Summary:

Something's not quite right in Firenze.

Memory 1: Fitting In

"No, not like that- Ezio!"

Giovanni looked up from the letter, frowning at the sudden noise. He met Maria's eyes over the top of the papers, and she chuckled softly at his worried expression. More indiscernible yelling pierced the peace and quiet, and Giovanni sighed, carefully placing the letter face down onto his desk.

He hesitated, hands hovering over the letter indecisively.

It was nothing especially incriminating- just a dull, dry report from one of his contacts in the guardie- something about a string of thefts. Nothing to be concerned about, really, and certainly something that was more of Volpe's domain, but then Lorenzo had gone and asked him to look into it.

There was no shortage to the problems of his city it seemed, as of late- but such was life.

He plucked the letter up from the desk, turning it idly in his hands. Perhaps he would bring it up with Bernardo, during their meeting later. Or with Volpe, if he managed to track his wiley Brother down before sunset.

Maria coughed pointedly, and he looked up, meeting her eyes sheepishly.

"Let it be , Giovanni." she advised.

He grimaced, and then he dropped the letter, now folded, back onto his desk.

Maria held back a sigh as he started for the door only to turn back around and stride past the desk, towards the bookshelf, and pluck a book at random off of the shelf.

"Giovanni…" He dropped the book down on top of the letter, the ledger landing with a dull thunk against the desk.

He held his hands up disarmingly. "I'm going."

Giovanni stopped just outside the door to his youngest son's room. Ezio had- as was becoming increasingly rarer with every passing day- not immediately left the palazzo after breakfast, and Petruccio had quickly latched onto the opportunity, pleading with Ezio to come and play with him. His middle son had allowed himself to be dragged away with nary a word of protest.

He leaned against the door.

"-changed? " Petruccio was saying," How can the rules have changed ? They're the same as they've alwaysbeen."

Ezio's voice responded again, a quiet, indistinct murmur, that- though Giovanni cannot make out the words- is filled with such a deep and pervasive sadness that he cannot help but feel concerned. He carefully eased the door open a few inches, just in time to catch the tail end of Ezio's sentence.

"-don't remember. It's ...been awhile since I last played-" Ezio was perched on the edge of Petruccio's bed, overlooking a scattered mass of marbles.

He frowned down at them, looking confused and more than a little lost.

"You don't remember ? How could you have forgotten the rules since Christmas ?" Petruccio exclaimed in plaintive confusion. "That doesn't make any sense!"

"You're right… I've just… been really busy, had a lot on my mind. Sorry, bambino." Ezio sighed, hunching over on the bed.

Giovanni frowned.

Apprenticeship to a falconieri was hard work indeed, but nothing so serious to account for the level of distinct unhappiness in his son's voice. The Medici's falconer was a good, honest man, if a little gruff- and when Giovanni spoke with him he always had nothing to say about Ezio other than glowing reports and the highest praise.

"The boy has a way with birds, signore." He'd told the Master Assassin, puffing up with pride. "A natural, like nothing i've ever seen. Worth more than all five of my past assistants put together."

Ezio certainly looked .. if not happy, then at least more content and at peace than he'd seen his son in recent months, whenever Giovanni caught sight of him in the Medici's courtyard exercising the birds.

….Perhaps it was time he start looking into exactly what it was his son was doing when he disappeared during the days he was not working with the falcons. He would have to speak with him about it, especially if Ezio was allowing ...whatever it was to affect his relationships with his siblings this poorly.

Putting thoughts of Ezio and birds aside, he returned his attention to his children.

Petruccio frowned at Ezio, putting his hands on his hips. "Ugh, I guess we should just… play something else, 'cause you're bad at this." he declared bluntly, gesturing at the marbles strewn about the floor.

Giovanni's middle son eyed the marbles bitterly.

"Yes, I rather suppose I am." he admitted, scratching at the back of his neck awkwardly.

"You, however-" he said, sitting up and jabbing a finger in his baby brother's direction, grinning. The grin didn't quite reach his eyes, and the tinge of melancholy in Ezio's voice was utterly lost on his younger sibling as Ezio leaned forward on his perch on the bed.

