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Title: The Plague
Fandom: Assassin’s Creed II (AU)
Pairing: Ezio/ Leonardo
Rating: NC-17 for violence and graphic scenes.
Warnings: Written for this prompt in the AC kink meme. Due to nature of prompt, material is of a graphic nature.
Summary: Modern day AU with bubonic plague, chaos, and one immune researcher. Inspiration from "28 Days Later".
--
* A dictionary of Italian phrases and medical terms is available here. *
--
Italian Phrases
stronzo – asshole
amico mio – my friend
Carnevale – the Carnival of Venice
Sta’ attento, amico – be safe, friend
mafioso – mafia member
amore mio – my love
Mi dispiace – I’m sorry
caro mio – my beloved
Medical Terms
diaphoresis - perspiration
bubonic plague - an infection characterized by swelling in the groin and armpits
sanguineous - bloody
septicemia - invasion of bacteria into the bloodstream
necrosis - tissue death
metastasis - transfer of disease-producing organisms or malignant cells to other parts of the body via blood or lymphatic vessels
opsonic antibodies - antibodies that mark a pathogen for white blood cells to destroy
--
With an absent scratching at his head, Leonardo tapped away at a state-of-the-art computer, inspecting pathogens the research institute deemed to be of interest. He frowned at the myriad of colored molecule maps, annoyed at having to take on more responsibilities due to his colleagues not showing up for work. Because of them, he had not been home for several days. Perhaps if he was lucky, he would get a visit from his good friend—
“Ezio! So good to see you—”
Speak of the devil, hurtling through a set of sliding doors and fumbling at the lock.
“—though you’ve forgotten what I said about coming into my workplace—” The rest of Leonardo’s gentle reprimand died on his lips. “Ezio? What’s wrong?”
Ezio stumbled towards him, clutching desperately at Leonardo’s sleeve, his eyes wide, chest heaving.
The young man before him was normally well composed, perhaps easily excitable at times, but never before had Leonardo seen him like this. One with connections to the Italian mob had to exude confidence, and Ezio always seemed so sure of himself.
“I…I don’t know.” His eyes were clouded, his breath coming in ragged gasps. It was almost as if he had run to the lab where Leonardo worked, Venezia’s own disease research institute.
“You don’t know?” Leonardo noticed an unnatural pallor to the boy’s face coupled with streams of panicked diaphoresis.
“Some stronzo in the street…tried to bite me,” spat the younger man.
Something seemed off about Ezio’s admission—his light brown eyes flicked guiltily to Leonardo’s, then back to the floor. “…Tried to?” began Leonardo, twitching an eyebrow.
Ezio looked up, almost sheepishly. “…Did,” he said softly, as Leonardo tugged him toward a physical examination table.
He shuffled forward, half-supported by the older man. There was no need for this support, considering his minor leg wound from a deranged stranger, but still, he was glad for the contact. Leonardo’s touch was like a salve, both physically and mentally. Perhaps this was why Ezio returned to him, time after time.
For the first time since his frenzied entrance, Ezio noticed the silence of the facility. There were always disapproving glances and frowns upon his midday visits to Leonardo, but not today. “Your colleagues, they…”
“Gone,” replied the other man tersely. “And left me with their things to do, no doubt.” In truth, he had noticed the unusually high rate of absence due to illness in the last few days, but this was of no consequence. What transpired beyond the walls that sheltered them mattered little in the face of his oldest friend lying injured before him.
--
Leonardo blotted a clammy hand on his laboratory coat, fumbling with a lamp above the examination table. He adjusted it to shine on Ezio’s right leg. Faint beginnings of infection had set in around the raw wound, manifesting themselves as angry red pustules. Ezio reached down lazily as if to scratch it, but Leonardo caught his hand and gently pushed it back.
“Don’t. Not until I’ve had a look at it.” He inspected the wound with all the wonder of a child examining a new toy. “How exciting! I wonder what sort of pathogen this is, to cause such –”
Leonardo stopped himself just before blurting out the words rapid deterioration.
“—intriguing skin rash,” he finished lamely, readying several alcohol swabs and some gauze. With a quick murmur of apology, he swiped the wound with the sterile alcohol pads, earning a sharp howl of pain from Ezio, who pulled back abruptly. Those hands he once considered his salvation were now the bearers of pain and punishment.
“I’m sorry, amico mio, but this is how it has to be. You want this to heal, do you not?” Leonardo offered a sympathetic smile as Ezio gritted his teeth and nodded. He finished cleansing the wound, and just as he reached for the gauze, his fingers hesitated in midair.
“…Ezio?” he asked coyly, attempting to draw forth his most captivating smile.
The younger man looked at him suspiciously, cradling his leg. “What is it?”
“Would you mind if I…took a small sample of blood from here? Just to determine if there is anything dangerous in the wound that we should, ah, treat preemptively.”
Ezio was silent for a moment. “Very well. But make it quick.”
Leonardo’s face lit up, more dazzling than any firework at Carnevale, and for a moment, Ezio suspected his motive involved more than determining the nature of his wound.
The moment was all too brief, however, as Leonardo expertly slid a needle under his skin, eliciting another agonized howl.
--
“Fascinating!” Leonardo peered through a microscope, adjusting the lens here and there, trying to gain better focus.
Ezio bit back the retort that of course the blood and skin samples that Leonardo cajoled him into giving were fascinating, when they were not his own.
At the same time, he couldn’t help but be amused at the enthusiasm with which the older man examined the microscopic units of his life. He doubted if, without that same zeal, Leonardo could have created such an array of weapons for him in his spare time, like a small but efficient crossbow, a new line of smoke grenades (to help aid in his escapes, should he have a run-in with rival mob families), and even a pair of ornate, spring loaded pistols that he kept hidden in his sleeves.
“They are not challenging you enough in your research job?” Ezio teased before, indulging in the flush that he elicited in the other man, who muttered something about enjoying these asides. And always, with a faint note of defiance, Leonardo said that they were meant to keep Ezio safe, in his quest to avenge his family. Brutally and mysteriously gunned down short years ago, all that remained of the once proud Auditore family were he, his mother and sister.
Tinkering with odd inventions aside, Ezio found it a pleasure to watch Leonardo work, flitting about from project to project, as he was now, darting from the microscope, to the computer, to the overhead screen where he examined the samples from Ezio’s wound.
Leonardo, on the other hand, regarded the screen solemnly. A slow trickle of dread pooled in his stomach, like a lump of lead, but Ezio’s voice broke through the haze of his self-induced stupor.
“Well? What did you find?”
The researcher swallowed thickly and stroked his close-cropped beard. Although he was no stranger to keeping secrets from Ezio, he struggled to describe the findings even to himself.
“…This seems like a mutated strain of Yersinia pestis, the organism that causes the bubonic plague. Very rare.”
Ezio chuckled darkly, drawing his leather jacket tighter around himself. “I think you will find that it is not quite so rare anymore.”
As Leonardo forced himself to meet Ezio’s gaze, he caught the slightest shadow of fear pass through those eyes, and wondered at the implication of that statement. “…What do you mean?” he asked, feeling his mouth go dry.
The younger man tried to shrug nonchalantly, repressing a sharp chill. “Nothing.” He glanced around the room, trying to form a mental picture of what the facility was like. “Now,” Ezio inquired, in a hasty bid to change the topic, “what defenses does this place have?”
Leonardo gave him a look of polite puzzlement. “Defenses? We have never had need of those before. Perhaps some security measures for the more dangerous disease samples and drugs. Ezio, what is going on?”
Holding back a sigh, Ezio kneaded his temples, thinking. Being on the imparting end of knowledge had never been his forte, since Leonardo was often the one explaining things to him, but perhaps his expertise in the area of survival could save them both.
