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Ezio climbs out of a river in Florence. It’s a exploit easier said than done, as he’s bleeding from a jagged wound at the hip and wasting his breath every half-second on spit curses. One hand gripping at wet stone and one hastily ripping cloth from his cloak, he hauls himself onto land. A few feet ahead, a young vendor’s assistant squeaks in fear, prompting Ezio to dash limply into the nearest alleyway.
It had been a simple enough mission; sneak into the villa and kill some inconsequential noble fool, and Ezio made only one mistake: he had been surrounded. Normally, such a turn of events would not be an issue – Ezio has talent, wit, and many pointy objects, after all. Two guards had rushed at him from behind the cover of a dilapidated bell tower, and before Ezio could dispatch more than the first one, three others circled his flank. Ezio killed two before a certain (very unintelligent) guard gained the upper hand and injured him. Ezio had staggered back, spun around gracelessly and shoved the man off the rooftop, granting an opening for escape while the survivors called a rally and chased him across dusty roof tiles.
Ezio is running to the only place he knows as safe, breathing haggardly and clutching at his hip. After abandoning the murky protection of the alleys, he sneaks past a tailor’s shop and practically falls through Leonardo’s door.
The painter isn’t dressed so extravagantly as he normally is – Leonardo’s wispy blond hair free from the confines of that stupido red cap; a simple tunic tied loosely at the collar and breeches streaked with paint. He glances up in surprise. "Ezio?" Leonardo rushes forward, grinning unabashedly until he sees the full picture. Ezio, wet and frayed and colored scarlet where he shouldn’t be, and that is enough for him to drop his paintbrush. "Ezio! ¡Mio dio! What has happened?"
Ezio forces a smile and grips at the nearest surface. "I have failed, Leonardo. I was surrounded and forced to retreat, I – " He crumples in exertion, cheeks hot from both embarrassment and fury. Leonardo drops to his knees beside him and prevents Ezio from collapsing entirely, arms raised awkwardly.
"Ah..." Leonardo is lost; wary as Ezio grasps at him like he’s the only solid object in existence. "Why did you not see the doctor? I have no skills, no poultices or bandaging..."
Ezio’s head is bowed forward; his free hand digging into a thigh as if to center pain elsewhere. "They were following me, the guards. I may have lost them in the river, but I could not take that chance. I am sorry. I... need you, Leonardo. I have no one else," and Leonardo’s eyes widen. Ezio means what he says, and perhaps that is what frightens Leonardo the most.
"Very well," Leonardo murmurs as his fingers flutter ineptly to Ezio’s cheek. Longer than necessary they rest there, but Ezio seems to welcome the comfort. He closes his eyes and breathes shallowly. "I will do what I can," he says, pulling Ezio forward so he can unclasp his cloak. The garment flutters uselessly to the floor, pooling at Leonardo’s knees, and he works quickly to remove the buckles and straps that had never once appeared quite so bothersome. Ezio mumbles uselessly, a string of italiano falling from his lips and catching in Leonardo’s shoulder, and Leonardo works to the rapid, skipping cadence of his heartbeat.
"Tch," he grumbles at the leathers preventing him from getting to Ezio’s wound, and after a moment of careful consideration, rips open Ezio’s tunic. Leonardo freezes cautiously, but fabric is merely fabric and Ezio is still clutching at him and breathing in short, pained gasps. There are more cuts across his chest and one curving past his collarbone, all shallow but hindering in their own way. "Mi dispiace, Ezio," Leonardo soothes, pushing back the stained fabric. Ezio’s skin is warm to the touch as Leonardo searches for the wound, and he eventually has to pull down a section of Ezio’s breeches to gain access to the angry, red gash.
Leonardo tuts worriedly, unfolds Ezio from his shoulders and forces him to lie on the floor while he searches for something that could pass for a bandage. He eventually finds it, a worn length of bedding that he had meant to toss out for quite a while now, and rips it into shreds without hesitation.
"Leonardo... grazie," Ezio finally manages while Leonardo balances a hand on his hipbone and wraps the cloth around him several times. He finds an old, forgotten vial of healing poultice next to the wash basin and dabs it carefully on the other wounds, and then falls back and sighs.
Ezio has opened his eyes and is staring emptily at Leonardo’s ceiling. He should be more uncomfortable at the absence of his daggers – Leonardo removed them in an attempt to stop Ezio’s bleeding, and to avoid being accidentally poked – but he feels only a numbing sensation as the poultices relieve his broken skin.
"I was given reason to believe you did not have poultices," Ezio remarks; voice slightly hoarse, but grateful. "Leonardo is full of surprises."
"Si," he answers, chuckling. "You frightened me, Ezio. I thought for sure that you would die on me, and then who would I have to scoff at my inventions and gather scrolls for my studies?"
"I was foolish," Ezio grinds out, rubbing at his forehead in frustration. "I was certain I could slip into that place as I always do, without implications. They overwhelmed me, those bastardos."
"You are still relatively new to this, if I may add," Leonardo offers. He wipes his hands on his breeches, the dark crimson of Ezio’s lifeblood mingling with dried paints and dyes. "Perhaps there are some things you cannot finish."
Ezio scoffs at that, struggling to sit, but as soon as he gets his elbow underneath he slides back down with a weary exhale. "I will finish it," he says, mulishly. "It is what my family would have wanted. It is imperative that I do so."
"Ezio," Leonardo says. "I am not sure that you will accept my opinion on this matter, but if I may?"
Ezio waves his hand. The other one floats warily above his newly acquired bandages, as if making sure he is not in peril to fall apart at any moment. Leonardo watches that hand, soaking the lines and scars into his memory for strength. "Your mission here, as an assassin. It is for your father, for your family, si?"