"Are obviously not- a true Maestro of your craft, fratello." he added, with a strange, almost reverentemphasis on the word maestro , the kind that Giovanni had only heard when greeted by his Brothers, or the increasingly rare novices they sometimes took on.

Petruccio giggled at that, and the giggling only increased when Ezio hopped off the bed and fell to his knees in a overly dramatic display, moving forward until he was kneeling level with the youngest Auditore.

Giovanni winced as marbles noisily spun in every which direction, but refrained from speaking out least he ruin the moment.

"Teach me, o wise one!" Ezio exclaimed in mock, exaggerated despair, and Giovanni could not help the fond smile that found its' way onto his face.

"Teach me your ways, I beg of you!" Petruccio shook even harder with laughter.

And then, so quiet he would have missed it if he hadn't been watching, Ezio whispered, voice pitched in a way that struck Giovanni as oddly sincere and genuine; "...teach me to be young again. "

La Volpe sat perched atop the tower of the Santa Trìnita, surveying the district with a sort of weary impatience. He narrowed his eyes, color draining from the world as he cast his senses out, searching for a glimpse-sound-taste of important- looked-for-target gold. The bright white of the haystack beneath him fairly sang with the promise of safety, but he ignored it, pushing his senses out further.

The red of the few guardsmen roaming the streets down below tasted bitter in his mouth, and there, on the edge of his awareness, he was dimly aware of the specks of blue that were the familga Auditore going about their daily routines in their Palazzo, but there was no sign- at least, not as of yet, of Messere Bernardo.

He scowled and concentrated on the urgency of the matter. Bernardo could not be late.

Nothing. He ducked his head irritably, shifting uncomfortably in the growing heat of the sun.

In a moment of frustrated impulsiveness, he threw caution to the winds and wrenched down his hood, and combed one hand through his hair with a frustrated growl. Where was he?

He'd just begun to consider retreating to the relative shade of the haystack below and carrying on with his task, when some awareness in his other sense clicked, like the turning of a lock, and his eyes flew open. He turned and craned his head, and felt relief wash over him as he caught sight at last of the blur of gold in the distance.

The other Assassin must have taken another route. This was nothing out of the ordinary, sometimes the cycles were just like that. Some events, minor ones, could change spontaneously, and others were fixed.

He glanced up at the sky and winced. Bernardo was late, but, thankfully, it was not by much. Bernardo's route was not a fixed point, but his attendance of the meeting was- as was the delivery of the letter Volpe held, tucked securely into a pouch at his waist.

Satisfied that Bernardo was well on his way, he stepped forward to the edge of the platform.

The Fox of Florence padded across the rooftops, the faint click of the tiles underfoot and the cries of the merchants in the street below him his only companions as he made his way towards the Palazzo Auditore at a meandering, lingering pace.

Giovanni oft held meetings with those of their brothers in the city who also posed as bankers, under the guise of business meetings, and though he always sent messengers to find the Fox, it was with the mutual understanding that La Volpe would do as he pleased.

He paused, staring with gold-flecked eyes down at the pulses of blue below, before reluctantly stepping onto the roof, and then settled down to wait for Bernardo's arrival. He'd learned it was best not to interfere before the meeting began, for some reason he had yet to understand, the timing of Volpe's sudden arrival was inherently crucial to the cycle's integrity.

Other than this one, Volpe rarely ever actually attended any of the meetings of his own volition- as leader of the Thieves Guild, he was often times simply far too busy.

It was also due, in part, to an acquired dislike for setting foot in the palazzo. Not that there was anythingwrong with it, per say, or that he held any ill-will towards it's owners- he didn't- but the Palazzo sat at the heart of the cycle just as much as the family that dwelled within, and even setting foot inside the building felt as though he was throwing stones at the metaphorical hornet's nest.

Tempting fate, as it were.

He fingered the pouch on his belt uneasily. If it weren't for the importance of this letter delivery, he never would have come.

He had tried it, before, on several occasions- once, even going so far as to toss the letter into the Arno. None of those attempts had ever gone particularly well, but that particular cycle had ...been ... disturbing , to say the least.

