"Per favore, Ezio, state attenti. Guards have been wary, and they are looking for you" said Leonardo when they parted, his eyes filled with worry as he let the young Auditore go.

"Amico mio, when have I not been careful, eh?" was the reply Ezio gave him, with a smile that did not reach his eyes, as he disappeared into the crowd.

'Since Monteriggioni is gone, you have not been the same' the painter thought, unable to say it, even if his words would have gone unheard to the Assassin. He sighed, closing window from which Ezio had jumped. His workshop feeling strangely empty without the florentino perking what was he doing over his shoulder.

--

Days became weeks, weeks became months, and Leonardo started to worry. The window was now constantly open, and some days, he couldn't stop starring at it, waiting for a man who never came.

Until, there was finally some movement.  La Volpe, of all people, was standing there, visibly older from his days in Florence, but with the same cunning look on his eyes, and apparently –from the fact he just entered from a second floor window– the same agility that made him famous.

"Mi dispiace to interrupt your work like this, Maestro. But a mutual friend of ours is in trouble" said the older man and, in a second, Leonardo left the paintbrushes aside, took off his painting robes and got his bag of medicines.

"Lead the way" he asked, but it came more as a demand, making the old man grin, as he entered the workshop.

"As you wish… But the problems our friend has can't be cured with those" said La Volpe, cryptically as they ventured outside.

--

The sun, high in the sky when they came out of his workshop, was beginning to set when their carriage finally arrived to an old warehouse outside Rome. Every single second of their trip, Leonardo’s heart beat a little more rapidly into his chest. La Volpe, busy trying to avoid someone following them, leave him alone with his thoughts the whole ride, and he hardly acknowledge Niccolò Machiavelli with a nod as he entered the small cottage where his dearest friend was.

Ezio had his back to the door, his always impeccable white robes where tainted with red, but all his wounds had been treated. He took a breath, trying to get closer, before a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"We hoped you could talk some sense into him, Leonardo" Niccolò's hard voice said, even as the painter's eyes had not left the Assassin's body. "He tried to attack Cesare Borgia on his own, in the middle of Rome… There's something wrong with him, but he refuses to tell us, or even speak at us. This has to stop. The Brotherhood still needs him." And Leonardo could almost laugh; of course this had to do with the Brotherhood. Why else Machiavelli would have taken all this trouble?

"Well, I'm starting to understand why doesn't want to speak with you" it’s the only answer he gives the other man, finally turning to him with a defiant glare.

Niccolò seemed only amused by his temper, but took his hand off the other man's shoulder before speaking again "I'll leave you two alone to speak, si?" he asked, completely rhetorical, before leaving and closing the door behind him.

Leonardo sighed this time, as he sat down on a chair next to the bed.

"You shouldn't have come" Ezio's voice sounded tired, but clearly awake "Non capirai mai, Leo. It's useless. I barely understand myself" 'But I have known you as good as you know yourself' thought Leonardo, but did not said.

"Fammi provare, Ezio" he asked, quietly, speaking in secret, even if there was no one around. His hand slowly dropped to the other man’s shoulder, truing him gently "Dimmi, why did you attacked Borgia when you had no chance of winning?"

"I thought I could win" A lie whispered inside the hood, and he knew he couldn’t fool his friend. It was Ezio's turn to sigh as Leonardo slowly removed the shield covering his eyes.

When blue met hazel, any other lie the Assassin might have used on his friend died on his throat. Leonardo's eyes spoke of the concern he had made clear the last time they saw each other, mixed with thousand other emotions that Ezio didn't dared to name.

"Guarda me, Leonardo." His voice broken with emotion; and for a second the painter was back to his workshop in Florence, looking at a lost boy with a broken dagger in hand. "I- I thought I had nothing to lose."

"Were you wrong?" The question is not real. They both know the answer.

Still, Ezio doubted. "I think so…"

Leonardo nodded, his hand touching the side of younger man’s face as he fought tears from his eyes "Avrete sempre me, Ezio. Don't you ever doubt it."

The Auditore nodded back, hugging tightly the other man, dragging him to the bed next to him "Mi dispiace. Mi dispiace tanto!" said, as the embrace was returned.