Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.

A/N: Hey, all! Welcome! Have fun, enjoy yourselves, leave a note if you like but please take your shoes off before you enter, I just cleaned the floor.

Yes, I've renovated a bit just because I know how absolutely annoying it is when the first few chapters of a story are like, miniscule in length and you assume they'll all be that size and so you leave. So, please don't leave, these chapters are long. And fun. And realistic. (Yes, I'm a realistic writer… if you expect love and fluff out the whoo-ha, go elsewhere. I can suggest a great many stories).

ALSO! Please don't be put off by Margherita's inability to converse, it's all part of my master plan to create a realistic plot. And it's a challenge to write. And I need challenges.

Full Summary:

She couldn't stop the words that came from her mouth as she reached the realization that, "I don't love you."

Ezio blinked, frowned and then said, "I don't love you either."

"But we're still friends, right?"

"Why wouldn't we be?"

Sighing, she relaxed against him again, "Good, just so we've gotten that out of the way."

He chuckled and the vibrations radiated throughout her body as well, "Were you worried I thought of this as something more?"

"No. I know the way you think. This was a stress and tension relieving exercise in your opinion. I was worried you'd think I thought of this as something more. But I don't…" she sighed into his skin, relishing the sight as goose pimples rose to the surface of his neck as her breath caressed it. "That was definitely an inventive way to release tension. Remind me to do it again sometime, would you?"

"I certainly intend to remind you as often as I can."

ENJOY!

A Bunch of Hot Air

By: Ginny

"Signore Alberti's taking a long time…" Ezio drawled, his foot tapping softly.

"Patience is something to be admired," Federico responded. His little brother reacted by crossing his arms across his chest and increasing the frequency of his tapping.

When their father had said he needed a favor, it was assumed this would be a short adventure. Simply drop off the letter and the box and leave. But both siblings had long since come to the conclusion that this was not a normal errand. For one, Giovanni had been extremely serious as he had handed Federico the letter and Ezio the box. For another, the mere fact that both sons had been called upon was enough to convince them that this task was not to be taken lightly. Now however, it seemed that their services were being used for such a mundane task as delivering a few items. And they had been kept waiting for long enough.

Softly, footsteps drifted in from another part of the room, snaking around the house until it reached the ears of the young Auditores.

"Ah!" Federico pushed himself off the wall he had been leaning against, "There we go." Ezio uncrossed his arms and stooped to grab the box, huffing a soft, "Finally."

The man servant who had arrived paused in front of them before bowing slightly to the young nobles. "One moment please," the man said, "Signore Alberti is still quite busy, but he is doing the best he can. He will see you soon," and then bowed once more before slinking out of the room.

"Not again," Ezio groaned. Even Federico, the less temperamental of the two, sighed. Ezio was beginning to place the box back on the floor when his brother suddenly took off walking towards one of the many hallways. "Hey! Where do you think you're going?" Ezio asked as he trailed after him. "Signore Alberti is not going to like being interrupted, brother!"

"I'm not looking for Signore Alberti. If we're going to be forced to wait, I think some entertainment is welcomed." He made a sharp turn into a room that was far less lavish than the rest of the house, a bare kitchen with two young ladies bustling about. From their dress and lack of jewels, it was obvious that the two were servants. And from the food set before them and the tools in their hands, the fact that they were preparing dinner was made clear.

Federico came up behind one of the women, a tall brunette with shapely curves that Ezio let his eyes flicker over appreciatively. Ah, yes, this must be the illustrious Sandra he had been hearing so much about from his brother. Too bad, he would have loved a go at her, she was very pretty. When Federico snaked his arms around her waist she yelped and grasped his wrists.

"Oh! Federico!" Sandra exclaimed as she twisted in his grasp and caught sight of his face. She blushed sweetly and turned completely around to place a kiss on his lips.

