right, the assassin dropped gracefully from the roof, landing the full weight of his body under the momentum of the fall onto the shoulders of one of the brutes below him.
As the guard's body already began to collapse beneath him, gloved hands took hold of his head and twisted sharply to one side. An audible pop was the only sound the man would produce - his death knell.
Cushioning his own descent, the assassin's body tumbled into a roll that brought him back onto his feet, turning sharply and reaching for the dead man's axe in order to face the remaining brute.
Around this time, all hell broke loose.
One woman’s terrified shout of "ASSASSINO!" sliced through the busy murmur of the crowds, almost immediately resulting in a screaming, hollering stampede as everyone rushed to vacate the area. Mindless with terror, they seemed to understand the word and its associated implications from sites all across Roma; the hooded man had obviously been busy since his arrival in the city.
The closest group of patrolling guards - their leader pointing towards the assassin and issuing furious commands to the men around him - echoed the cry in an entirely different tone. Fury red on their faces, he and his comrades pushed through the panicked people to get across the square, drawing their weapons as they went.
Leonardo himself was almost swept along with those rushing past him, pressing his body flush against the stone wall in order to present as small a target as possible, he said a silent prayer that he would get through this day intact. Even with his cheek mashed against the stone his eyes scarcely left the assassin they were trained on, only shifting to gauge the time it would take for the guards who had just noticed the fight to bridge the distance; mentally willing obstacles in their way.
Amidst the chaos around him, the assassin remained completely focused on his objective, stepping towards his opponent with a calm, calculated resolve even as the brute roared a muffled profanity and moved in to engage him.
For a time they circled each other at a distance, but the hooded man, quickly growing impatient with the impasse - and perhaps wary of the enemy at his back - hefted the axe onto his shoulder and extended an arm, curling index finger to palm with a mocking grin.
“Fatti sotto, porco! (Come on, pig!)”
The words had scarcely left the assassin's lips before the enraged brute was striding forward, armour groaning in protest as he swung his sword up and brought it down in a powerful sweeping arc.
Such a blow was indefensible and would have been enough to cleave a man in two and still go on to bury itself in the cobbles. Together with the swiftness of the soldier's movement in such encumbering armour - a testament to years of relentless training - it was a lethal combination, and something the hooded man had not anticipated.
Indeed, it was clear that he was left unbalanced by the speed of the attack, dancing out of the way unscathed but looking clearly put off by how close it had been. The artist surmised, his own stomach churning, that the rush of wind from the blade's downward plunge had probably hit his face, which in itself would have been quite unsettling; yet the seasoned fighter managed to recover his focus within seconds, reinforcing his grip on the axe and stepping back a little. Face a vision of calm arrogance, he barked out a laugh, tilting his head up.
"Oh ho! Così il porco può danza? (So the pig can dance?)"
The brute growled in anger, breath an audible huff as he wheeled around to engage again.
However, this time the assassin had been anticipating the trigger and though the retaliation to his taunt was again swift, he was swifter still.
At the very last moment he dodged smoothly to the left, stepping in to the brute’s right flank and bringing the blunt end of his axe down hard at the weak spot where plates met at his outer knee.
The soldier howled in pain, toppling heavily to the ground in a dissonant grind of armour; almost curling in on himself as he impulsively reached for the shattered joint with hands that had unthinkingly abandoned their only means of defence.
The assassin didn't wait for his adversary to come to his senses; he brought a merciful end to the brutes' agony; burying his steel in the man’s head and leaping aside to miss the resulting squirt of blood that fountained from the wound.
Leonardo swallowed at the sight, noting that even the small group of guards heading towards the fight seemed taken aback, drawing up short as if contemplating whether they wanted to risk ending up like their comrade.
Placing a boot against the already cooling body of the dead man, the assassin gave his axe a few futile tugs, finding it buried too deeply to waste energy on and thus bending down to retrieve the discarded great-sword instead. Testing its weight and giving it a few experimental swings, he turned to face the approaching guards with a grunt, taking a step forward even as they all took two steps back.
Leonardo was convinced a fresh bloodbath would be imminent, and surely it would have been thus had the double doors of the Borgia captain's quarters not sprung open at that very moment. Emerging from within, the assassin’s prime target stepped into plain view, annoyance etched deeply on his features.
"What in Dio’s name is going on here? Who the--"
Of course, recognition came to the captain's face, but far too late. In that same instant he was staring down at his own chest, mouth agape, blood dribbling thickly from his lips like a river of treacle; his glazed-over eyes trying to make sense of the great-sword buried in his body.
And then he was falling; but there towering over him, a halo of sun behind, was the vision of a darkly hooded man with prayer on his lips; the reassuring press of an arm at his back, guiding him down to where light slowly enveloped everything and his pain began to subside.