--
On Ezio’s recommendation, the two of them blocked any doors, windows, and other vulnerable areas in their immediate vicinity with heavier furniture. They also worked to procure enough food and water to last for some time. Patiently, Ezio explained the need to shut down whatever areas were not needed, in order to conserve power and create the illusion that the place was abandoned. The young researcher, however, still struggled to comprehend the situation.
“You mean to tell me,” began Leonardo slowly, “that there is chaos spreading outside and that thieves are rampant?”
“…Thieves, yes. Aggressive ones. And many people, they are…sick.” Glancing at the floor, Ezio could not quite meet Leonardo’s intent gaze.
“Oh! Maybe I should bring the sick here and—”
“No!” Ezio gripped his wrist. “…Trust no one.”
Leonardo flashed him a reproachful look. “But if there are people that need help…”
“Believe me when I say those people are not our friends,” Ezio intimated, the warning inherent in his tone.
With a skeptical hmm sound, Leonardo followed the younger man back to the laboratory where they took his blood culture. Ezio hobbled forward for a few steps before swaying unsteadily and crumpling to the floor.
“Ezio!” Leonardo darted forward to catch him, hurrying him back to the examination table. Verifying by thermometer the heat he felt with his hand, he found that Ezio’s temperature had soared to the point of fever, and quickly. As Leonardo withdrew his hand from Ezio’s forehead, his eyes fell upon the scar on the younger man’s lips, and he wondered what it would be like to brush his thumb over it—
“—Ezio.” He noted the faint irony in disrupting his thoughts by invoking the very name of his distractor. “…You need medical attention,” Leonardo added, clearing his throat guiltily. How could he even think of such a thing at this time? “Perhaps a doctor might--” He breathed in sharply as Ezio caught his hand.
“No…I only need you,” came the faint response, half-lidded eyes fixed imploringly on Leonardo’s.
“You cannot be serious…” The researcher twisted the edge of his sleeve nervously, his conscience warring with his desire to stay. “This place is not equipped for clinical care, only research. And there are no accessible medications on site, barely any medical supplies…” His voice trailed off as Ezio closed his eyes, giving no response except to tighten his grip on Leonardo’s hand.
Leonardo pursed his lips, letting out a frustrated breath at Ezio’s stubbornness. “At least let me bring down your fever. We can discuss what will happen next after that.”
He waited tensely for a moment, and Ezio conceded, releasing his hold. Leonardo pulled back, albeit reluctantly, and ventured off to gather washcloths and clothing from staff belongings to use as makeshift blankets.
--
Despite the rotation of cold washcloths, loosened clothing and continuous encouragement of Ezio to drink water, his fever remained high, and he began shaking uncontrollably in fits. Leonardo paced within the laboratory, unsure of his next actions. Finally, he threw his hands up in frustration.
“To hell with this, I cannot bear to see you suffer. I am going.”
Ezio’s eyes fluttered open in a panic. “Going where?” he asked, his voice a dry rasp.
“I don’t know. The pharmacy, perhaps. Somewhere that sells medication. We don’t even stock basic antipyretics here.” He glanced at Ezio, who looked confused. “Fever medications.”
“You can’t.” He glared incredulously at Leonardo. “It’s too dangerous to go outside.”
Leonardo paused, then laughed grimly. “So there are a few thieves. What can they do to me besides take my money?”
They could take your life, Ezio noted, but left the sentiment unsaid. “Wait for me. I will come with you.” With some difficulty, he braced his hands against the table before Leonardo pressed an insistent hand to his chest to keep him from rising.
“You are in no condition to go.”
“You cannot go alone,” Ezio deadpanned.
“I won’t be far. It’ll be fine,” Leonardo replied, both touched and irritated by Ezio’s concern. He never cared this much before. But with Ezio in tow, he would be unable to make much progress.
For a moment, he was horrified at having thought of Ezio as excess baggage.
Ezio watched him intently. “At least arm yourself with something. In case you’re chased. Or attacked.” He nodded at the counter where he left the weapons Leonardo constructed for him. “Take my crossbow. If,” he added with a roguish grin, “you remember how to use it.”
Leonardo shot him a pointed glare, before picking up the crossbow and quiver, noting the presence of dried blood on the arrows. He brushed his finger thoughtfully against the shaft of an arrow. “Have these been used recently?”
The inquiry was met with a blink. “No, I just…haven’t had a chance to clean them.” Ezio turned away to face the wall.
With a lecture about the importance of weapon maintenance on the tip of his tongue, Leonardo decided that it could wait, making to leave the room again, when he felt an insistent tug on his arm.
“Leonardo. Do not wander. And do not attract attention to yourself.”
He nodded, clapping Ezio on the shoulder reassuringly, his hand lingering for a moment. Just as he withdrew in an awkward fashion, Ezio covered his hand with his own, warm fingers curling around protectively.
“Sta’ attento, amico.”
Leonardo gave him a broad, easy smile, glad for the wish of safety. “Always.”
Ezio lay back, his eyes closed, hoping his expression would not betray his anxiety. He was so tired. So hot. And the pain in his leg was a fiery agony. The most he could do now was pray for Leonardo’s safe return.
If only prayers were enough.
--
Leonardo sneaked outside, careful to keep his footsteps soft. The closest pharmacy was only two blocks away, but stealth would prove an asset in his mission.
The street seemed all but abandoned; ragged newspapers fluttered aimlessly in the street, past deserted cars strewn haphazardly about. Places once known to be popular hives of activity were now silent. He nearly faltered…surely things could not be as bad as Ezio claimed. The thieves, if anywhere, were probably hiding. Leonardo straightened his back, making his way more boldly down the street, still taking care to mask his footfalls. As he walked, he toyed with the idea of transporting Ezio to a hospital, but dismissed it instantly – a hospital would be teeming with infection, their resources stretched to the breaking point.
From the corner of his eye, he spotted quick blurs of motion in the street, and pressed himself as close to the shadows as possible. The pharmacy was only a few steps away…
Breathing a small sigh of relief, he pushed the door open, before noticing a cold, dripping slickness on the handle.
Blood.
He jumped back with a cry of disgust, readying his crossbow. Gently, he eased the door open again.
“Hello?” Leonardo ventured softly. “Is anyone here?”
He winced as the door creaked on its hinges, taking in the surroundings. Shelves were in disarray, with pill bottles and liquids strewn about the floor. A quick glance towards the counter. No one. He slipped behind it, filling a small pack with gauze and bandages, then made his way towards the medications. His goal was to find the antibiotics that treated the bubonic condition, inwardly annoyed at the irony of working at a disease research facility without access to vital medications. Preoccupied with the large shelves of drugs, he did not notice the low growl coming from his right.
A glass vial shattered underfoot.
Leonardo froze, swinging his flashlight toward the source of noise. He looked up into a pair of yellowed, bloodshot eyes, belonging to someone dressed in a billowy white laboratory coat. With a sudden moment of intuition, he realized that this was the pharmacist. Or was.
Jaundice? Leonardo thought hazily, about to open his mouth to offer assistance, before hearing a sharp snarl and feeling a hot torrent of blood expelled violently at his feet. He scrambled backwards, his hands desperately searching for the crossbow. With a sallow, bloodstained hand, the being before him swiped at his face. Leonardo slipped on the vomit, his pack tumbling open, dashing its contents on the floor.
He could feel its hot breath on his neck as he tried to crawl away, hear its keening-coughing cry as it lurched toward him, dizzyingly close, jerkily, greedy, grasping, and –
He twisted around—it was almost upon him, above him— and his body reacted instinctively, legs kicking out feebly while wriggling away. One of his kicks caught the being in the shin, felling it hard as his trembling fingers alit on the crossbow. The creature jerked its head upwards, undeterred, snapping the jaws from which sanguineous filth spilled forth. Leonardo aimed, hoping for the best and deployed the arrow.
There was a wet squelch as the arrow burst through the cranial vault, and the body fell on top of him like dead weight.