Ezio quickly diverted his attention to allow the couple some semblance of privacy. In glancing away, his eyes fell on the other girl who had since gone back to slicing vegetables. Hm. He thought as he swaggered to lean on the counter beside her, Entertainment, indeed. Placing the box on the counter, he waited for her attention to focus on him. She didn't seem to notice him at first, just continued to slice and dice. When she pushed the shredded carrots to the corner of the cutting board, she finally seemed to notice the man beside her. She glanced up and upon seeing his face she smiled.

"Hello," she said, pausing her work for a moment.

Ezio inclined his head, "Hello, beautiful." He gestured to the vegetables, "Are you cooking for Signore Alberti?"

"Yes." Upon noticing that she had stopped, she quickly began to return her focus back onto the task in front of her.

"Ah, so you are a servant here…" He leaned slightly closer.

"Yes." She glanced back up at him and he slowly leaned even closer brushing a stray strand of blonde hair from her face. His finger lingered on her cheek for a moment longer.

"And what is your name, beautiful?" He continued to stare straight into her blue eyes, mentally commenting on their rarity amid the usual brown.

"Yes," she whispered, almost like she was afraid to speak too loudly.

Ezio blinked. And then blinked again. Suddenly a burst of laughter sounded from behind him and he twisted to glare at his brother, "What?"

Federico has since come up for air and simply stood with an arm around the Sandra's waist. He ran a hand through his hair and nodded towards the girl who stood beside Ezio, "She doesn't speak Italian," he smirked, "I do believe the only words she knows are "hello", "yes", and "no"."

Suddenly she turned and smiled at Federico. "Ton frère est très bête, Federico." (Your brother is very stupid, Federico.)

This only caused Federico to chuckle and nod, "Oui, je sais. Ca va, Margherita?" (Yes, I know. How are you, Margherita?)

Setting down the knife, she leaned against the counter and replied, "Bien. Et tu?" (Well. And you?)

"Comme ci, comme ca. Nous attendons pour Monsieur Alberti." (So-so. We are waiting for Signore Alberti.)

Ezio quickly became frustrated with his ignorance as to what his brother and the girl were saying. He could recognize the dialect- it was obvious that they were speaking French, but that was as far as his knowledge went… It wasn't his fault that he would rather learn the language of romance and not the so-called language of love as his brother had. But despite her quick responses, she still spoke with a hesitance that showed that even French was not her native language. But if she wasn't Italian or French, what was she?

"Brother, I don't feel included. Humor your ignorant brother," Ezio all but whined.

Federico responded by turning to the girl, "Margherita, voici mon petit frère, Ezio." He turned to Ezio, "This is Margherita."

Living up to his reputation as a lover of the ladies, Ezio stepped forward and grasped her hand. He brought it to his lips softly, his eyes never leaving hers. He could tell she was slightly uncomfortable, but whether it was from his lips trailing over her knuckles or the intensity of his gaze, he couldn't tell. Regardless, it gave him some pleasure to see her squirm just as he had been while she and his brother conversed. Even from the small contact, he could feel her body shiver, the small trembles flowing down into the very tips of her finger and he mentally smirked at the effect he had on her.

The girl opened her mouth to respond when suddenly the man servant who had previously come to collect them entered the room and glanced at Ezio's display with obvious displeasure. He cleared his throat and Ezio slowly straightened back up, though he made no move to release her hand. "The Signore will see you now." And then he left the room.

Federico kissed his own beloved goodbye and then turned to Margherita, "Au revoir,"

Margherita nodded and repeated his goodbye before turning her attention to Ezio. She glanced down at her hand still enclosed in his before looking back up into his eyes and smiling, "Enchante, Ezio."

He stooped again to place one more kiss on her knuckles before he all but purred, "Mademoiselle…"

With one last smile, full of promises he would probably fulfill to the fullest, Ezio released her, picked up the box from the counter and followed his brother out the door. He paused in the hallway to glance back, only to frown and find that he was rather dejected when he realized Margherita had already turned back to her work. Usually the women he charmed would trail after him with their eyes, especially the women so moved that they would tremble.

Hm. Entertainment indeed.

"Well, I think father lied," Ezio commented as they exited the house. "That was not difficult in the least bit. I was expecting a challenge."

