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Title: The Road
Fandom: Assassin’s Creed II
Pairing: Ezio/ Leonardo
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Codex page content spoiler
Summary: Ezio discovers that there are consequences to his actions, and the road to redemption is never easy.
This story continues on from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kissmytypos’s fic, “Good Intentions”, which can be read here.
A/N: My sincere thanks tokissmytypos for permission to write the sequel. Thanks to everyone reading this as well!
Chapter Four.
1
Standing alone at the gate of the thieves’ palazzo, Ezio suppressed the urge to display a rude gesture in response to Antonio’s self-satisfied grin. The thief had a valid point, however; he could not spend the rest of his life deliberately avoiding Leonardo.
It is a sad day when I have no qualms about assassinating a stranger, yet am afraid to visit my oldest friend, Ezio decided, as he made his way toward the workshop.
In order to bypass the closely guarded rooftops of midday, he hurried through meandering alleyways and vaulted past unguarded balconies, keeping close to the shadows where possible. A sharp pain shot up his side after landing from a perilous jump, and Ezio grimaced, freeing the ancient scroll within his robes that dug into his rib.
He wound his fingers around the tightly rolled parchment, recalling how Leonardo had often suffered for his association with him, enduring interrogations and attacks from overzealous city guards. The man seemed to be in higher spirits these days, however, without the constant shadow of guards to be vigilant for. Ezio’s observations of Leonardo from his secret vantage points told him as much, and any exceptions to the peace Leonardo now enjoyed were expertly removed.
A base unease stirred in Ezio’s gut. He was about to change all that, drawing Leonardo back into his life, like a moth to flame. Another thought took root, and he slowed mid-step.
Am I the moth drawn to flame, or the flame that brings ruin to the moth?
Mindful of the time, Ezio banished the notion with a shake of his head and resumed his hurried pace.
2
Every turn, every shortcut was familiar to him, and he soon found himself at the door of the workshop, despite being waylaid by minstrels eager for coin.
Countless times, he had come by and gotten as far as the entrance, only for his courage to falter before knocking. This time, Ezio was urged forward by necessity as much as by the inundating desire to speak with the man. He readied his hand on the door, and though it was slightly ajar, knocked out of habit.
“Just a moment!” came a cheerful reply from inside.
God, how he had missed that voice.
Leonardo hurried to the door, but upon opening it, his bright expression darkened visibly. “Ezio.” His voice was tighter than garrote wire. “I did not expect to see you again.”
Something in Ezio’s chest throbbed painfully when Leonardo spoke his name, combined with disappointment when the artist offered neither his customary embrace nor invitation to enter. Ezio motioned toward the interior of the workshop and nodded approvingly. “The years have been kind to you, Leonardo.”
For all the chaos Ezio had sown in Venezia, the workshop remained largely unravaged, save for several new sketches plastered on the stone walls and haphazardly arranged stacks of books on his worktables. The stifling, sultry heat of waxen candles blended with the rich scent of newly mixed oil paints to complete the studio’s ambience.
Leonardo shrugged, then stepped hesitantly towards Ezio. “But you…you are not the same at all.” A distant quality to his response, bordering on sadness.
“I have been busy.” Ezio bowed his head briefly to acknowledge the observation, but did not elaborate further.
“So I have heard.”
As Leonardo moved back, grudgingly allowing entry, Ezio noticed that he did not ask for an explanation; his custom was to wait for Ezio to tell him as much as the assassin wanted him to know. Ezio had long since decided that Leonardo was better off unaware - of whose blood had soiled his hands, whose lives he had taken in the name of revenge. It was an approach he applied even in matters of the heart.
With disastrous results, Ezio reflected, before Leonardo’s voice shook him out of his stupor.
“What brings you here today?”
Certain that Leonardo would turn him away, Ezio inhaled tensely, his grip nearly crushing the Codex page. Warmth trickled from where nails dug bloody crescents into his palm. “I was hoping you could help me with something.”
Leonardo seemed contemplative for a moment. “Anything for you, my…” A faint hitch registered in his voice. “…My friend.”