All was still.
Kicking the body off, Leonardo lay immobile for a moment, breathing hard, not daring to move lest he attract more unwanted attention. Short moments later, he started to tremble, then shake, curling into a fetal position on the floor, his hands cinched tightly into his hair. As he choked back silent sobs, his mind repeated the same thought, over and over again. I have taken a life. I have killed.
It was enough to incapacitate him for several minutes. He dared not make a noise, for his powers of observation had honed in on the sounds of more shuffling feet outside, more odd keening cries and sharp growls. Too terrified to move, Leonardo shut his eyes, trying to regulate his breathing and bring to mind happier memories that would calm him down. All that surfaced were images of Ezio bursting into his workplace demanding treatment for some wound, bringing him books or puzzles, or even simply spending time with him.
His breathing began to slow and despite his frayed nerves, Leonardo rose to his knees, looking for other aggressors nearby. When he saw none, he shoved whatever he could find, unstained bandages, gauze rolls and swept some bottles of what looked like antibiotics into his pack. To hell with reading the labels, he had to get out of here, away from these things, and just hoped that one of the bottles was right.
As he hurried back to the research facility, now vigilant for other attackers, one thought drove him onwards, despite the fear that gripped him.
Ezio needs me.
He shook his head, a nervous smile creasing the corner of his mouth. That was not quite true.
Ezio needs me, and I need him.
--
“Leonardo, you…made it back…” Despite his fevered flush, relief shone through on Ezio’s face.
“It was nothing.” Leonardo returned the smile easily, hoping Ezio did not notice his bloodstained pants, shoes…hell, bloodstained everything. He took care to wash his hands and face prodigiously, scrubbing with soap until the rank odor of copper faded, leaving his skin red, raw, but clean.
“You did not…run into any of…them?” There was a cautious undertone to Ezio’s voice.
“No. No thieves,” Leonardo replied absently, checking Ezio’s leg wound. “Not really.”
“…Thieves. Oh, yes.” He settled back onto the table, staring at the ceiling into the cool glow of the fluorescent light. “It is good you didn’t see them. They attack people in such a primal manner…in hordes…almost like z—”
“—Do not,” Leonardo hissed, “say that word.” He shuddered almost imperceptibly, but Ezio did not miss the motion, weaving his fingers between Leonardo’s with a reassuring squeeze. “They are…not of their right mind,” Leonardo frowned when he stopped trembling, thinking back to the being he encountered.
It seemed almost wild in nature. As if less than human.
Later, Leonardo would wonder when he created the binary opposition of humans and Them, and realize that it was Ezio who first referred to them as such.
--
Ezio grudgingly took the medications Leonardo told him to, keeping the swelling in his armpits and groin in check. His fever had broken, but in its place he vomited blood, sometimes so forcefully that afterwards, he could only curl into a miserable ball and whimper. Leonardo never complained; he scrubbed away the bloodstains, tended to the wound on Ezio’s leg and bandaged the skin that was starting to rot.
“I think, amico mio,” Leonardo would quip cheerfully during these sessions, “that after all this, I should quit my job here and try for a career in medicine. You know, with all the experience I’m gaining in caring for you.” He would nod at Ezio, hoping his joke elicited a smile.
On good days, he received a derisive snort in response.
Between drug-induced naps, Ezio noticed Leonardo fortifying their immediate area with increased fervor. Then he would move to the lab computer, staring worriedly at the screen, which hummed and beeped. Ezio could never make sense of what Leonardo looked at, other than the phrase MATCH: 96%. When he asked what it meant, Leonardo shrugged it off as nothing—merely an experiment.
At times, when his mind was his own and his body was not throbbing with pain, Ezio offered to help—with the research, scavenging for supplies, anything. However, he was always met with a patient smile and somehow found himself back in the lab, Leonardo pressing him to rest. Frustrated at his total dependence on the other man and his own uselessness, Ezio hoped these brief reprieves were a herald of his recovery.
--
The young mafioso gazed blearily at the fluorescent tubes, light-headed and weak from his latest bout of emesis. In spite of Leonardo’s efforts to clean the surrounding area, flecks of blood stained the table and floor where he rested, firmly entrenched in the tile.
As Ezio scratched at a patch of pinpoint bruises on his arm, he called out searchingly, “…Leonardo? I do not understand. What is this?”
The scientist was at his side in a heartbeat. Examining the bruise, he recognized the telltale symptom, but his skilled hands breezed easily over the tainted skin, as easily as he glossed over the truth. “It’s nothing, probably just a side effect of the –”
“Do not lie to me, Leonardo.” Ezio twitched the sleeve of his friend’s coat, turning his glassy eyes to look upon him. His stare was so vacant, and there was a weariness to his voice, Leonardo noticed painfully, that seemed so out of place on one his age. “We have known each other for a long time. Surely there are no secrets between us?”
Leonardo smiled wryly at the thought, massaging his temples. “Fine. The bruising…the vomiting…you have developed septicemia,” he said at last.
“What is that?”
“A blood infection. One of the three forms of sickness that Yersinia pestis causes…But I made sure…when I treated you...that I washed thoroughly…and—” Leonardo choked back a sob. It would have made no difference.
Ezio reached out to stroke Leonardo’s face, to comfort him, but stopped short when he noticed the blackened skin on his fingers, the necrosis creeping its way through his hand. He let out a slow, labored breath, and touched Leonardo’s clothed arm instead. The purity of his savior must not be tainted.
“It is no fault of yours. Besides…you said this was a mutated form of it, didn’t you? It would only make sense that the end result would be different.”
Leonardo looked up, pale. “Do not speak of the end.” He jerked away from Ezio’s hand, busying himself at the computer. “You will—we will get through this. Everything will be fine.” Although he mumbled to himself, frowning at some numbers on the screen, he spared a brief moment to turn around and beam reassuringly at Ezio.
With a frustrated sigh, Ezio only wondered how long Leonardo could keep up his crumbling façade of optimism before the mask cracked.
--
Under tremendous strain, Leonardo pretended that everything was on track, that his experiment was well underway and that he was optimistic about the results. What specifics about the experiment he kept from Ezio, he did so to not falsely buoy his friend’s hopes. If things did not pan out, at least Ezio would never know of his failure.
Things were not panning out.
Leonardo tried desperately to isolate the chemical, the antibody, the whatever it was that made him immune to the whole disease process. If he could just find it, perhaps he could create a compound that would cure Ezio.
He drew out sample after sample of his own blood, testing them against those from Ezio, but to no avail. The computer displayed only disappointment:
MATCH: 96 %
MATCH: 98 %
for what would trigger successful immune response against this aggressive bacterium. A dash shy of success. He was so close he could feel it, close to identifying the mystical entity for immunity, but something was not quite right, and he could not get a perfect match and—
“…Leonardo?” Ezio stirred groggily from the examination table behind him. “What are you doing?”
He turned, readying the old lie about the nature of his research, having long since abandoned the institute’s goals to help Ezio. All his work was done in secret, but that was no great feat—not when Ezio spent half his waking time in a daze. A daze, Leonardo recalled guiltily, that he sometimes caused by explaining what he could reveal, about reverse metastasis, production of opsonic antibodies and…
Frequently, Ezio would stop listening and go back to sleep. Or pretend to.
Times like those reminded Leonardo of the old days, when Ezio would snore through his excited chatter about his inventions.
He was glad for those short interludes, but as his failures mounted, so did his tension in seeing his friend’s body fail. Until now, Ezio’s body had been compensating well enough, healing slowly from the strict regimen of antibiotics and rest Leonardo imposed on him.
With this new advent of septicemia, however, even Leonardo could tell there was not much time left. He glanced pensively at Ezio, and found, all of a sudden, that his gaze was being met with the same intensity.
And he knew Ezio sensed it too.