"Father never said it was going to be difficult, maybe he just wanted the two of us out of the house. You really shouldn't make assumptions." Federico paused for a moment and changed the topic suddenly, "And you really shouldn't flirt so much. Especially with girls who can't understand anything you say."

Ezio groaned, "Brother, you are certainly one to lecture me!"

"I am not half as bad as you are."

Ezio snorted in response, "It was you who taught me everything I know."

"Yes, but I have since settled down," Federico countered.

His younger brother gave a small chuckle, "Oh, yes, the lovely Sandra. I noticed that you did not introduce us, yet she has been all you could speak of for the past two months. Today was a perfect opportunity, yet instead you thrust me at the other girl…. Hm."

"I would rather you charm the unattached young lady and not the woman I am falling in love with."

"Oh, so it's the competition you are afraid of?" Ezio barely had time to duck to evade the backhand Federico threw at him. He avoided it nonetheless and the siblings broke out laughing. They continued towards the family home in silence for a few moments before Ezio spoke again, "Do you know what her native tongue is?"

Federico seemed confused for a moment before he caught up to Ezio's thought process, "Ah, Margherita. Hm. I do believe she's from England. I've heard her speak English, and her lighter coloring is quite common among the Englishmen who visit this country."

"You've heard English spoken?" Ezio asked.

"Sandra's father was an Englishman. She's knows a great deal of the language."

"Hm." Federico would have continued but quickly realized that Ezio had since disappeared into his own mind and thoughts and probably would not return to the conscious world until they reached home. And so, the brothers continued their journey in silence.

Sandra continued stirring the pot, glancing at Margherita periodically in an attempt to catch her reaction to the visitors who had since left. It had been good to see her beloved, but after having recovered from the initial euphoria of speaking with him, her attention was diverted to the other girl. Ezio had a reputation that preceded him. Sure, Federico had also had a bit of a reputation, but slowly he began to grow more serious in relation to the women he associated with. That had been when Sandra had met him and a wonderful relationship had begun. But she certainly remembered his charms, the way he ensnared her and wooed her and how totally helpless she'd been to resist. And his little brother was even worse.

Ezio was known to woo and flirt and bed and sometimes the process was repeated, but more often than naught, he would just move onto another girl. Cristina Vespucci was one of the few girls he had returned to after having slept with her the first time, and as far as Sandra knew, they had yet to pause their relationship. She didn't want to see Margherita hurt.

So she decided to breach the conversation. Without looking at Margherita she asked, "Well, what did you think of Federico's younger brother?" She finally turned to look at the younger girl.

"Ezio?" she glanced up at the ceiling and bit her bottom lip. "He was quite charming."

Sandra nodded, "Yes, I have heard many girls say as much." The two returned to their work and the silence spread thickly between them. Sandra glanced back at the other girl.

When she had been introduced to Margherita Recci not three months ago, she had thought the girl was so odd. Despite speaking English, she had an accent that wasn't quite like the dialect of Sandra's father and when she spoke, the sentence structure was terribly informal.

Besides her speech, when Margherita arrived she had had creamy pale skin- nothing like the other servants who labored in the sun and developed a tan visage. Now that months had passed, her exposure to the sun had caused freckles to rise erratically on her cheeks and bare shoulders, in odd patterns and brown blotches, darkening her coloring. And she was able to read and write both French and English, a talent rare among the lower class.

Sandra immediately assumed the girl was an English noble. Or a princess, something of the sort, who had run away from her home land and found work in the Alberti household. It was a tragic story, Sandra supposed, until she had finally asked Margherita pointblank whether she was nobility. The younger girl had giggled, "No! No, no, no, my friend, I am a simple servant from a distant land who ended up in Italy."

And thus, her line of inquiry had ended abruptly. So this odd girl wasn't of royal descent- she was simply a little left of center.

Sandra was so lost in her thoughts she almost didn't hear Margherita ask, "So, he does that often? Flirts with girls he barely knows?"