Lucrezia for all her wits and sharp, acerbic nature, had made, in his opinion, a rather poor replacement for the Lioness of Rome, and the mere thought of Cesare garbed in Assassin-white still sent shivers of dread down his spine.

Volpe stepped to the edge of the roof and dropped soundlessly onto the trellis below. He lingered a moment, distractedly admiring the roses that grew there. Maria Auditore had truly outdone herself this cycle- not that she'd ever get to have the pleasure of knowing that, of course.

Grimacing, he forced himself to return to the task at hand and swiftly made his way to the floor of the courtyard.

At the sound of distant voices, he quickly made his way towards the deep shadows of the overhang.

He paused for a heartbeat, one, two, and then when the voices showed no signs of alarm, and the blue of the figures remained dim and unaware, he made his way over towards the source of the noise. Strange. Usually no one else was here at this time.

Giovanni was becoming careless.

"- ...I really think you should just kill him, now, in all honesty. It would solve so many problems."

A young, clear voice drifted out of the open doorway to his right and La Volpe blinked in surprise.

While casual talk of death and murder was not especially out of the ordinary in a household of Assassins, it was more so the voice's familiar but decidedly-out-of-place nature that gave him pause.

He carefully nudged the door open a hair's breadth more.

A young boy with dark, close-cropped hair stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by haphazardly scattered marbles. His back was to the doorway, but Volpe raised an eyebrow in mild alarm as he recognized the familiar form of his one-time ally and fellow Roman Assassin- though now much too young, barely little more than a child.

Niccolo Machiavelli had not been well known to him at this time, originally- merely the son of one of Giovanni's many contacts in the city, a young boy of barely nine years of age, whose ambition and quick mind spoke to the promise of an early promotion to Maestro when he officially joined his father among their ranks.

Indeed, Volpe might not have recognized him even now were it not for the way he held himself- that particular aura of confidence and surety in his mastery that he bore even now, a sort of gravitas that bordered almost on comically absurd etched in a permanent frown on his eight year old face.

There was a series of rustlings underneath the bed followed by a muffled shout of triumph.

Young Niccolo turned towards the noise with a look of vague interest, idly bouncing one of the other marbles in his hand. A moment later, Ezio Auditore crawled halfway out from underneath the bed, victoriously clutching an errant marble.

From under the deep shadows of his hood, their unseen observer blinked and leaned closer. Volpe frowned. He was ...unaware they had been introduced. From the way Giovanni borderline obsessed over keeping any knowledge of the Brotherhood from his youngest children, he had expected they would likely never get to .

"Who?" Ezio squinted, shoving strands of hair out of his face. " Savonarola ?" Volpe leaned back. The monk had not entered into the Brotherhood's eyes for many, many years- not until he'd stolen the Apple of Eden and incited the Bonfire of Vanities, which was a good nearly twenty-two years in the future, and this, to his knowledge, had not changed. There was no way Ezio, or even Niccolo could possibly know of him, not unless….

This was...not good.

"What-... No!" Niccolo exclaimed, irately pitching the marble at him.

The hooded man sorted softly to himself, watching with fond amusement as the young nobleman, in his haste to roll aside, managed to smack his head solidly into the leg of the bed. The marble rolled past him under the bed and hit the wall with a dull but pronounced thunk.

Niccolo blinked, seemingly startled, staring incredulously at his hand like it had betrayed him. Ezio snickered at him, and the child shook himself, grimacing in disgust as he snapped half heartedly. "...Idiota. "

Ezio scowled back at him, and then shimmied back under the bed.

"Well." Niccolo amended after a second. "Actually, yes-" There was a overtly loud sigh from under the bed, and Niccolo kicked out petulantly at the nearest foot sticking out from under the bed, eliciting an indignant yelp from his elder.

" Perhapsit might not be a bad idea to go after him as well, but no, I was talking about... you know ..." he lowered his voice. "...the ... ahem... Pope ?"

There was a long moment of silence and then Ezio burst out laughing underneath the bed.

"You... Nicco- you do realize that he's not- he's not the pope yet, right?"

With a thoughtful hum, the Fox of Florence slid smoothly away from the door.