"L'angelo della morte... (The angel of death)" he gurgled; blood bubbling around a voice fading but heavy with wonder. He reached up to touch that face but fell short, his hand already useless. Before the light, before oblivion claimed him, he fancied he saw a smile, and that alone was enough.
Leonardo noted the final fall of the man's chest - his last breath; the way his body went slack as the assassin pressed his eyelids shut with blood-spattered gloves, lowering him to the ground.
It felt an overwhelmingly private moment to witness, unsettling in its honesty, and deeply stirring to the artist's mind. Transfixed, he'd watched the strange gentleness with which his old friend had eased the captain’s passing, the slight turn of his lips that gave comfort, the way he had managed to bring peace after such a brutal act.
Leonardo knew that his friend took no pleasure in ending lives; he did what was necessary so that others could at least have a life. Even when he killed someone most would consider unworthy of mercy for their acts, he still did what he could to make their final moments a little less terrifying and empty; showing them the humanity that they themselves had lacked.
To a man like Leonardo – a man of peace – that was what set the assassin apart.
Hands still clutching his beret, eyes glazed, he didn't notice the Borgia tower being scaled, or the way torch was soon married with wood and black powder.
He didn't notice the furious lick of white-hot flames, or how they made the red bull flags shrivel up, casting their embers on the scorching winds.
He did notice when a violent explosion tore up the sky however, especially when the surprise of it had him stumbling back to fall hard on his ass, breath catching in his throat from the shooting pain that resulted.
Quickly setting his wrinkled, sweaty beret onto his head, Leonardo blinked up at the intense orange flames devouring what remained of the watchtower's now roofless rampart, small explosions still tearing apart sections of the tall structure.
Choking and coughing through the smoke that blew down to where he sprawled on the ground, Leonardo scanning the area for signs of the assassin through watery eyes. The piazza lay completely deserted save for the soldier’s bodies, and for a moment his heart twinged at the thought that perhaps his friend had gone and left him behind now that the mission had been a success.
Berating himself over such unwarranted emotion, Leonardo pushed himself to his feet and began to move away from the shadow of the building to search, waving his arms about to clear the smoke as he went. However, he only managing two steps before he felt a rush of air and something heavy clamping over his mouth, his body suddenly hauled backwards by an arm across his mid-section.
Eyes wide, his frightened shouts were muffled by what he now discerned as a broad, masculine hand; fingers rough with calluses pressing against his cheek as he was forced to move in an awkward reverse stumble. Leonardo struggled against his confines but it did little good, though he was by no means a weakling it was clear that he was up against someone of superior strength - probably a soldier.
Several more meters of this and they entered a small, enclosed courtyard where Leonardo's captor promptly drew to a halt, pulling the artist back against the unyielding wall of his chest with a grunt.
"Con calma (Be at ease), Leonardo."
The words came as a strained whisper, too loud in his ears due to their speakers close proximity. It took a moment for Leonardo to register that the voice was a familiar one; a moment in which he'd managed to struggle some more and kick a boot-heel against his captor's shin, receiving a hissed curse in response.
"M-mmfio?!" Leonardo garbled against the hand pressed over his mouth, trying to turn in the assassin's arms when they loosened at his recognition. His friend denied him the movement, but Leonardo felt himself relax in the embrace anyway, gulping in several mouthfuls of air. "What a--"
"SHH!"
Leonardo’s words were cut off by the return of Ezio’s hand over his mouth, and the artist would have protested loudly at the treatment had he not noticed where the assassin was adamantly gesturing with his free hand.
In the piazza that Leonardo had been about to step out into, the group of guards that had nearly met their maker - plus several reinforcements carrying mean-looking pikes - were convening over their dead comrades. They poked about in hay carts, thoroughly scouring the area for any signs of the hooded man. One man worked apart, making no secret of looting each of the corpses in turn. Under the amused gazes of several other soldiers, he greedily stuffed his pockets with whatever valuables he found in their possession, tossing sentimental trinkets aside.
As the two friends stood watching the spectacle from their semi-hidden place, Leonardo's attention drifted, first to the soreness in his back, then on to the position he stood in.
The position he stood in...
Leonardo had always prided himself on having an exceptionally sharp mind, and although he was never a man to boast about his talents, he knew of what he was capable. He could pick up things from clues most would overlook; he could stare right at the golden Apple of Eden without flinching, mind working to unravel its secrets while everyone else shrunk away from its raw knowledge.
Though apparently it took him a good five minutes before he could realise he was standing in the most intimate embrace he had ever shared with his best friend.
From this realisation, his brain kicked into gear and suddenly he was noticing everything.
Primarily it was the insistent press of Ezio's entire body, flush against his back. The full armoured torso may have been an extra thick barrier between them, but imagining what that hard metal covered made the ache in his muscles something he wanted to push for more of, if only as a reminder when he was alone again.