The older of the two almost laughed at Margherita's question. So Ezio had made enough of an impression on her to make her slightly jealous of the other women he had charmed. "He has a reputation…" Sandra trailed off; she really didn't want to hurt the girl's feelings.

"Then I suppose I should simply put him out of my mind." And with that, the subject of the young man and his flirtations was diminished in the Alberti household.

Two weeks later, Margherita sat down with a mild huff on the bed in the room she had been given upon entering the household as an employee. It was extremely difficult to communicate with everyone… Sandra, her sole friend and fulltime translator had been given the day off and had chosen to spend it with her beloved in the city. Thus, Margherita had been forced to use gestures to communicate everything. Almost every other minute she cursed her stupidity, but quite honestly she really shouldn't have been expected to know that it would have been wiser to take Italian in high school.

Had she known that touching that little golden ball would bring her here, would transport her back, and back in time and across, and across realms into a videogame she played mostly to kill time she would have taken the time to research what exactly she was getting herself into. She would have read books on the Italian Renaissance and taught herself how to speak Italian. She would have reviewed her biology, chemistry, and physics notes in an attempt to improve life here in the prison known as the "olden days".

But as it was, she wasn't given much warning. Blink, flash, and then she woke up on the filthy streets of Renaissance Italy confused as hell.

"Yo! Peggy! You said you wanted to go camping! You said that this was our last chance to hang out before senior year, and there you are texting." Jen stood up and grabbed the phone out of Peggy's hands.

"Hey!" Peggy stood and grasped for the phone, but Jen tossed it to Emily, who tossed it to Amanda and finally Peg just gave up. With an indignant huff, she yanked her blonde hair back into a messy ponytail.

"I got to go to the bathroom," Peggy announced and trekked out of the designated campsite into the wilderness, deciding that cutting through the foliage would be a faster route to the outhouse than the road. Upon reaching a satisfying distance from the group, she gave a loud sigh. Camping was not her thing. Jen had wanted to experience the wilderness and Peg really didn't care either way, she just wanted to hang out with her friends one last time. Her class load next year didn't promise much free time.

Cable television, internet, xbox360, books; any one of these things and Peg was content. Here, all these things were taken from her. It was not an enjoyable experience. Yes, perhaps she was spoiled, but really, she was only seventeen. She let her mother cook her food and clean up the house and she pestered her father for money and she was quite content. She flirted with the boys in her class and had been called a tease by her friends. She was a twenty-first century material girl and quite frankly, she would grow up when she needed to. For now, she fully intended to enjoy her life.

Suddenly her foot made contact with something hard and she stumbled to the ground. "Shit!" she exclaimed as she caught herself with her hands and knees, scraping her palms but at least sparing her legs because of her jeans. "What the-?" She blinked. Was that a gold beach ball? No, no, she realized as she crawled closer, stretching to get a better look at the ball.

No,

her fingers reached out to it,

this is,

the pads of her fingers touched the object,

a Piece of Eden.

It was a mistake, she realized later. She shouldn't have blinked. It was a mistake to blink. That second needed for her eyes to close and open and suddenly everything was white. Time stopped, sped up, stopped, and then reversed. And reversed. And apparently reversed all the way to the 1400's.

When she opened her eyes again she was met with an old man, long white hair the hung from the sides of his head, clear brown eyes, and an easy smile. He said something in a language she didn't understand. At her confusion, the language changed. Latin, she realized… not that she understood what he was saying. And finally he switched to French. Thankfully, Peg had just returned from a two week school trip to France and so her French was still at its prime.

He asked her where she was from. At the time she still hadn't quite realized what was going on and responded, "Je suis de Les Etats Unis." (I am from the United States.)

It became quite obvious he hadn't the slightest clue what she was talking about. Instead, he introduced himself as Andrea Recci, and he took her to his house and fed her. The modern clothes, a t-shirt and jeans, she was wearing only caused more confusion. She found out he was a widower and he kindly let her have one of his wife's old dresses. It was too tight in the bust and far too loose in the waist and the sleeves engulfed her hands, but she was grateful nonetheless.