Of all the people who could have possibly remembered, Ezio was one of the best potential outcomes, in Volpe's opinion. Ezio man had-been-would-might-yet-be made Mentor of the Brotherhood for a reason . For all his faults, the man had a level head on his shoulders.

And with Niccolo as well, to keep him in check... He nodded to himself. This could be….interesting .

The man paused briefly in the hall outside, and cocked his head, listening intently. A thump and muffled cry of pain followed after him, and he shook his head and chuckled to himself. Perhaps…. it was the other way around.

Either way, he was sure it would prove to be an ...eventful cycle, to say the least.

"Ezio?"

Ezio glanced upward with a wince, cautiously probing the back of his head with one hand, now much more mindful of the bed's sturdy frame. Niccolo's voice came from somewhere above him, muffled by the mattress - he must have moved to sit on Petruccio's bed at some point while Ezio had his back turned. "...Are you alright?"

Ezio sighed and flopped over onto his back. "Dio ," he muttered. " my head."

Niccolo hummed awkwardly in sympathy. Ezio was just considering scooting out from underneath the bed when Nicco spoke up again.

"You aren't usually this clumsy, fratello," he observed, half grating reprimand, and half unspoken question. Ezio scowled up at the mattress in annoyance. "Grazie , amico." he huffed bitterly, and then rolled his eyes, reluctantly confiding: "I thought I ...saw-"

He glanced back towards the open door warily. "I... can't be sure. It was…" he trailed off.

Assassins never say 'It was nothing ' because all too often, ' nothing' turns out to be ' something .' He frowned. And this- a glimpse of violet, the flutter of a tell-tale brown cloak - was definitely- "... Something ." he finished, cautiously.

Ezio paused.

"Niccolo?" he ventured, grinning as he pocketed the marble on impulse and began dragging himself out from underneath the bed. "Are you…. jumping … on the bed?"

The noise stopped immediately.

" No." Niccolo insisted mulishly, his feet reappearing on the floor as he made to rapidly distance himself from the bed. Ezio snickered and then quickly ducked back under the safety of Petruccio's bed, just in time to avoid a kick to the face.

"Ow! " Niccolo complained as he missed his mark by mere inches, shin colliding with the sturdy frame instead.

Although Niccolo was- by their own, private reckoning, at least- somewhere around fifty-nine years of age, his body was still very much that of a child's, and so he collapsed to the floor, blinking back tears in stunned pain.

"Why? " he complained after a moment, rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling. "Does everything hurt this body so much ? I have a pain tolerance of none , Ezio."

Ezio's snickers broke out into full-fledged laughter, and Niccolo swore violently, scrabbling wildly until his hands closed around something small and round, and flung yet another marble at Ezio. "Oh, shut up!Bastardo!"

Memory 2: Laying Low

Federico absentmindedly bit at the inside of his cheek as he strode away from the palazzo and back out into the street.

Over the past few months, it had become increasingly commonplace for Ezio to simply just disappear for long periods of time- sometimes Federico went an entire day without sight or sound of his younger brother, only for the younger Auditore to make, in Federico's opinion, a rather… reluctant reappearance the next morning. At first, most of their family, Federico himself included, had simply assumed Ezio was sneaking off to visit some new paramour, but they had found out, through Leonardo da Vinci, that Ezio had, in actuality, made himself at home in the artist's bogetto .

Federico was currently making his way towards said bogetto under his father's orders to check up on Ezio and Federico would be lying if said that he wasn't worried as well.

In the space of but less than a year, his brother had changed in dramatic and, sometimes, even frighteningways- not but a few mornings ago, Federico had been sent to wake his younger brother up. He'd gone to teasingly shake him awake, as he'd once upon a time done every day for years when Ezio was younger- only to find himself knocked flat on his back with a dagger hovering millimeters from his throat before he had time to even blink. The worst, most unnerving part about it, in Federico's opinion had not been the fact that it had happened so much as the absolute silence with which it had happened. Being startled awake, that Federico could understand, but even the most disciplined of men would at least make some sort of noise- Ezio had been completely soundless, with not even a flutter of cloth or intake of breath. Utterly silent, golden eyes terrifyingly feral and blank, until at last, some sort of recognition dawned in his eyes, and he'd withdrawn with a gruff "... Don't do that."