Ezio's arms still braced him too; though the one from his waist had now slipped down to rest against his hip, the other that raised to cover his mouth clamped Leonardo's body securely against his own; thick fabric doing little to hide the feel of corded muscle beneath.
The warm, rough press of Ezio's un-gloved fingers against his mouth, though making it somewhat difficult to speak, also made it hard to resist the urge to kiss and nip and lick at their salt; feel their texture against his tongue.
Leonardo swallowed thickly, closing his eyes as he willed away the physical reaction his body was currently undergoing. It was inevitably going to happen, but he really did not need Ezio to see him like this.
His body refused to cooperate with his wishes - unsurprisingly - but an angel watching over him must have taken pity, because within moments the arms confining him loosened and slipped away; finally allowing him the opportunity to put some distance between himself and the assassin, which he did, albeit on shaky legs.
The guards had finished their inspection, Leonardo noticed with some relief, the last of them leaving the piazza with their comrade’s corpses dragging behind them. It left an ugly great smear of blood along the ground in their wake, which actually helped to deflate the problem in his pants - for the most part anyway.
"Bastardi (Bastards)," Ezio growled from somewhere behind him, clearly irate at the complete lack of respect shown to the dead. A few more expletives followed and by the time they faded into silence, Leonardo felt calm enough to turn and face him.
The years have been kind to him, was the artist’s immediate thought, exceedingly kind.
With the exception of several lined etched into his forehead and by the corners of his eyes and mouth - which Leonardo found he liked due to the character they gave - Ezio showed little sign of the rough passage of years. If anything, to the artist's eyes, he looked better then he ever had.
Gone was the boyish, untried beauty of his youth; the smooth flawless lines had given way to the chiselled masculinity of a mature man. A neatly maintained beard covered his jaw line, framing full sensual lips and accenting the white of Ezio's teeth when he smiled. Even the scar that ran vertically down the right side of his mouth could only add to the vision. Leonardo supposed women went weak-kneed just looking at this man - Dio knew it had that affect on him.
However, the longer he looked at that roguish face, the more he became aware of how he must look to his friend's eyes, which were currently studying him in the same manner. With all the free work that Cesare Borgia had forced him to do over the past months, Leonardo had found little time to truly look after himself and follow his own interests, or work that actually payed enough for him to live on. He put up with it because he had little choice, but the artist was painfully aware of the dark shadows under his eyes from too many late - and often sleepless - nights. He was aware of the limp fall of his hair that bespoke its' neglect and poor nutrition. He was also aware that the full beard he now sported could really use a decent trimming, but in the hours he spent bent over blueprints for those cursed machines, he often played with the unruly facial hair in an attempt to soothe his volatile thoughts – it offered some small comfort.
In any case, Leonardo couldn't hide his flinch at the way he must appear to Ezio. It certainly wouldn't be doing anything to remedy his unrequited love, of that he was sure.
More then anything, though, he did not want to hear the pity that was now apparent in the assassin's voice.
"How have you been, vecchio amico (old friend)? I had heard rumours that-"
"They were probably true." Leonardo cut in harshly, massaging the bridge of his nose as he imagined what Ezio had likely been told; the questions he would have. With the headache he felt coming on and the emotionally vulnerable state he was in, however, it was not something he cared to explain. "Mi dispiace (I’m sorry), I'm just tired. I would discuss it with you another day though, if you could find the time."
Ezio smiled and nodded, watching as Leonardo pulled a worn stick of charcoal from his pocket and began sketching a rough map on the ground.
"My workshop is situated here, facing the Tiber River," he explained, pointing at the exact spot, "but the door is guarded by two Borgia soldiers and sometimes I have unwelcome visitors, so...”
"I'll use a window," the assassin suggested, and because his past entrances had sometimes broken items, added with a grin, "Discreetly, but you might want to clear the area.”
"Of course," Leonardo chuckled, "I will hang a white handkerchief from my bedroom window when it is safe for you to come. How does that sound?"
Ezio's grin widened, eyes sparkling with mirth. "Like the sign a woman would give to her lover?"
"Ezio!"
Face flaming with embarrassment, the artist snapped his stick of charcoal, fixing his friend with a half-hearted glare that really wasn't fooling anyone - especially because that's exactly what his suggestion had sounded like. His show of defiance earned him an amused laugh in reply.
"You would make a rather hairy woman," the assassin teased, enjoying the indignant sputter he got in response before continuing more seriously, "but the handkerchief is an excellent idea. I will pay you a visit within the week."
Leonardo nodded to this, watching Ezio take one last look at the makeshift map before he scaled the courtyard wall, waved, and disappeared without a sound into the deepening shadows of late afternoon.
"I'll be waiting."