Ezio released the anxious breath he had been holding and withdrew the scroll from his robes. As he held it out, Leonardo seized it with the enthusiasm of a child receiving a new gift.
“Another one! How exciting!” he exclaimed, as they shifted effortlessly into a caricature of their old routine. With a flourish, Leonardo unrolled the scroll and examined the text. “Hmm, if I just…oh, I see, indeed…I could transpose these letters here and…it works.” He snatched up a quill, scratching it on another piece of parchment. “This entry seems to be about Altair’s foray into an artifact. It says here that he saw visions of flames, the destruction of metal towers, and…”
While he chattered away, Ezio wondered how Leonardo could speak like this, as if their petulant exchange had not occurred, and everything was as it had been, before Carnivale, before that night—
A dark glimmer of velvet in Leonardo’s studio caught his attention, and Ezio gestured absently toward the hirsute ensemble hanging in the workshop. “You still have that?” he asked in disbelief.
The scroll dropped from Leonardo’s hands with a clatter. His fingers hesitated, but he did not turn around. “Of course. I keep it now as a reminder,” Leonardo replied.
“Of what?”
Ezio was met with another long silence. The answer, when it came, was clipped. Concise. “Betrayal.”
The assassin flinched, as if he had been struck. “I would hardly call it—”
“You betrayed my trust, Ezio.” Leonardo turned sharply, his eyes filled with a thin layer of hate, but most of all, hurt. “And still you will not concede?”
The naked anguish in Leonardo’s expression stunned Ezio to silence, and he took a cautious step back, as if to turn and go.
“This again? Will you run every time things become difficult?” asked Leonardo.
How he hated the cruel taunt in Leonardo’s voice; it did not belong in one such as he, and Ezio felt ashamed at knowing he was the cause of it.
“It is how I have survived for so long as an assassin,” he retorted, quickly retrieving the Codex page and slipping it back into his robes. He turned toward the door. “I must meet with another ally of mine now. Perhaps another time, Leonardo.” This meeting was not progressing the way he hoped it would, but he had expected as much. Of course Leonardo would not welcome him back without repercussions. He needed to retreat, organize his thoughts enough to try again, and—
Leonardo laughed, a low, pained sound, as he braced his hands against the worktable behind him. “Please, Ezio…do not go. I have thought about this for some time, and I have something to say.”
Ezio folded his arms across his chest. “What is it?”
“I know the last time we exchanged words, I insulted your creed, and for that…I am sorry.”
It was no fault of Leonardo’s, but here he was, shouldering the burden that was not his to bear.
“I was not of my right mind then. But,” he said, the fight fading from his eyes, “fear not. I have already made peace with what happened that night, Ezio. It was a mistake born of drunken revelry, nothing more.” Leonardo paused to glance imploringly at Ezio. “If we could just put it behind us…”
Ezio was already moving several steps forward, closing the distance between them. “Leonardo. Listen to me,” he said, gripping Leonardo’s wrist. “I…” He frowned, having no words to comfort him. Even if he had them, they would sound clumsy and brutish. He could agree it had been a mistake, they could put it behind them and move on, but—
“It was not a mistake.” Damn that part of him that did not want to forget.
Within moments, Ezio swept him into a crushing hug, his arm sliding around Leonardo’s waist and one hand pressing Leonardo’s head softly to his shoulder.
“Do not think me some wounded bird,” Leonardo said, struggling in Ezio’s embrace, but it only served to tighten the assassin’s arms around him. His breath was hot against the back of Ezio’s neck, and Ezio could feel Leonardo’s arms curling cautiously around his shoulders. “If it was not a mistake, then…?”
He drew back, gazing at Ezio with bated breath, as if not daring to hope, but the hope in his eyes shone so vividly that for a moment, Ezio brought his lips to Leonardo’s ear, ready to speak words to soothe and appease.
Abruptly, Ezio’s reservations sprang to the forefront; Leonardo had to be kept safe from harm and kept at a distance, because his heart would be so easily broken should Ezio find another lover or meet his demise at the hands of the Borgia. That thought only bred more questions, more unknowns; it was clear what Leonardo wanted from him, but he did not know what he wanted from Leonardo, even if he survived his strife with the Templars.