When questioned by their father later, Ezio had blinked, confusion plain on his face, and stared at them strangely as though he couldn't understand why the question was even being asked.

"He was walking too quietly ." He responded at last, slowly, and with a bewildered expression on his face that said he thought this should clearly be self-explanatory.

His father had been greatly disquieted by that response, though he refused to say why, and had retreated to their Sanctuary hidden behind the fireplace for hours.

Ezio acted so different, so strangely at times that Federico felt as though he was simply speaking with a completely different person, and Federico knew he was not alone in that sentiment. Everyone in their household had felt the change, whatever it had been - even Petruccio and Anita had expressed bewilderment over Ezio's strange new behavior.

Mother was of the private opinion that it had ...something to do with the bouts of intense headaches he'd had several months ago: he'd been frightened by them, she reasoned, unexplained and seemingly incurable as they were. Federico could see why she'd think that, and it might very well have been part of the cause, but he wasn't so sure it could account for that ... incident, or Ezio's newfound animosity towards their father.

Ezio had, all in all, been acting very ….strange, to say the least, recently and it had everyone in their family worried. Federico glanced up to the hazy afternoon sky and frowned. Not a cloud in the sky and yet it felt like the moment before a storm. The whole household was on edge and Federico had practically leapt at the chance to escape into the street, for all that the errand would inevitably lead him straight to the source of their family's troubles.

Everyone took turns checking up on Ezio and, more often than not, were simply unable to even find him, let alone see if he was alright.

It was just as well that Mother had found out that he was spending time with Leonardo, or Federico would never be able to find him. Not that he'd actually succeeded at that, as of yet, for, for all of both his mother and Leonardo's insistence and assurances that, yes, Ezio was indeed a frequent visitor to the workshop, Federico had yet to actually see his brother there even once .

Federico had only been to the bogetto once before, with Mother, but it wasn't too far away. The stress of worrying about his little brother, however, removed any pleasantness of the walk there.

Stopping before the building, Federico took a few steps forward to rest his head against the door. It was so hard to see the changes wrought in Ezio and sometimes he feared talking to his younger brother.

What sentence would break his heart this time? What word would slam every change into his soul? How would Federico find his little brother in the midst of this confusion?

It was sometimes tempting to just ...give up , to accept that this was just how things were now. Ezio, clearly, did not want to be around them, and any attempts to reach out to him had been met with a cautious sort of hostility that seemed to only further drive the wedge that had somehow come between them.

Ezio was still family though, for all his rejection of them, and Federico was still his older brother- and not only that but an Assassin-in-training, a defender of the weak and protector of mankind, and the Brotherhood never just gave up- his love of his family, sense of honor and fraternal duty demanded that he move forward.

He pushed experimentally at the door, and found it, much to his surprise, unlocked. Usually, it had been either locked, or the artist himself in occupancy, with a regretful apology that, no, he had not seen Ezio either, and had he perhaps tried the towers ?

That Signore Leonardo was apparently not at home, and the door remain unlocked was... while he hesitated to say that it was a good sign, it was certainly more progress than he'd made in recent weeks.

A shrill cry came from the rafters as Federico walked into the bogetto and he startled for a moment, eyes jerking to the ceiling. A large brown bird stared at him with eyes that shared the same peculiar shade as his brother's when he used the Sight.

Eagle Vision, he'd heard his father call it many times, and he frowned up at it for a moment before recognizing it as the same bird that belonged to his brother. She'd been a gift from Messare Lorenzo to Ezio, for, supposedly, his outstanding work as a assistante to the Medici's falconiere. Father apparently had had no prior knowledge of Ezio's apprenticeship til that moment- Ezio had gone behind his back- and he had been… less than pleased to hear the explanation behind the bird that had been delivered to their palazzo.

"Hello-" he blinked. What had Ezio called her.. Juno? Minerva? Tinia? Tinia sounded… almost right, but not quite, and he grimaced. He wassure it was something ridiculous like that.

"...girl?" he finished lamely, giving an awkward half wave as he squinted up into the gloom of the rafters.