"Yes. Without a doubt." Ezio’s surety is firm.
"And you are doing everything in your power to find those that have dared betray your family. But these scattered contracts are not a part of that."
Ezio’s palm clenches, the white outline of a scar stretching across the thin muscles. "They are the duty of an assassin."
"A life you were forced into," Leonardo remonstrates, but Ezio interrupts him.
"Yes, yes, I was not prepared for such an occupation, Leonardo. However, it does not mean I would not have done it even if my father lived to this day. I understand your concern, but I cannot sit idly by when I can taste the wickedness in this godforsaken air," Ezio snaps, slamming his fist weakly on the ground. "If it kills me..." The sentence remains unfinished.
His argument angers Leonardo, for some reason. "We are surrounded by an unprecedented amount of evil, Ezio. Your destiny is to avenge your family, not rid the world of it."
"This is what you believe, Leonardo?" Ezio’s interest is genuine, and the trust he seems to hold in Leonardo would be appalling if he did not crave it so. That thought alone is enough to urge him on, now that he has caught Ezio’s attention.
"It is not what I believe. It is a matter of you living, and chasing after every corrupt politician in Italy will surely make that difficult."
Ezio laughs. "It appears that you worry endlessly for my wellbeing. Am I mistaken?"
"I am, after all, all you have," Leonardo replies sadly, watching Ezio’s chest rise and fall. The sight plays a small part in comforting him, but, in these times... knowing that Ezio is such a valiant, altruistic idiota does not fare well for his sleep.
Ezio’s fist unclenches. He sighs, spreading his fingers. "Leonardo, help me up. Per favore."
Leonardo stands, and grasps Ezio’s hand and forearm, pulling him carefully to his feet. Ezio sways, still altogether far too weak from the loss of blood. Leonardo grasps his waist without thinking, a steady hold on flesh that only succeeds in hastening the telltale thump of his heart.
"You are too kind a friend to me," Ezio sighs, leaning into the touch rather than pulling away. Leonardo’s fingers brush against the rough fabric wrapped around his hip. "I am not sure that I deserve it, sometimes."
"Deserve it?" Leonardo’s lip tugs up in a wry smile. "The things you do for these people, and they know nothing of it. You deserve more than I could ever give you."
Ezio’s eyes are darker than they usually are, his eyebrows furrowed as he stares at Leonardo like he is a mystery he cannot solve. "You give me more than I could ever ask for," he grumbles, perhaps trying to appear polite and thankful, or something more, but he only manages a morose glare.
Leonardo’s heart thumps again. He focuses his awareness on the shallow slice across Ezio’s cheekbone, brushing over the quickly healing skin with a careful swipe of his thumb. Ezio’s ears turn red, to his interest. "You are feeling better now, yes?"
"I..." Ezio seems acutely aware of Leonardo’s hand at his hip, and he considers pulling away. "Of course. You could be a doctor, you know, if this painting affair does not serve you well," he teases, and does not move a muscle.
"With all the healing I will surely do for you in the future, I would be qualified," Leonardo says. "Promise me you will more... receptive to your own life, from now on?"
"You have my promise," Ezio whispers, as if he is on assignment and subtlety is the best option. "And what if... what if I agree to be more receptive to other things, as well?"
Leonardo frowns. "Like what, for instance? My studies?"
Ezio drops his head for a moment, wincing as if his injuries ache. "I. I wish to begin my own studies," he exhales in a compulsory rush, and presses his lips to Leonardo’s.
The kiss – Leonardo feels hideously distorted thinking of it as such a thing, even as he participates readily – is transitory at best, and Ezio has to break for air, gasping against Leonardo’s mouth.
"Ezio – you. Are not well," is Leonardo’s reaction to something that has been afflicting his dreams since before he can remember. He steps back, holding Ezio at arms length. "You must be thirsty. You have lost a great amount of blood. Do you need rest?"
Ezio snaps, pushing angrily at him. "No, I do not need rest, Leonardo! I could use a swift kick to the behind, now that I think of it," he trails off; a mortified expression fixing on the opposite wall. "I am sorry," and the confession is cracked.
Leonardo softens. "Ah, merda," he mutters. "You meant that, then?"
"I do not usually do things like this on accident," Ezio growls.
"So you mean to begin a study on... me?"
Ezio blinks at him, unnerved at the sudden attention. If not for the wounds on his chest, he would have most likely crossed his arms, Leonardo thinks. And he has no sword hilt to rest his palm on. Ezio is a cornered animal, and cornered animals must retaliate.
"Tch," Ezio snorts, recanting as he realizes he may have revealed too much. "I merely wanted to see if I could change that look in your eye."
"What look?" Leonardo crosses his arms, pleased with the envious stare Ezio fixes on him.
"The one I catch each time you look at me," Ezio says, triumphant. "The look of a man who wants more than he can have--"
Leonardo steps forward and grabs Ezio’s chin in his hand, glaring fiercely into those dark eyes. "Do not mock me," he threatens. "You are more than I can ever hope to handle, assassin."
Ezio is startled at the sudden movement; he pushes at Leonardo’s grip, but Leonardo harbors no intentions of harming him.
...Yet.
"I would not," Ezio gasps. "I simply – I did not wish to – Leonardo, perdonami. I have other reasons for why I must live," and that is enough to cause the painter (doctor, architect, and so much more) to release Ezio. "I will be receptive to everything." And you. Especially you.
Leonardo stares at him; wide-eyed, tragic Ezio who murders people for a living, and something unfolds deep in his chest. His own missing piece. "Do you mean this?"
"I am certain," Ezio replies, a smile growing. His scarred hand is pressed over a cut on his heart that will soon scar, as well, and Leonardo thinks that... he may love this idiota.