He forced himself to release the other man from his embrace, choosing his next words carefully, though he knew there were no words to make this right.
“It was a slip of judgment on my part. I do not care for you that way.”
A well-meant lie.
It was all he could trust himself to say, as he steeled himself against Leonardo’s injured look and the overwhelming desire to enfold the artist in his arms again.
“Then, that night…”
“That cannot happen again.”
Leonardo studied the stone walls of his workshop, as if deliberating a proposition. “Not even once more, Ezio? Not as strangers, but as…” His voice trailed off, as though he did not dare to finish the sentence.
As lovers, thought Ezio longingly. How I wish we could. He gave a rueful shake of his head.
“Please, Ezio,” Leonardo pleaded, reaching out to clutch the lapels of the assassin’s attire. “I do not even care if you are destined to die, I will do anything in my power to help you.”
Even as his hands came up automatically to clasp Leonardo’s, Ezio made a mental note to be more careful about what he told the thieves. Neither Antonio nor Rosa could be blamed for breaking their oath of secrecy to provide solace to a friend, but the last thing he needed was for them to have fed Leonardo false hopes.
“And I know there are others, I do not expect you to be faithful—”
“I cannot do this. It would not be fair to you.”
The hint of a sob escaped Leonardo’s throat, as his fingers tightened around the collar’s coarse material. “You speak of fairness, when you have ingrained yourself so firmly into my life? And into my heart?” Leonardo asked wretchedly.
Ezio could only stare in response, the revelation touching something so raw within him that he found himself at a loss for words. He glanced at the door, but as he met Leonardo’s eyes again, the desperate, needing look he received in turn made him pause.
It would be so easy to surrender.
He could trap Leonardo against his workbench, capture his mouth in a warm, leisurely kiss and let his arms slide down to settle naturally around Leonardo’s hips, as he whispered words of desire, of devotion…
Clenching his fists in a bid to regain self control, Ezio followed by gripping Leonardo’s shoulders. The artist was trembling, seemingly engaged in a struggle to keep warring emotions in check; his hopeless, heart-rending expression was permeated by anxiety, perhaps at the possibility that he would lose Ezio forever.
Ezio could allay that fear, at the very least.
“If it is any consolation,” he began, “I will always be your friend, until the end.” He pressed a thumb against Leonardo’s lips to quell the protest that had already begun to form. “So if we are to do this right, we must not let ourselves be ruled by passion, my friend.” The words rang hollow and false, without much conviction behind them.
Leonardo murmured a soft noise of dissent at the last word and pulled away. “Yes…of course. You’re right.” He busied himself at the table, sketching out some designs, as if the conversation prior had not taken place. “Oh, as always,” he said with an air of false cheer, “if you find more Codex pages, please, bring them to me.”
Ezio started forward, wanting to say something heartening or at least touch Leonardo’s shoulder reassuringly, but it was clear there was nothing he could say to alleviate the situation. He exited the workshop quietly, counting himself lucky that Leonardo had not barred him from his life again.
3
When Ezio returned to the palazzo with news of his ‘success’, the thief could only shake his head in disbelief.
“Well,” Antonio said, settling down in a chair and kneading his temples, “you handled that with all the finesse of performing a surgery with a butcher knife.”
Ezio leaned resignedly against Antonio’s desk, arms folded in front of him. He had no quick retort this time. “Leonardo gives me so much. So selflessly. And all I could offer him in return was an empty promise.”
A subdued sigh, with a shade of disappointment. “Perhaps there is still a way to—”
“No.” Ezio turned and planted his hands firmly on the desk. “It is done. Let it be.”
Antonio stood up slowly, deliberately, his eyebrows raised in askance. “Ezio. You cannot be serious. Look me in the eye and tell me you are fine with letting him go like this.”
Ezio could not bring himself to meet Antonio’s gaze. “It is for the best.”
The thief tossed his hands up in exasperation, muttering a string of curses and something about having to remedy the situation. Ezio hardly heard him, however; he was too preoccupied with wondering how he would refuse the artist the next time he visited.
But Leonardo did not ask again.