She stayed with him for two days before he didn't wake up one morning. She found his cold body and panicked. Andrea had been good to her- nice to her. And so, when she looked back, she regretted her next actions. In fear, she stumbled about the house, preparing to flee, before she remembered his secret stash of funds. He would no longer need it, yes? And he had no relations… So, she grabbed all the money from his secret hiding spot and fled.

She wandered the streets of Firenze until she stumbled upon the market and overheard a servant mentioning to a cashier the name of Alberti. Alberti, Alberti. She knew that name. It was the name of the first man Ezio Auditore de Firenze assassinates.

Wait, she thought, that's not possible… was- I don't remember if he was a real person or not. But- that was definitely a Piece of Eden. And if Alberti exists, and the Piece of Eden exists, then-then- Ezio. Ezio exists here as well. The assassins exist… and so do the Templars.

She quickly caught up to the servant, a young man who was struggling with the amount of bags in his hands. "Sir! Sir!" He turned but hadn't a clue what she was saying. "Um…" She gestured to the bags he was struggling with. After several failed attempts at miming her desire (at one time she was certain he believe she was trying to rob him of his goods), he finally realized she was offering assistance. Hesitantly he transferred some of his bags into her waiting arms and she followed him to the Alberti household.

Upon arriving the mistress of the house greeted her and asked what she had needed. Still not used to the language barrier, Peg began to reply in English that she didn't understand what the mistress was saying. Luckily, the mistress knew the sound of the English language and called for another girl, just a few years older than Peg to translate.

Peg lied through her teeth and explained that there had been a mistake during her voyage, where she was supposed to end up in France, but instead arrived in Italy, and had no way to contact her family in England because her purse had been stolen by a pickpocket and would the mistress please be kind enough to allow Peg to work for the family- whatever they needed- so that she could earn money enough to travel back to her family. The mistress was sympathetic and finally asked for her name.

Peggy O'Connor, she realized, was far too modern a name to fit into this time period. Thinking on her feet she blurted out the name she used in French class- Marguerite- and Andrea's last name- Recci. The mistress instead addressed Peg as Margherita, something she could only assume to be the Italian variant form of Marguerite.

It was not until about two weeks working for the Alberti household that Peg realized her mistake- something neither she nor anyone she had met had noticed. Why would an Englishwoman have a French given name and an Italian surname? This in itself poked many holes in her story. But, no one had noticed and despite having earned enough to in fact buy a ticket to England (assuming she wanted to… which she didn't) she continued to serve the Alberti family as a chef and a maid.

The first few weeks had been terrible – cooking here was so different in comparison to modern times. There were things she had taken for granted: indoor plumbing, refrigerators, microwaves, gas ovens, lamps. But slowly, she learned the basics of cooking and cleaning and living in a new world. She had spent two weeks in modern France, and had spent years learning the language and she thought that was difficult. Sandra tried to teach her the language, and there were phrases she could understand and repeat, but her Italian was still minimal.

She was stuck and quite frankly, her best bet of returning was to follow the progression of the game- follow Ezio and hope to God there was a way back. She worried often, whether she was stuck here for good, whether time in her realm continued and her family worried about her. But, eventually a routine developed and it was no longer a concern that plagued her waking thoughts. Instead she fell into the monotony of a servant's life.

Before Margherita had a chance to sit down and rub her aching feet (Jesus, she could use a pedicure), a loud bang issued from the downstairs. Margherita slowly retraced her steps back to the doorway of the room she shared with Sandra and quietly made her way downstairs. A rotund man with a black hood pulled up to hide his face passed by her as she finally reached the last step. Signore Alberti saw her watching this new figure- Borgia, Margherita remembered, Rodrigo Borgia- and shooed her away.

As she began climbing back up the stairs she paused at the top. If he was here, did that mean- no. No, no, no, thought Margherita suddenly hysterical at the realization, Not so soon! That means the Auditore family will- oh no.