--
Ezio no longer worried about the odd bruise patches spreading along his once fair skin. He was past caring why his skin formed large purple pustules, and in areas, looked almost gangrenous.
What few lucid hours he had were spent taking in Leonardo—all that he was, all that he said and did, and the way he prattled on excitedly about everything. The words made little sense to him; only Leonardo’s voice was important, and the bright hopeful looks the researcher gave him when he nodded and beamed at what the other man said.
The days when Leonardo gave him that honest, easy smile were now few and far between; he noticed now that his friend often hid his feelings behind a tight, worried smile.
Ezio would have given anything to stay by Leonardo’s side and listen to his chatter. He looked over at his friend, who was bustling about worriedly, still trying to keep up a pretense of cheer. It was not so much for himself that he wished he could stay—it was for Leonardo, and the tears he knew would come after he was gone.
--
“Leonardo.”
The other man looked up from his work wearily, but managed to coax a smile to his lips. “What is it?”
Ezio struggled to return a wan, sickly grin. “I do not think…I have much longer.”
“We have gone over this before, Ezio, I am quite close to—”
“Listen to me,” Ezio urged, and Leonardo fell silent, ashamed at the irritable edge that slipped into his tone. “I know your research …is important…I also know…that I will soon become one of Them. Use my body for your research, so that others can be saved…and do the favor of killing me when I am no longer useful.”
Leonardo balked at this comment. “No, you…cannot ask this of me. You must live. For your mother and sister.” For me, he added silently.
“You need not worry for them, Leonardo.”
“What do you mean?”
There was a long silence before Ezio spoke again. “You wondered why the crossbow arrows had blood on them.”
Leonardo's eyes widened at the implication of that statement. “…No…it can’t be…”
“They were the first in the family to succumb to the disease. When I returned home, I found them raving and vomiting…and killed them with my own two hands. I do not know if it was out of mercy, or love, or simply my instinct to survive.” He spread his hands out to Leonardo, plaintively. “Forgive me…I sought you out selfishly…”
“Ezio, you don’t have to explain—”
“No…I do. I came to you…for sanctuary…for aid…and to absolve my own guilt.” Ezio paused, and took a deeper breath, as much as his pain-wracked body would allow.
It was long past the time for keeping secrets, for dancing around things unsaid.
“I wanted to spend the little time I had left with you.”
Leonardo could not trust himself to speak, and only held fast to Ezio’s hand as he fought back the sting of tears.
“May we meet again in the next life, when your time comes, amico mio.” His eyes fluttered briefly, and he corrected himself with an almost liberating smile. “Amore mio.”
--
Leonardo sat for a long while, thinking about Ezio’s last words.
After another moment, he stood up. Though it pained him to do it, he bound Ezio’s form securely to the table with rope and tape he had found scattered throughout the lab, having experienced firsthand the strength of the diseased beings. It occurred to him that they were the result of the deceased being reanimated (likely from this bacterium, it was something to be contended with, after all) and he would take no chances with what had once been his closest friend.
Having handled bloodied dressings and wound samples, Leonardo initially entertained the wild hope that he, too, would develop the disease that took Ezio from him. With the passage of time, however, there was no sign of fever, chills or vomiting of blood, and finally, the utter sense of loneliness descended upon him as he sobbed into his hands. Never again would he see that lazy grin, or those warm brown eyes with the mischievous spark. Perhaps in the next life, as Ezio had said.
Hours later, Leonardo found himself afraid not of the next life, but of the new life that glared at him from the examination table.
--
Out of a sense of duty and uncertainty of what else to do, Leonardo continued his experiments. Though he could not save Ezio, he could try to save others. It gave him a sense of purpose to know that he was carrying out Ezio’s wish. At least, he hoped he was.
The scraping noises along the walls did nothing to alleviate his growing paranoia.
He glanced at the form on the table, mentally preparing himself for gathering a sample of its blood. It was now an increasing struggle to take samples from Ezio, or what once was him, as he raged against his constraints. The once pristine workspace was now splattered with vomited blood, as the being on the table snarled and snapped at him, its rheumy eyes flush with bulging veins and blood dripping from its jaws.
To make it easier, Leonardo told himself that there was nothing left of the man he loved on that table.
Always, always, the infernal computer read:
MATCH: 97 %
MATCH: 98 %
MATCH: 96 %
He could never reach that elusive 100%, the one that would let him find the compound, his own blood samples consistently being violently consumed by the diseased cells.
Leonardo grew weaker, conducting tests for longer hours at a time, sometimes even foregoing nourishment. He worked tirelessly, continually drawing out blood, though he knew there was only so much blood one could withdraw without experiencing fatigue.
As a drop of sweat slid down his temple, Leonardo paused, and looked up at the fan. The laboratory was becoming warm again. He wiped absently at his brow and traversed the room, shutting down more machines until it was cool once more, and left the latest sample in the refrigerator to deal with later. A faint crackling sound drew his attention to the corner of the room.
From that corner, the radio once broadcasted news of biological warfare attacks led by the Borgia mafia family to consolidate its power, and bulletins of mass evacuations from Venezia. Now it only crackled with faint buzzes and snaps of static. Leonardo switched that off as well, then returned to the room with the table, with the unsanctified life upon it, and sat down.
He noticed that his mind felt more at rest when he stayed in the room with Ezio. After a while of pretending that the weakly feral growls were Ezio whining that he was hungry or asking if Leonardo was finished with his latest invention, he went to the refrigerator to extract the last sample.
When he returned, he ran a bit of the blood through the analysis mechanism.
The screen blinked: MATCH: 98%.
Leonardo sighed and fell back into a chair. He had lost too much blood, his frame had become gaunt, and his mind exhausted. All his hopes had been riding on this last sample. There was a louder, insistent scraping sound at the walls, and he realized that in his frenzied search for the compound, he had abandoned his work on the fortifications.
It could not be helped. There was nothing left to fortify with, after all. He smiled softly. Nothing left.
Nothing left of the hopes he held for his experiments. Nothing left of the dreams he once aspired to, and most of all…nothing left of the man he—
He could hear glass shattering, no doubt from the unearthly legions pressing their rotting bodies against the once prestigious facility. The sounds of their dragging feet were unnerving, but what bothered him the most were the listless moans that combined to make a symphony—
–no, a cacophony of anguish, of pain and eternal agony, punctuated by the odd raging cry.
And the sounds of eating
(of muscle and sinew tearing, rendered flesh for consumption)
made his stomach curdle. Leonardo glanced at the table, taking what comfort he could in his friend’s presence. As he heard the despairing splinter of wood near the doors he barricaded, he pulled his chair close to Ezio and heaved a forlorn sigh.
“I have tried everything. Still, I have succeeded in nothing.”
He cradled his head in his hands, blinking hard to hold back the tears. Then, with a cautious hand, he reached out to graze Ezio’s haggard cheek.
The days had not been kind to him, and with little sustenance, Ezio no longer had the strength to struggle against his restraints, no longer raged with snarls and growls to snap at his lifelong friend. Leonardo could only tell he was still animated by the shallow rise and fall of his chest.
“Ezio,” he breathed softly, and it was at this moment that the spectre on the table turned to look at him, its cheek nestling into his palm as if they were old lovers. Leonardo made to pull his hand away from the sham, then thought better of it. With his other hand, he caressed the pistols that he once so lovingly carved for his friend, in an attempt to keep him safe, and remembered wondering if his actions to support Ezio’s vengeance would become his own undoing.
“Mi dispiace. I have failed you.”
He brought the gun to Ezio’s head and pressed the matching ornate gun to his own temple, murmuring one last phrase.
“…Caro mio.”
There was a sharp report, the sound ricocheting off the laboratory’s cold, sepulchre tiles.
Behind Leonardo, the screen flashed: OPTIMAL TEMPERATURE ATTAINED.
MATCH: 100%.