(tbc - Chapter Five.)
Fandom: Assassin’s Creed II
Pairing: Ezio/ Leonardo
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Codex page content spoiler
Summary: Ezio discovers that there are consequences to his actions, and the road to redemption is never easy.
This story continues on from
kissmytypos’s fic, “Good Intentions”, which can be read here.A/N: My sincere thanks to
kissmytypos for permission to write the sequel. Thanks to everyone reading this as well!Standing alone at the gate of the thieves’ palazzo, Ezio suppressed the urge to display a rude gesture in response to Antonio’s self-satisfied grin. The thief had a valid point, however; he could not spend the rest of his life deliberately avoiding Leonardo.
It is a sad day when I have no qualms about assassinating a stranger, yet am afraid to visit my oldest friend, Ezio decided, as he made his way toward the workshop.
In order to bypass the closely guarded rooftops of midday, he hurried through meandering alleyways and vaulted past unguarded balconies, keeping close to the shadows where possible. A sharp pain shot up his side after landing from a perilous jump, and Ezio grimaced, freeing the ancient scroll within his robes that dug into his rib.
He wound his fingers around the tightly rolled parchment, recalling how Leonardo had often suffered for his association with him, enduring interrogations and attacks from overzealous city guards. The man seemed to be in higher spirits these days, however, without the constant shadow of guards to be vigilant for. Ezio’s observations of Leonardo from his secret vantage points told him as much, and any exceptions to the peace Leonardo now enjoyed were expertly removed.
A base unease stirred in Ezio’s gut. He was about to change all that, drawing Leonardo back into his life, like a moth to flame. Another thought took root, and he slowed mid-step.
Am I the moth drawn to flame, or the flame that brings ruin to the moth?
Mindful of the time, Ezio banished the notion with a shake of his head and resumed his hurried pace.
Every turn, every shortcut was familiar to him, and he soon found himself at the door of the workshop, despite being waylaid by minstrels eager for coin.
Countless times, he had come by and gotten as far as the entrance, only for his courage to falter before knocking. This time, Ezio was urged forward by necessity as much as by the inundating desire to speak with the man. He readied his hand on the door, and though it was slightly ajar, knocked out of habit.
“Just a moment!” came a cheerful reply from inside.
God, how he had missed that voice.
Leonardo hurried to the door, but upon opening it, his bright expression darkened visibly. “Ezio.” His voice was tighter than garrote wire. “I did not expect to see you again.”
Something in Ezio’s chest throbbed painfully when Leonardo spoke his name, combined with disappointment when the artist offered neither his customary embrace nor invitation to enter. Ezio motioned toward the interior of the workshop and nodded approvingly. “The years have been kind to you, Leonardo.”
For all the chaos Ezio had sown in Venezia, the workshop remained largely unravaged, save for several new sketches plastered on the stone walls and haphazardly arranged stacks of books on his worktables. The stifling, sultry heat of waxen candles blended with the rich scent of newly mixed oil paints to complete the studio’s ambience.
Leonardo shrugged, then stepped hesitantly towards Ezio. “But you…you are not the same at all.” A distant quality to his response, bordering on sadness.
“I have been busy.” Ezio bowed his head briefly to acknowledge the observation, but did not elaborate further.
“So I have heard.”
As Leonardo moved back, grudgingly allowing entry, Ezio noticed that he did not ask for an explanation; his custom was to wait for Ezio to tell him as much as the assassin wanted him to know. Ezio had long since decided that Leonardo was better off unaware - of whose blood had soiled his hands, whose lives he had taken in the name of revenge. It was an approach he applied even in matters of the heart.
With disastrous results, Ezio reflected, before Leonardo’s voice shook him out of his stupor.
“What brings you here today?”
Certain that Leonardo would turn him away, Ezio inhaled tensely, his grip nearly crushing the Codex page. Warmth trickled from where nails dug bloody crescents into his palm. “I was hoping you could help me with something.”
Leonardo seemed contemplative for a moment. “Anything for you, my…” A faint hitch registered in his voice. “…My friend.”