She shrieked again, loudly, and preened disinterestedly before turning and fluttering to another beam in the rafters, far away from him, and he scoffed after the eagle in disappointment.

"Alright then", he muttered, affronted. "Be that way."

He shook his head and looked around the room with renewed interest.

If that ...bird was here then there was a good chance that Ezio possibly was as well- the thing had developed quite the attachment to her young master, following him around, taking up space and perching anywhere she pleased- on the windowsills, coat hangers, in the rafters- and on one particularly memorable occasion, the bird had the audacity to attempt to perch on Father's shoulder while he was speaking with Ezio. Father had found it amusing, as had Ezio. It was the first time he'd seen them actually laugh and joke together in as many weeks.

"Hello?" he called, softly. "Ezio?" Silence.

Federico frowned and moved further into the workshop.

Paintings finished and unfinished, cluttered every inch of the room. There were some that he recognized as belonging to Leonardo, having seen the artist working on them once before, but there were also many that he did not recognize. One in particular caught his eye and he frowned as he made his way closer to it.

The rich and vibrant reds of her clothing were striking enough on their own, but it was the woman's eyesthat had first caught his attention. They were a bright, glowing golden color, almost unnaturally so, and her face, though fair, was fierce. Her hooded robe was dyed a deep red, and her shoulders covered by a partial cape made from an animal pelt - presumably a lion, based on the design of the armour. The delicate, lacy collar at her throat and the golden trim of the outer robes spoke of a noblewoman, but the armor and casual, calm gip on the dagger in her hand said otherwise: the tells of a warrior.

Federico reached out, fingers millimeters from the beaked hood - an assassin's hood, he realized now, regardless of the ...unorthodox color.

She was familiar , he realized with a start. She was fiercer than any woman he knew, but the shape of her nose and the tilt of her smirk were deeply familiar to Federico and he didn't know why . Who was this woman?

He could not recall seeing her ever before in his life, and surely he would have, especially with eyes like those- that color gold was almost exclusive to those blessed with Eagle Vision. He bit his lip, troubled. Perhaps she was one of Paola's girls- though he was sure Father had said Paola had not taken on an apprentice for the Order in many years. And, again, if any others of their Order had taken on apprentices with the gift he'd have surely met them, or at least heard of them by now, as they would have been sent to Father for instruction in using their gift- rare as it was, his sight was keenest the Brotherhood had been graced with in many lifetimes.

He frowned as another thought came to him.

Who had painted this portrait? Who could possibly know of the Brotherhood in Leonardo's bogetto ? He had not been aware that any of the artist's many apprentices were counted among their number.

There was a faint clink of glass on stone, followed by a deep, mournful sigh from the other side of the studio, and he whirled around in barely concealed fright, the painting with the eagle-golden eyes and hauntingly familiar features forgotten.

He glanced around wildly in alarm, straining his senses as he peered past the paintings in order to find the source of the noise. He found himself desperately wishing, and not for the first time, that he possessed the same gift as his father and younger brother- he could sorely use the confident ease with which Ezio perceived his surroundings.

Ezio used to be a jovial, affectionately loud drunk, so Federico had initially missed the younger man slumped dejectedly in the corner of the workshop.

Papers were scattered all around Ezio in a haphazard manner that had his inner banker crying out in dismay at the carelessness with which the papers were strewn about.

Some of them were covered in tightly packed, frantically scrawled writing, or else half-finished yet clearly ornate drawings and diagrams- the obvious, meticulous attention to detail screamed importance.

He stepped gingerly over the papers, keeping a wary eye on his brother's form as he squatted down and carefully plucked the pages from up from the ground, shuffling them into a loose sort of order. The last one on top was covered from edge to edge in tiny, heavily condensed letters- and he grimaced as he squinted at them. It was.. legible, but most of it was utter nonsense. Federico frowned. It must be written in some kind of code.

He looked up, a teasing chastisement against disturbing Leonardo's writings on his lips, but it died on his tongue as he took in his brother's appearance. Smudges of charcoal and ink dotted both his brother's clothing and skin alike, mingling with streaks of paint. It would almost be comical, if it weren't for the overwhelmingly heartbroken expression on his face.