Crouching by the railing she could just see the two men, Signore Alberti and Borgia talking. They had left the door to the study opened slightly and their forms flickered as they paced within. Papers were shuffled back and forth and suddenly the door was shut.

Shit! Margherita exclaimed as she slinked back down. If she was caught, she didn't know what Signore Alberti would do. Could she risk it? Halfway down the staircase she paused. What did it matter if she knew what they were talking about? She knew how the story ended…. Besides, she wouldn't be able to understand anything, anyways.

But, but what if she could change it? What if she could save Federico and Ezio and their father and their little brother? Surely it was possible? Perhaps she'd be able to figure out from their gestures or tone what it was that they were talking about, despite her inability to understand Italian? And what harm would it do, really? Just as she began her quiet descent again a traitorous thought entered her mind.

….It could harm her.

Goodness only knows what could happen if she disrupted the sequence of events here… she might never get home.

And so she stood, hand clutching the handrail….. Home. That was her main objective. Nothing else mattered. They were destined to die anyway, weren't they?

And a little part of her screamed and shouted and cried and finally laid down and died as Margherita let selfishness win and she turned and returned to her room for the night.

The next morning there was no sign of Borgia. Margherita snooped and even asked Sandra if she had seen anything when she had been sneaking in last night (or, perhaps, more appropriately, this morning), but alas, it seemed the meeting had ended late into the night and every sign that Rodrigo Borgia had ever been there was erased.

When the two girls got into the kitchen to begin preparing for breakfast, the mistress informed Sandra, who then informed Margherita, that the younger girl was expected to go into the market today to do the shopping. And thus, after the morning meal was prepared and presented and cleaned up, Margherita took her leave.

Public was not something she enjoyed, especially considering just how vulnerable she was since she couldn't understand anything anyone said. Sandra had been kind enough to teach her little words, numbers and phrases to get by in the market place, but she still feared being taken advantage of. But the main reason she avoided going out into the market, into the public, was that (perhaps she was just really shallow….) she still wore the old dress Andrea Recci had given her, and it still fit just as terribly. With her figure so unflattered, and her face lacking any semblance of makeup (meaning the little acne she would get on her chin and forehead was uncovered), her confidence took a severe nosedive. Oh yes, she was definitely a teenage girl from the twenty-first century.

She almost paused upon reaching the vast amount of people crowded in the streets. She sighed and continued forward. By the end of the hour, her hands were filled with groceries that kept slipping from her grasp, but she was determined to get back to the Alberti household without dropping anything.

Margherita had just turned the corner onto a less crowded street, focused on balancing the products when one of the bags was rudely pulled from her grasp.

"Hey!" she twisted and tried to pull it back, mostly succeeding in dropping the other bags… but quite honestly, like hell she was going to let some thief steal from her. She cocked a fist with the intent of bashing the idiots head in when he grasped her wrist and pulled her closer.

She blinked and suddenly she was looking in the honey eyes of a vaguely familiar face. Those video games don't truly do him justice, she thought distantly.

Ezio smiled a Cheshire grin and greeted her and began speaking in a language she couldn't understand. She nodded softly, not entirely sure what he was saying. She quickly figured it out when he bent and scooped up all the bags she had been carrying in one hand. He still didn't release her wrist though, instead adjusting his grip to her hand. And thus, they continued toward the Alberti household.

She should pull away. She knew she should pull her hand from his; she might mess everything up, or lose herself in the madness of infatuation. She might actually fall so deeply she wouldn't want to leave. And suddenly, she told herself to shut up. They had just met, and home was always where her heart would be.

Margherita glanced over to see him looking at her. To her horror, a blush rose on her cheeks. Curse her fair skin. Finally he spoke, "Tu est très jolie, Mademoiselle." (You are very pretty, Miss).

His pronunciation was also perfect, she noted. He must have asked his brother to teach him and he had been practicing. Glancing away, she avoided his prying eyes before she looked back and noticed he hadn't averted his gaze yet. This only increased the color on her cheeks and she finally inclined her head and softly said, "Merci." (Thank you.)

She figured he knew that word at least. And so they continued on.