Ezio released the anxious breath he had been holding and withdrew the scroll from his robes. As he held it out, Leonardo seized it with the enthusiasm of a child receiving a new gift.
“Another one! How exciting!” he exclaimed, as they shifted effortlessly into a caricature of their old routine. With a flourish, Leonardo unrolled the scroll and examined the text. “Hmm, if I just…oh, I see, indeed…I could transpose these letters here and…it works.” He snatched up a quill, scratching it on another piece of parchment. “This entry seems to be about Altair’s foray into an artifact. It says here that he saw visions of flames, the destruction of metal towers, and…”
While he chattered away, Ezio wondered how Leonardo could speak like this, as if their petulant exchange had not occurred, and everything was as it had been, before Carnivale, before that night—
A dark glimmer of velvet in Leonardo’s studio caught his attention, and Ezio gestured absently toward the hirsute ensemble hanging in the workshop. “You still have that?” he asked in disbelief.
The scroll dropped from Leonardo’s hands with a clatter. His fingers hesitated, but he did not turn around. “Of course. I keep it now as a reminder,” Leonardo replied.
“Of what?”
Ezio was met with another long silence. The answer, when it came, was clipped. Concise. “Betrayal.”
The assassin flinched, as if he had been struck. “I would hardly call it—”
“You betrayed my trust, Ezio.” Leonardo turned sharply, his eyes filled with a thin layer of hate, but most of all, hurt. “And still you will not concede?”
The naked anguish in Leonardo’s expression stunned Ezio to silence, and he took a cautious step back, as if to turn and go.
“This again? Will you run every time things become difficult?” asked Leonardo.
How he hated the cruel taunt in Leonardo’s voice; it did not belong in one such as he, and Ezio felt ashamed at knowing he was the cause of it.
“It is how I have survived for so long as an assassin,” he retorted, quickly retrieving the Codex page and slipping it back into his robes. He turned toward the door. “I must meet with another ally of mine now. Perhaps another time, Leonardo.” This meeting was not progressing the way he hoped it would, but he had expected as much. Of course Leonardo would not welcome him back without repercussions. He needed to retreat, organize his thoughts enough to try again, and—
Leonardo laughed, a low, pained sound, as he braced his hands against the worktable behind him. “Please, Ezio…do not go. I have thought about this for some time, and I have something to say.”
Ezio folded his arms across his chest. “What is it?”
“I know the last time we exchanged words, I insulted your creed, and for that…I am sorry.”
It was no fault of Leonardo’s, but here he was, shouldering the burden that was not his to bear.
“I was not of my right mind then. But,” he said, the fight fading from his eyes, “fear not. I have already made peace with what happened that night, Ezio. It was a mistake born of drunken revelry, nothing more.” Leonardo paused to glance imploringly at Ezio. “If we could just put it behind us…”
Ezio was already moving several steps forward, closing the distance between them. “Leonardo. Listen to me,” he said, gripping Leonardo’s wrist. “I…” He frowned, having no words to comfort him. Even if he had them, they would sound clumsy and brutish. He could agree it had been a mistake, they could put it behind them and move on, but—
“It was not a mistake.” Damn that part of him that did not want to forget.
Within moments, Ezio swept him into a crushing hug, his arm sliding around Leonardo’s waist and one hand pressing Leonardo’s head softly to his shoulder.
“Do not think me some wounded bird,” Leonardo said, struggling in Ezio’s embrace, but it only served to tighten the assassin’s arms around him. His breath was hot against the back of Ezio’s neck, and Ezio could feel Leonardo’s arms curling cautiously around his shoulders. “If it was not a mistake, then…?”
He drew back, gazing at Ezio with bated breath, as if not daring to hope, but the hope in his eyes shone so vividly that for a moment, Ezio brought his lips to Leonardo’s ear, ready to speak words to soothe and appease.
Abruptly, Ezio’s reservations sprang to the forefront; Leonardo had to be kept safe from harm and kept at a distance, because his heart would be so easily broken should Ezio find another lover or meet his demise at the hands of the Borgia. That thought only bred more questions, more unknowns; it was clear what Leonardo wanted from him, but he did not know what he wanted from Leonardo, even if he survived his strife with the Templars.