Hesitantly, he called his brother's name- but when amber eyes snapped up to meet his- for a moment Federico could not shake the conviction that there was a stranger staring back at him with his brother's eyes.

"Federico," Ezio murmured at Federico's voice. He visibly relaxed at the sight of his brother and slumped back down onto his folded arms.

Federico dropped into a crouch next to his brother, scooping up the bottle into the crook of one arm. "Hey there, old man ," he said softly, grinning as he eyed the white streak of pigment smeared through Ezio's hair.

"Tch!" He waved one hand dismissively in Federico's direction. "You and your mother both, Federico," Ezio rolled his eyes. "Can I not paint in peace without teasing, hmm?"

Federico blinked, momentarily confused by the emphasis on 'your ', and then shrugged it off, shifting uncomfortably. Ezio frowned up at him and then shimmied his way into a upright position, huddled into the corner. He gestured to the floor beside him. "Come, sit with me." Federico hesitated, and Ezio rolled his eyes. "Sit, sit . Sit down , Federico. Claudia can wait a while longer yet."

"Claudia? " He muttered to himself, bewildered, side-eyeing his brother. "' Claudia can wait a little while longer' for what ? What does she have to do with anything ?"

Ezio seemed not to have heard, instead patting the floor beside him. Despite all his instincts screaming at him to drag Ezio out of the workshop or shake him until he started making sense , preferably both, Federico found himself humoring his younger brother and cautiously dropping to sit on the floor beside him.

They sat in silence for a moment, and Federico found his eyes drawn back to the strange painting again. She seemed so familiar...

The silence had grown oppressively awkward, and so Federico latched desperately onto an earlier remark his brother had made.

"So Mother came around and visited again, then, did she?"

"Si ," Ezio smiled fondly. "She's always worrying about me even though it's my duty to worry about her ."

He snorted, and squinted at his brother. "Rather comes with the territory, I think. Now," he held up the bottle, shaking it slightly and watching the contents slosh around noisily. "What's all this about? You started day-drinking, eh?"

Ezio scowled and opened his mouth to retort, but Federico cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Without me ?" he added, feigning a hurt look.

"Your mother would kill me if I started drinking with you, Federico," Ezio shook his head. He eyed the bottle and shook his head sadly. "And with the good wine too? For shame ."

Again with the ' your '.

'"Good wine?" he barked out with a incredulous laugh, masking his discomfort. "And what would you know about ' good wine' ?" He lifted the bottle and stared at it speculatively, and then, before Ezio could stop him, lifted the bottle to his lips and took a swig.

"Federico !" Ezio sounded inexplicably scandalized at Federico's actions.

"Oh. " Federico set the bottle back down, cradling it in his lap. "That is good. Ezio Auditore actually has taste, imagine that." Ezio grumbled in a unintelligible slur at that, and leaned forward, swiping halfheartedly for the bottle, and Federico scooted backwards, hugging the bottle closer to his chest.

"I have plenty of time to develop a good taste in wine," Ezio glowered at him, "when irritating nephews aren'tstealing my wine ."

Federico went still, the teasing grin on his face falling into an unnerved frown. What was he talking about? Nephews ? Stealing your wine? Now you're talking nonsense, Ezio."

Ezio swiped the wine back and took another drink, straight from the bottle. "Oh, right to the disownment, hmm? How badly have I irritated your mother this time, Federico?"

Federico side eyed Ezio, and then casually leafed through the collection of papers he'd set on the floor beside him. He snuck a glance at Ezio, who remained seemingly oblivious, staring vacantly at the drawing he had clutched in his other hand.

"She's your mother, too, idiota. " he mumbled in annoyance, scowling at the unintelligible, meaningless scrawl. It was written in code, he was sure of it now. There was no way he could break this on his own.

A shiver ran down his spine as he recognized the handwriting as Ezio's- though it was … slightly off, almost artificially, deliberately different. He frowned, and suppressed a sigh. Much like his brother himself.

There was no way he'd be able to decode this by himself- and certainly not with Ezio close by, no matter how drunk. As quickly and unobtrusively as he could, he hastily folded the top sheet up into a small square, keeping a wary eye on his brother.