Fandom: Assassin’s Creed II (AU)
Pairing: Ezio/ Leonardo
Rating: NC-17 for violence and graphic scenes.
Warnings: Written for this prompt in the AC kink meme. Due to nature of prompt, material is of a graphic nature.
Summary: Modern day AU with bubonic plague, chaos, and one immune researcher. Inspiration from "28 Days Later".
--
* A dictionary of Italian phrases and medical terms is available here. *
--
Italian Phrases
stronzo – asshole
amico mio – my friend
Carnevale – the Carnival of Venice
Sta’ attento, amico – be safe, friend
mafioso – mafia member
amore mio – my love
Mi dispiace – I’m sorry
caro mio – my beloved
Medical Terms
diaphoresis - perspiration
bubonic plague - an infection characterized by swelling in the groin and armpits
sanguineous - bloody
septicemia - invasion of bacteria into the bloodstream
necrosis - tissue death
metastasis - transfer of disease-producing organisms or malignant cells to other parts of the body via blood or lymphatic vessels
opsonic antibodies - antibodies that mark a pathogen for white blood cells to destroy
--
With an absent scratching at his head, Leonardo tapped away at a state-of-the-art computer, inspecting pathogens the research institute deemed to be of interest. He frowned at the myriad of colored molecule maps, annoyed at having to take on more responsibilities due to his colleagues not showing up for work. Because of them, he had not been home for several days. Perhaps if he was lucky, he would get a visit from his good friend—
“Ezio! So good to see you—”
Speak of the devil, hurtling through a set of sliding doors and fumbling at the lock.
“—though you’ve forgotten what I said about coming into my workplace—” The rest of Leonardo’s gentle reprimand died on his lips. “Ezio? What’s wrong?”
Ezio stumbled towards him, clutching desperately at Leonardo’s sleeve, his eyes wide, chest heaving.
The young man before him was normally well composed, perhaps easily excitable at times, but never before had Leonardo seen him like this. One with connections to the Italian mob had to exude confidence, and Ezio always seemed so sure of himself.
“I…I don’t know.” His eyes were clouded, his breath coming in ragged gasps. It was almost as if he had run to the lab where Leonardo worked, Venezia’s own disease research institute.
“You don’t know?” Leonardo noticed an unnatural pallor to the boy’s face coupled with streams of panicked diaphoresis.
“Some stronzo in the street…tried to bite me,” spat the younger man.
Something seemed off about Ezio’s admission—his light brown eyes flicked guiltily to Leonardo’s, then back to the floor. “…Tried to?” began Leonardo, twitching an eyebrow.
Ezio looked up, almost sheepishly. “…Did,” he said softly, as Leonardo tugged him toward a physical examination table.
He shuffled forward, half-supported by the older man. There was no need for this support, considering his minor leg wound from a deranged stranger, but still, he was glad for the contact. Leonardo’s touch was like a salve, both physically and mentally. Perhaps this was why Ezio returned to him, time after time.
For the first time since his frenzied entrance, Ezio noticed the silence of the facility. There were always disapproving glances and frowns upon his midday visits to Leonardo, but not today. “Your colleagues, they…”
“Gone,” replied the other man tersely. “And left me with their things to do, no doubt.” In truth, he had noticed the unusually high rate of absence due to illness in the last few days, but this was of no consequence. What transpired beyond the walls that sheltered them mattered little in the face of his oldest friend lying injured before him.
--
Leonardo blotted a clammy hand on his laboratory coat, fumbling with a lamp above the examination table. He adjusted it to shine on Ezio’s right leg. Faint beginnings of infection had set in around the raw wound, manifesting themselves as angry red pustules. Ezio reached down lazily as if to scratch it, but Leonardo caught his hand and gently pushed it back.
“Don’t. Not until I’ve had a look at it.” He inspected the wound with all the wonder of a child examining a new toy. “How exciting! I wonder what sort of pathogen this is, to cause such –”
Leonardo stopped himself just before blurting out the words rapid deterioration.
“—intriguing skin rash,” he finished lamely, readying several alcohol swabs and some gauze. With a quick murmur of apology, he swiped the wound with the sterile alcohol pads, earning a sharp howl of pain from Ezio, who pulled back abruptly. Those hands he once considered his salvation were now the bearers of pain and punishment.
“I’m sorry, amico mio, but this is how it has to be. You want this to heal, do you not?” Leonardo offered a sympathetic smile as Ezio gritted his teeth and nodded. He finished cleansing the wound, and just as he reached for the gauze, his fingers hesitated in midair.
“…Ezio?” he asked coyly, attempting to draw forth his most captivating smile.
The younger man looked at him suspiciously, cradling his leg. “What is it?”
“Would you mind if I…took a small sample of blood from here? Just to determine if there is anything dangerous in the wound that we should, ah, treat preemptively.”
Ezio was silent for a moment. “Very well. But make it quick.”
Leonardo’s face lit up, more dazzling than any firework at Carnevale, and for a moment, Ezio suspected his motive involved more than determining the nature of his wound.
The moment was all too brief, however, as Leonardo expertly slid a needle under his skin, eliciting another agonized howl.
--
“Fascinating!” Leonardo peered through a microscope, adjusting the lens here and there, trying to gain better focus.
Ezio bit back the retort that of course the blood and skin samples that Leonardo cajoled him into giving were fascinating, when they were not his own.
At the same time, he couldn’t help but be amused at the enthusiasm with which the older man examined the microscopic units of his life. He doubted if, without that same zeal, Leonardo could have created such an array of weapons for him in his spare time, like a small but efficient crossbow, a new line of smoke grenades (to help aid in his escapes, should he have a run-in with rival mob families), and even a pair of ornate, spring loaded pistols that he kept hidden in his sleeves.
“They are not challenging you enough in your research job?” Ezio teased before, indulging in the flush that he elicited in the other man, who muttered something about enjoying these asides. And always, with a faint note of defiance, Leonardo said that they were meant to keep Ezio safe, in his quest to avenge his family. Brutally and mysteriously gunned down short years ago, all that remained of the once proud Auditore family were he, his mother and sister.
Tinkering with odd inventions aside, Ezio found it a pleasure to watch Leonardo work, flitting about from project to project, as he was now, darting from the microscope, to the computer, to the overhead screen where he examined the samples from Ezio’s wound.
Leonardo, on the other hand, regarded the screen solemnly. A slow trickle of dread pooled in his stomach, like a lump of lead, but Ezio’s voice broke through the haze of his self-induced stupor.
“Well? What did you find?”
The researcher swallowed thickly and stroked his close-cropped beard. Although he was no stranger to keeping secrets from Ezio, he struggled to describe the findings even to himself.
“…This seems like a mutated strain of Yersinia pestis, the organism that causes the bubonic plague. Very rare.”
Ezio chuckled darkly, drawing his leather jacket tighter around himself. “I think you will find that it is not quite so rare anymore.”
As Leonardo forced himself to meet Ezio’s gaze, he caught the slightest shadow of fear pass through those eyes, and wondered at the implication of that statement. “…What do you mean?” he asked, feeling his mouth go dry.
The younger man tried to shrug nonchalantly, repressing a sharp chill. “Nothing.” He glanced around the room, trying to form a mental picture of what the facility was like. “Now,” Ezio inquired, in a hasty bid to change the topic, “what defenses does this place have?”
Leonardo gave him a look of polite puzzlement. “Defenses? We have never had need of those before. Perhaps some security measures for the more dangerous disease samples and drugs. Ezio, what is going on?”
Holding back a sigh, Ezio kneaded his temples, thinking. Being on the imparting end of knowledge had never been his forte, since Leonardo was often the one explaining things to him, but perhaps his expertise in the area of survival could save them both.