He forced himself to release the other man from his embrace, choosing his next words carefully, though he knew there were no words to make this right.
“It was a slip of judgment on my part. I do not care for you that way.”
A well-meant lie.
It was all he could trust himself to say, as he steeled himself against Leonardo’s injured look and the overwhelming desire to enfold the artist in his arms again.
“Then, that night…”
“That cannot happen again.”
Leonardo studied the stone walls of his workshop, as if deliberating a proposition. “Not even once more, Ezio? Not as strangers, but as…” His voice trailed off, as though he did not dare to finish the sentence.
As lovers, thought Ezio longingly. How I wish we could. He gave a rueful shake of his head.
“Please, Ezio,” Leonardo pleaded, reaching out to clutch the lapels of the assassin’s attire. “I do not even care if you are destined to die, I will do anything in my power to help you.”
Even as his hands came up automatically to clasp Leonardo’s, Ezio made a mental note to be more careful about what he told the thieves. Neither Antonio nor Rosa could be blamed for breaking their oath of secrecy to provide solace to a friend, but the last thing he needed was for them to have fed Leonardo false hopes.
“And I know there are others, I do not expect you to be faithful—”
“I cannot do this. It would not be fair to you.”
The hint of a sob escaped Leonardo’s throat, as his fingers tightened around the collar’s coarse material. “You speak of fairness, when you have ingrained yourself so firmly into my life? And into my heart?” Leonardo asked wretchedly.
Ezio could only stare in response, the revelation touching something so raw within him that he found himself at a loss for words. He glanced at the door, but as he met Leonardo’s eyes again, the desperate, needing look he received in turn made him pause.
It would be so easy to surrender.
He could trap Leonardo against his workbench, capture his mouth in a warm, leisurely kiss and let his arms slide down to settle naturally around Leonardo’s hips, as he whispered words of desire, of devotion…
Clenching his fists in a bid to regain self control, Ezio followed by gripping Leonardo’s shoulders. The artist was trembling, seemingly engaged in a struggle to keep warring emotions in check; his hopeless, heart-rending expression was permeated by anxiety, perhaps at the possibility that he would lose Ezio forever.
Ezio could allay that fear, at the very least.
“If it is any consolation,” he began, “I will always be your friend, until the end.” He pressed a thumb against Leonardo’s lips to quell the protest that had already begun to form. “So if we are to do this right, we must not let ourselves be ruled by passion, my friend.” The words rang hollow and false, without much conviction behind them.
Leonardo murmured a soft noise of dissent at the last word and pulled away. “Yes…of course. You’re right.” He busied himself at the table, sketching out some designs, as if the conversation prior had not taken place. “Oh, as always,” he said with an air of false cheer, “if you find more Codex pages, please, bring them to me.”
Ezio started forward, wanting to say something heartening or at least touch Leonardo’s shoulder reassuringly, but it was clear there was nothing he could say to alleviate the situation. He exited the workshop quietly, counting himself lucky that Leonardo had not barred him from his life again.
When Ezio returned to the palazzo with news of his ‘success’, the thief could only shake his head in disbelief.
“Well,” Antonio said, settling down in a chair and kneading his temples, “you handled that with all the finesse of performing a surgery with a butcher knife.”
Ezio leaned resignedly against Antonio’s desk, arms folded in front of him. He had no quick retort this time. “Leonardo gives me so much. So selflessly. And all I could offer him in return was an empty promise.”
A subdued sigh, with a shade of disappointment. “Perhaps there is still a way to—”
“No.” Ezio turned and planted his hands firmly on the desk. “It is done. Let it be.”
Antonio stood up slowly, deliberately, his eyebrows raised in askance. “Ezio. You cannot be serious. Look me in the eye and tell me you are fine with letting him go like this.”
Ezio could not bring himself to meet Antonio’s gaze. “It is for the best.”
The thief tossed his hands up in exasperation, muttering a string of curses and something about having to remedy the situation. Ezio hardly heard him, however; he was too preoccupied with wondering how he would refuse the artist the next time he visited.
But Leonardo did not ask again.
(tbc - Chapter Five.)