Ezio, seemingly realizing that Federico had said something, started and put the bottle back down and turned to stare at him in addled confusion. "What? "

Something about the whole conversation felt decidedly off, and had Federico ill at ease, and so he faked a cough and replied, louder. "Ahhhh... nothing?"

He feigned tugging at his collar, and carefully slipped the folded parchment into his jacket.

" She's- she's fine. She's not-" he dropped into a more serious tone of voice, tilting his head as he stared at his brother intently. There was something strange going on with his brother, and he couldn't help the nagging feeling that he could find out what it was if he could just coax it out of Ezio. He leaned forward. He couldn't let this opportunity go to waste.

"-why would she be irritated?"

Ezio deflated at that, and gestured around the workshop with a defeated sigh. His brother looked tired and worn out and impossibly, inexplicably ...aged in that moment, and when Ezio looked up to meet his eyes, the stranger was back again.

"It's Flavia's birthday , Federico." he sighed. Federico stared at him blankly. Who?

Ezio turned to glance at him and he hurriedly nodded, feigning understanding as he frantically scrabbled for any memories of anyone he might know named Flavia. He was drawing nothing but blanks. "It's her birthday, and here I am…." he gestured around the workshop with a decidedly unhappy look on his face. "Getting drunk and working on-" His eyes landed on the pile of papers next to Federico, and he fell silent, a sort of sluggish awareness slowly dawning in his eyes.

Abruptly, he lunged forward, and gathered the papers up into his arms.

Ezio glanced towards him and a split second of horrified fear shone in his brother's eyes, and then he hurriedly tore his gaze away, ducking his head as he struggled to his feet.

"Ezio!" Federico exclaimed in dismayed surprise. "Come on, don't be like that! We were having fun, what's got you all in a huff all of a sudden-"

" You should go." his brother snapped out gruffly, eyes flashing a molten gold as he hastily shoved the papers into a nearby chest.

Federico halted in his approach, alarmed by the sudden change in behavior. His brother had never been a solemn, melancholy drunk, true, but neither had he ever been anangry one.

"Go , Federico. Leave."

" Why- " he demanded, and then Ezio turned and began herding him towards the door. Federico struggled with him briefly, but found to his dismay and perplexion that he was outmatched, and couldn't seem to slip around his brother. Since when had his little brother been able to strong arm him into anything?

"Ezio !" he protested, again.

" Just. Go." the younger Auditore repeated emphatically, all but shoving him out the door, Federico flung himself against the door, struggling to keep it open.

"I just want to help you, you fucking idiot -" he hissed.

"You can't . Stop trying." his brother snarled, and the door slammed shut in his face.

Federico barely caught the muffled "You're just making it worse ." as the lock audibly clicked shut.

"Ezio! What the helldoes that mean?" He roared, pounding on the door. " Open this fucking door, I swear to God-" He slammed his fist against the door, and then withdrew with a wnce, cradling his hand. He glanced up into the street, and grimaced as he noticed a few passerby giving him concerned looks.

"Merda." he hissed under his breath.

He'd beenso close.

At least he hadn't come away empty handed, he thought, fingering the folded square of parchment hidden in his jacket.

Normally, Father would have been his first choice for decoding encrypted documents- especially ones that could potentially concern Ezio, but he was busy in another meeting that would last for much of the day, and speed was of the essence. The sooner he got this page decrypted before Ezio realized it was missing, the better.

Federico settled down onto the bench in the market, and waited patiently. A few minutes, at most, had passed before a rather nondescript-looking man settled down onto the bench beside him.

"You need something from Volpe, boy?" he grunted.

Federico nodded, staring intently ahead. He carefully fished the square of parchment from his belt, and leaned forward to rest one elbow on his knee. He passed the parchment into the man's hand, casually disguising the motion.

"It's encrypted." he explained. "We need to know what it says."

The thief raised an eyebrow.

"Decryption's not usually the Fox's job." He made a face, and raised one eyebrow. "Your pa couldn't break it?"

Federico hesitated, reluctant to reveal his father's uninvolvement. "My father was... otherwise occupied." he snapped. "And time was of the essence."

The footpad held up his hands disarmingly. "Peace, boy. The Fox wil see it done."