--
On Ezio’s recommendation, the two of them blocked any doors, windows, and other vulnerable areas in their immediate vicinity with heavier furniture. They also worked to procure enough food and water to last for some time. Patiently, Ezio explained the need to shut down whatever areas were not needed, in order to conserve power and create the illusion that the place was abandoned. The young researcher, however, still struggled to comprehend the situation.
“You mean to tell me,” began Leonardo slowly, “that there is chaos spreading outside and that thieves are rampant?”
“…Thieves, yes. Aggressive ones. And many people, they are…sick.” Glancing at the floor, Ezio could not quite meet Leonardo’s intent gaze.
“Oh! Maybe I should bring the sick here and—”
“No!” Ezio gripped his wrist. “…Trust no one.”
Leonardo flashed him a reproachful look. “But if there are people that need help…”
“Believe me when I say those people are not our friends,” Ezio intimated, the warning inherent in his tone.
With a skeptical hmm sound, Leonardo followed the younger man back to the laboratory where they took his blood culture. Ezio hobbled forward for a few steps before swaying unsteadily and crumpling to the floor.
“Ezio!” Leonardo darted forward to catch him, hurrying him back to the examination table. Verifying by thermometer the heat he felt with his hand, he found that Ezio’s temperature had soared to the point of fever, and quickly. As Leonardo withdrew his hand from Ezio’s forehead, his eyes fell upon the scar on the younger man’s lips, and he wondered what it would be like to brush his thumb over it—
“—Ezio.” He noted the faint irony in disrupting his thoughts by invoking the very name of his distractor. “…You need medical attention,” Leonardo added, clearing his throat guiltily. How could he even think of such a thing at this time? “Perhaps a doctor might--” He breathed in sharply as Ezio caught his hand.
“No…I only need you,” came the faint response, half-lidded eyes fixed imploringly on Leonardo’s.
“You cannot be serious…” The researcher twisted the edge of his sleeve nervously, his conscience warring with his desire to stay. “This place is not equipped for clinical care, only research. And there are no accessible medications on site, barely any medical supplies…” His voice trailed off as Ezio closed his eyes, giving no response except to tighten his grip on Leonardo’s hand.
Leonardo pursed his lips, letting out a frustrated breath at Ezio’s stubbornness. “At least let me bring down your fever. We can discuss what will happen next after that.”
He waited tensely for a moment, and Ezio conceded, releasing his hold. Leonardo pulled back, albeit reluctantly, and ventured off to gather washcloths and clothing from staff belongings to use as makeshift blankets.
--
Despite the rotation of cold washcloths, loosened clothing and continuous encouragement of Ezio to drink water, his fever remained high, and he began shaking uncontrollably in fits. Leonardo paced within the laboratory, unsure of his next actions. Finally, he threw his hands up in frustration.
“To hell with this, I cannot bear to see you suffer. I am going.”
Ezio’s eyes fluttered open in a panic. “Going where?” he asked, his voice a dry rasp.
“I don’t know. The pharmacy, perhaps. Somewhere that sells medication. We don’t even stock basic antipyretics here.” He glanced at Ezio, who looked confused. “Fever medications.”
“You can’t.” He glared incredulously at Leonardo. “It’s too dangerous to go outside.”
Leonardo paused, then laughed grimly. “So there are a few thieves. What can they do to me besides take my money?”
They could take your life, Ezio noted, but left the sentiment unsaid. “Wait for me. I will come with you.” With some difficulty, he braced his hands against the table before Leonardo pressed an insistent hand to his chest to keep him from rising.
“You are in no condition to go.”
“You cannot go alone,” Ezio deadpanned.
“I won’t be far. It’ll be fine,” Leonardo replied, both touched and irritated by Ezio’s concern. He never cared this much before. But with Ezio in tow, he would be unable to make much progress.
For a moment, he was horrified at having thought of Ezio as excess baggage.
Ezio watched him intently. “At least arm yourself with something. In case you’re chased. Or attacked.” He nodded at the counter where he left the weapons Leonardo constructed for him. “Take my crossbow. If,” he added with a roguish grin, “you remember how to use it.”
Leonardo shot him a pointed glare, before picking up the crossbow and quiver, noting the presence of dried blood on the arrows. He brushed his finger thoughtfully against the shaft of an arrow. “Have these been used recently?”
The inquiry was met with a blink. “No, I just…haven’t had a chance to clean them.” Ezio turned away to face the wall.
With a lecture about the importance of weapon maintenance on the tip of his tongue, Leonardo decided that it could wait, making to leave the room again, when he felt an insistent tug on his arm.
“Leonardo. Do not wander. And do not attract attention to yourself.”
He nodded, clapping Ezio on the shoulder reassuringly, his hand lingering for a moment. Just as he withdrew in an awkward fashion, Ezio covered his hand with his own, warm fingers curling around protectively.
“Sta’ attento, amico.”
Leonardo gave him a broad, easy smile, glad for the wish of safety. “Always.”
Ezio lay back, his eyes closed, hoping his expression would not betray his anxiety. He was so tired. So hot. And the pain in his leg was a fiery agony. The most he could do now was pray for Leonardo’s safe return.
If only prayers were enough.
--
Leonardo sneaked outside, careful to keep his footsteps soft. The closest pharmacy was only two blocks away, but stealth would prove an asset in his mission.
The street seemed all but abandoned; ragged newspapers fluttered aimlessly in the street, past deserted cars strewn haphazardly about. Places once known to be popular hives of activity were now silent. He nearly faltered…surely things could not be as bad as Ezio claimed. The thieves, if anywhere, were probably hiding. Leonardo straightened his back, making his way more boldly down the street, still taking care to mask his footfalls. As he walked, he toyed with the idea of transporting Ezio to a hospital, but dismissed it instantly – a hospital would be teeming with infection, their resources stretched to the breaking point.
From the corner of his eye, he spotted quick blurs of motion in the street, and pressed himself as close to the shadows as possible. The pharmacy was only a few steps away…
Breathing a small sigh of relief, he pushed the door open, before noticing a cold, dripping slickness on the handle.
Blood.
He jumped back with a cry of disgust, readying his crossbow. Gently, he eased the door open again.
“Hello?” Leonardo ventured softly. “Is anyone here?”
He winced as the door creaked on its hinges, taking in the surroundings. Shelves were in disarray, with pill bottles and liquids strewn about the floor. A quick glance towards the counter. No one. He slipped behind it, filling a small pack with gauze and bandages, then made his way towards the medications. His goal was to find the antibiotics that treated the bubonic condition, inwardly annoyed at the irony of working at a disease research facility without access to vital medications. Preoccupied with the large shelves of drugs, he did not notice the low growl coming from his right.
A glass vial shattered underfoot.
Leonardo froze, swinging his flashlight toward the source of noise. He looked up into a pair of yellowed, bloodshot eyes, belonging to someone dressed in a billowy white laboratory coat. With a sudden moment of intuition, he realized that this was the pharmacist. Or was.
Jaundice? Leonardo thought hazily, about to open his mouth to offer assistance, before hearing a sharp snarl and feeling a hot torrent of blood expelled violently at his feet. He scrambled backwards, his hands desperately searching for the crossbow. With a sallow, bloodstained hand, the being before him swiped at his face. Leonardo slipped on the vomit, his pack tumbling open, dashing its contents on the floor.
He could feel its hot breath on his neck as he tried to crawl away, hear its keening-coughing cry as it lurched toward him, dizzyingly close, jerkily, greedy, grasping, and –
He twisted around—it was almost upon him, above him— and his body reacted instinctively, legs kicking out feebly while wriggling away. One of his kicks caught the being in the shin, felling it hard as his trembling fingers alit on the crossbow. The creature jerked its head upwards, undeterred, snapping the jaws from which sanguineous filth spilled forth. Leonardo aimed, hoping for the best and deployed the arrow.
There was a wet squelch as the arrow burst through the cranial vault, and the body fell on top of him like dead weight.
All was still.
Kicking the body off, Leonardo lay immobile for a moment, breathing hard, not daring to move lest he attract more unwanted attention. Short moments later, he started to tremble, then shake, curling into a fetal position on the floor, his hands cinched tightly into his hair. As he choked back silent sobs, his mind repeated the same thought, over and over again. I have taken a life. I have killed.
It was enough to incapacitate him for several minutes. He dared not make a noise, for his powers of observation had honed in on the sounds of more shuffling feet outside, more odd keening cries and sharp growls. Too terrified to move, Leonardo shut his eyes, trying to regulate his breathing and bring to mind happier memories that would calm him down. All that surfaced were images of Ezio bursting into his workplace demanding treatment for some wound, bringing him books or puzzles, or even simply spending time with him.
His breathing began to slow and despite his frayed nerves, Leonardo rose to his knees, looking for other aggressors nearby. When he saw none, he shoved whatever he could find, unstained bandages, gauze rolls and swept some bottles of what looked like antibiotics into his pack. To hell with reading the labels, he had to get out of here, away from these things, and just hoped that one of the bottles was right.
As he hurried back to the research facility, now vigilant for other attackers, one thought drove him onwards, despite the fear that gripped him.
Ezio needs me.
He shook his head, a nervous smile creasing the corner of his mouth. That was not quite true.
Ezio needs me, and I need him.
--
“Leonardo, you…made it back…” Despite his fevered flush, relief shone through on Ezio’s face.
“It was nothing.” Leonardo returned the smile easily, hoping Ezio did not notice his bloodstained pants, shoes…hell, bloodstained everything. He took care to wash his hands and face prodigiously, scrubbing with soap until the rank odor of copper faded, leaving his skin red, raw, but clean.
“You did not…run into any of…them?” There was a cautious undertone to Ezio’s voice.
“No. No thieves,” Leonardo replied absently, checking Ezio’s leg wound. “Not really.”
“…Thieves. Oh, yes.” He settled back onto the table, staring at the ceiling into the cool glow of the fluorescent light. “It is good you didn’t see them. They attack people in such a primal manner…in hordes…almost like z—”
“—Do not,” Leonardo hissed, “say that word.” He shuddered almost imperceptibly, but Ezio did not miss the motion, weaving his fingers between Leonardo’s with a reassuring squeeze. “They are…not of their right mind,” Leonardo frowned when he stopped trembling, thinking back to the being he encountered.
It seemed almost wild in nature. As if less than human.
Later, Leonardo would wonder when he created the binary opposition of humans and Them, and realize that it was Ezio who first referred to them as such.
--
Ezio grudgingly took the medications Leonardo told him to, keeping the swelling in his armpits and groin in check. His fever had broken, but in its place he vomited blood, sometimes so forcefully that afterwards, he could only curl into a miserable ball and whimper. Leonardo never complained; he scrubbed away the bloodstains, tended to the wound on Ezio’s leg and bandaged the skin that was starting to rot.
“I think, amico mio,” Leonardo would quip cheerfully during these sessions, “that after all this, I should quit my job here and try for a career in medicine. You know, with all the experience I’m gaining in caring for you.” He would nod at Ezio, hoping his joke elicited a smile.
On good days, he received a derisive snort in response.
Between drug-induced naps, Ezio noticed Leonardo fortifying their immediate area with increased fervor. Then he would move to the lab computer, staring worriedly at the screen, which hummed and beeped. Ezio could never make sense of what Leonardo looked at, other than the phrase MATCH: 96%. When he asked what it meant, Leonardo shrugged it off as nothing—merely an experiment.
At times, when his mind was his own and his body was not throbbing with pain, Ezio offered to help—with the research, scavenging for supplies, anything. However, he was always met with a patient smile and somehow found himself back in the lab, Leonardo pressing him to rest. Frustrated at his total dependence on the other man and his own uselessness, Ezio hoped these brief reprieves were a herald of his recovery.
--
The young mafioso gazed blearily at the fluorescent tubes, light-headed and weak from his latest bout of emesis. In spite of Leonardo’s efforts to clean the surrounding area, flecks of blood stained the table and floor where he rested, firmly entrenched in the tile.
As Ezio scratched at a patch of pinpoint bruises on his arm, he called out searchingly, “…Leonardo? I do not understand. What is this?”
The scientist was at his side in a heartbeat. Examining the bruise, he recognized the telltale symptom, but his skilled hands breezed easily over the tainted skin, as easily as he glossed over the truth. “It’s nothing, probably just a side effect of the –”
“Do not lie to me, Leonardo.” Ezio twitched the sleeve of his friend’s coat, turning his glassy eyes to look upon him. His stare was so vacant, and there was a weariness to his voice, Leonardo noticed painfully, that seemed so out of place on one his age. “We have known each other for a long time. Surely there are no secrets between us?”
Leonardo smiled wryly at the thought, massaging his temples. “Fine. The bruising…the vomiting…you have developed septicemia,” he said at last.
“What is that?”
“A blood infection. One of the three forms of sickness that Yersinia pestis causes…But I made sure…when I treated you...that I washed thoroughly…and—” Leonardo choked back a sob. It would have made no difference.
Ezio reached out to stroke Leonardo’s face, to comfort him, but stopped short when he noticed the blackened skin on his fingers, the necrosis creeping its way through his hand. He let out a slow, labored breath, and touched Leonardo’s clothed arm instead. The purity of his savior must not be tainted.
“It is no fault of yours. Besides…you said this was a mutated form of it, didn’t you? It would only make sense that the end result would be different.”
Leonardo looked up, pale. “Do not speak of the end.” He jerked away from Ezio’s hand, busying himself at the computer. “You will—we will get through this. Everything will be fine.” Although he mumbled to himself, frowning at some numbers on the screen, he spared a brief moment to turn around and beam reassuringly at Ezio.
With a frustrated sigh, Ezio only wondered how long Leonardo could keep up his crumbling façade of optimism before the mask cracked.
--
Under tremendous strain, Leonardo pretended that everything was on track, that his experiment was well underway and that he was optimistic about the results. What specifics about the experiment he kept from Ezio, he did so to not falsely buoy his friend’s hopes. If things did not pan out, at least Ezio would never know of his failure.
Things were not panning out.
Leonardo tried desperately to isolate the chemical, the antibody, the whatever it was that made him immune to the whole disease process. If he could just find it, perhaps he could create a compound that would cure Ezio.
He drew out sample after sample of his own blood, testing them against those from Ezio, but to no avail. The computer displayed only disappointment:
MATCH: 96 %
MATCH: 98 %
for what would trigger successful immune response against this aggressive bacterium. A dash shy of success. He was so close he could feel it, close to identifying the mystical entity for immunity, but something was not quite right, and he could not get a perfect match and—
“…Leonardo?” Ezio stirred groggily from the examination table behind him. “What are you doing?”
He turned, readying the old lie about the nature of his research, having long since abandoned the institute’s goals to help Ezio. All his work was done in secret, but that was no great feat—not when Ezio spent half his waking time in a daze. A daze, Leonardo recalled guiltily, that he sometimes caused by explaining what he could reveal, about reverse metastasis, production of opsonic antibodies and…
Frequently, Ezio would stop listening and go back to sleep. Or pretend to.
Times like those reminded Leonardo of the old days, when Ezio would snore through his excited chatter about his inventions.
He was glad for those short interludes, but as his failures mounted, so did his tension in seeing his friend’s body fail. Until now, Ezio’s body had been compensating well enough, healing slowly from the strict regimen of antibiotics and rest Leonardo imposed on him.
With this new advent of septicemia, however, even Leonardo could tell there was not much time left. He glanced pensively at Ezio, and found, all of a sudden, that his gaze was being met with the same intensity.
And he knew Ezio sensed it too.
--
Ezio no longer worried about the odd bruise patches spreading along his once fair skin. He was past caring why his skin formed large purple pustules, and in areas, looked almost gangrenous.
What few lucid hours he had were spent taking in Leonardo—all that he was, all that he said and did, and the way he prattled on excitedly about everything. The words made little sense to him; only Leonardo’s voice was important, and the bright hopeful looks the researcher gave him when he nodded and beamed at what the other man said.
The days when Leonardo gave him that honest, easy smile were now few and far between; he noticed now that his friend often hid his feelings behind a tight, worried smile.
Ezio would have given anything to stay by Leonardo’s side and listen to his chatter. He looked over at his friend, who was bustling about worriedly, still trying to keep up a pretense of cheer. It was not so much for himself that he wished he could stay—it was for Leonardo, and the tears he knew would come after he was gone.
--
“Leonardo.”
The other man looked up from his work wearily, but managed to coax a smile to his lips. “What is it?”
Ezio struggled to return a wan, sickly grin. “I do not think…I have much longer.”
“We have gone over this before, Ezio, I am quite close to—”
“Listen to me,” Ezio urged, and Leonardo fell silent, ashamed at the irritable edge that slipped into his tone. “I know your research …is important…I also know…that I will soon become one of Them. Use my body for your research, so that others can be saved…and do the favor of killing me when I am no longer useful.”
Leonardo balked at this comment. “No, you…cannot ask this of me. You must live. For your mother and sister.” For me, he added silently.
“You need not worry for them, Leonardo.”
“What do you mean?”
There was a long silence before Ezio spoke again. “You wondered why the crossbow arrows had blood on them.”
Leonardo's eyes widened at the implication of that statement. “…No…it can’t be…”
“They were the first in the family to succumb to the disease. When I returned home, I found them raving and vomiting…and killed them with my own two hands. I do not know if it was out of mercy, or love, or simply my instinct to survive.” He spread his hands out to Leonardo, plaintively. “Forgive me…I sought you out selfishly…”
“Ezio, you don’t have to explain—”
“No…I do. I came to you…for sanctuary…for aid…and to absolve my own guilt.” Ezio paused, and took a deeper breath, as much as his pain-wracked body would allow.
It was long past the time for keeping secrets, for dancing around things unsaid.
“I wanted to spend the little time I had left with you.”
Leonardo could not trust himself to speak, and only held fast to Ezio’s hand as he fought back the sting of tears.
“May we meet again in the next life, when your time comes, amico mio.” His eyes fluttered briefly, and he corrected himself with an almost liberating smile. “Amore mio.”
--
Leonardo sat for a long while, thinking about Ezio’s last words.
After another moment, he stood up. Though it pained him to do it, he bound Ezio’s form securely to the table with rope and tape he had found scattered throughout the lab, having experienced firsthand the strength of the diseased beings. It occurred to him that they were the result of the deceased being reanimated (likely from this bacterium, it was something to be contended with, after all) and he would take no chances with what had once been his closest friend.
Having handled bloodied dressings and wound samples, Leonardo initially entertained the wild hope that he, too, would develop the disease that took Ezio from him. With the passage of time, however, there was no sign of fever, chills or vomiting of blood, and finally, the utter sense of loneliness descended upon him as he sobbed into his hands. Never again would he see that lazy grin, or those warm brown eyes with the mischievous spark. Perhaps in the next life, as Ezio had said.
Hours later, Leonardo found himself afraid not of the next life, but of the new life that glared at him from the examination table.
--
Out of a sense of duty and uncertainty of what else to do, Leonardo continued his experiments. Though he could not save Ezio, he could try to save others. It gave him a sense of purpose to know that he was carrying out Ezio’s wish. At least, he hoped he was.
The scraping noises along the walls did nothing to alleviate his growing paranoia.
He glanced at the form on the table, mentally preparing himself for gathering a sample of its blood. It was now an increasing struggle to take samples from Ezio, or what once was him, as he raged against his constraints. The once pristine workspace was now splattered with vomited blood, as the being on the table snarled and snapped at him, its rheumy eyes flush with bulging veins and blood dripping from its jaws.
To make it easier, Leonardo told himself that there was nothing left of the man he loved on that table.
Always, always, the infernal computer read:
MATCH: 97 %
MATCH: 98 %
MATCH: 96 %
He could never reach that elusive 100%, the one that would let him find the compound, his own blood samples consistently being violently consumed by the diseased cells.
Leonardo grew weaker, conducting tests for longer hours at a time, sometimes even foregoing nourishment. He worked tirelessly, continually drawing out blood, though he knew there was only so much blood one could withdraw without experiencing fatigue.
As a drop of sweat slid down his temple, Leonardo paused, and looked up at the fan. The laboratory was becoming warm again. He wiped absently at his brow and traversed the room, shutting down more machines until it was cool once more, and left the latest sample in the refrigerator to deal with later. A faint crackling sound drew his attention to the corner of the room.
From that corner, the radio once broadcasted news of biological warfare attacks led by the Borgia mafia family to consolidate its power, and bulletins of mass evacuations from Venezia. Now it only crackled with faint buzzes and snaps of static. Leonardo switched that off as well, then returned to the room with the table, with the unsanctified life upon it, and sat down.
He noticed that his mind felt more at rest when he stayed in the room with Ezio. After a while of pretending that the weakly feral growls were Ezio whining that he was hungry or asking if Leonardo was finished with his latest invention, he went to the refrigerator to extract the last sample.
When he returned, he ran a bit of the blood through the analysis mechanism.
The screen blinked: MATCH: 98%.
Leonardo sighed and fell back into a chair. He had lost too much blood, his frame had become gaunt, and his mind exhausted. All his hopes had been riding on this last sample. There was a louder, insistent scraping sound at the walls, and he realized that in his frenzied search for the compound, he had abandoned his work on the fortifications.
It could not be helped. There was nothing left to fortify with, after all. He smiled softly. Nothing left.
Nothing left of the hopes he held for his experiments. Nothing left of the dreams he once aspired to, and most of all…nothing left of the man he—
He could hear glass shattering, no doubt from the unearthly legions pressing their rotting bodies against the once prestigious facility. The sounds of their dragging feet were unnerving, but what bothered him the most were the listless moans that combined to make a symphony—
–no, a cacophony of anguish, of pain and eternal agony, punctuated by the odd raging cry.
And the sounds of eating
(of muscle and sinew tearing, rendered flesh for consumption)
made his stomach curdle. Leonardo glanced at the table, taking what comfort he could in his friend’s presence. As he heard the despairing splinter of wood near the doors he barricaded, he pulled his chair close to Ezio and heaved a forlorn sigh.
“I have tried everything. Still, I have succeeded in nothing.”
He cradled his head in his hands, blinking hard to hold back the tears. Then, with a cautious hand, he reached out to graze Ezio’s haggard cheek.
The days had not been kind to him, and with little sustenance, Ezio no longer had the strength to struggle against his restraints, no longer raged with snarls and growls to snap at his lifelong friend. Leonardo could only tell he was still animated by the shallow rise and fall of his chest.
“Ezio,” he breathed softly, and it was at this moment that the spectre on the table turned to look at him, its cheek nestling into his palm as if they were old lovers. Leonardo made to pull his hand away from the sham, then thought better of it. With his other hand, he caressed the pistols that he once so lovingly carved for his friend, in an attempt to keep him safe, and remembered wondering if his actions to support Ezio’s vengeance would become his own undoing.
“Mi dispiace. I have failed you.”
He brought the gun to Ezio’s head and pressed the matching ornate gun to his own temple, murmuring one last phrase.
“…Caro mio.”
There was a sharp report, the sound ricocheting off the laboratory’s cold, sepulchre tiles.
Behind Leonardo, the screen flashed: OPTIMAL TEMPERATURE ATTAINED.
MATCH: 100%.
