Chapter Text
Ezio had not intended for them to be gone for as long as they had, even as he had leant heavily on Desmond’s foreknowledge to recover the Keys to Masyaf without additional risk or injury. Not to say that all of Desmond's information was correct or that he could recall every last detail, but he remembered enough to let them traverse the continent, largely unscathed.
Masyaf itself had been…a let-down, but Ezio couldn’t have been as gutted as Desmond had been when the man finally laid eyes on the crumbling rooftops leading to the neglected fortress. That brokenness in his eye might have well been the reason behind his savagery against the Byzantine Templars who had taken up residence at the garrison.
Their young man had warned him of the ambush that lay in wait for them, had actually caught the arrow aimed at him in his gauntlet, viciously snapping it in half before laying waste to the Templar ranks like a ghost from the distant past. In contrast to the dark pilgrimage robes Ezio himself bore, Desmond had chosen to wear a set of white robes Leonardo had tailored expressly for this purpose, looking like nothing more than the statue from the Sanctuary come to life, Altaïr Ibn-La’Ahad reborn. Even Mario had been struck speechless when he had come to Rome to see them off.
They tore through the fortress with the fury of two Master Assassins, eliminating everyone in their way. Desmond methodically led him through the keep from top to bottom, unerringly knowing every last nook and cranny the Templars might have squirrelled themselves into. Ezio killed the lieutenant almost absently after Desmond said, “They’re looking for the location on the Grand Temple- you don't have to keep anyone alive for questioning.”
Then Desmond took him to the library, where the Templars had been hacking away at the wall in search of Altaïr's mythical knowledge. It still looked like a solid slab of rock, though- or it did until Desmond brought it to life with a touch of his right hand, the one that was coloured pitch-black from shoulder to finger.
“Fucking Isu bullshit,” he muttered.
It was hardly a library; it was a tomb. There were only three things within it: the Apple, Altaïr’s memory disc, and Altaïr himself.
“I wanna bury him,” Desmond said immediately. “Fuck, the ground will be hard as anything, but-.”
Ezio placed a hand on his shoulder. “That is the least we can do for Il Mentore.” He stepped forward and tenderly cupped the curve of Altaïr’s skull. “Requiescat in pace, Altaïr.”
“What should we do with the rest of the place?” Desmond asked when they were in the courtyard, squinting up at the sun glinting off the snow-covered walls. He had retrieved one of the stone eagles that had decorated Masyaf’s towers for centuries to act as Altaïr’s headstone, and one of the roofs now had a large hole in them. “We did sorta leave those Templar corpses scattered all over the place.”
“What becomes of Masyaf in the future?” Ezio asked and made the mistake of looking Desmond in the eye; he could see the exact moment the young man’s heart broke. Ezio drew him into his arms but could only offer him cold comfort.
“Masyaf never recovers,” Desmond quietly replied. “The Brotherhood is gone from these walls and will never return.”
“Then a pyre,” Ezio decided, squeezing his waist. “The biggest pyre, in honour of our history.”
One corner of Desmond’s mouth quirked upwards mirthlessly. “It’s not really in honour, though, is it?” Ezio didn’t need to reply for him to already know the answer.
They left Masyaf with a spire of smoke at their backs, reaching to the heavens. It was almost a relief to be back in the bustle of Acre, allowing civilisation to drive away their lingering ghosts, even if the arguably biggest ghost was in step alongside him.
The whole Brotherhood knew of Desmond now, of his assistance in taking down the Borgia, but it was one thing to know of it and another to see him in-person, the spitting image of the Assassins of old, the truth of the young man’s origins having remained a secret. Ezio decided not to linger in Acre, uneasy at the awed silence that grew to hushed whispers once word broke of what he and Desmond had done in Masyaf. Thankfully, they were able to leave as soon as a ship bound for Constantinople was found.
In the end, the mess with the Ottoman Sultan had taken far longer to settle than Ezio would have liked, but he could not regret arming his brothers in their unending fight. Yusuf Tazim was a good man and a resourceful one, if also unapologetically cheeky, and Ezio was honoured to call him brother and friend.
Along the way, he had also unearthed that Desmond was terrible at languages outside of the ones he had acquired through his Animus. Yusuf never failed to tease Desmond about his Turkish every time they crossed paths and while Ezio could hardly claim fluency either, he had at least progressed beyond confusing erkek with ekmek. It got to the point where Yusuf defaulted to Arabic when talking to them in an attempt, he claimed, to save his poor ears.
Still, for all his cheek, Desmond was obviously fond of the man, laughing almost constantly in his presence. When they met Yusuf al-Kaysani while on holiday in Venice the following year, Ezio had been reminded almost instantly of Yusuf Tazim, just as affable and just as lacking in discretion, whom they had left hearty and hale in Constantinople. By the time they were set to leave, the man had been firmly settled at the head of his Branch of Brothers, with the gratitude of the Sultanate behind him. A terrible dark thing had eased in Desmond’s eyes as Yusuf had bid them a fond farewell at the port, and Ezio could guess at what fate had originally befallen Yusuf Tazim in that future that once was.
When they returned, Leonardo had been desperate for some time together after the year apart and Giovanni was hardly better (Ermelinda was the worst). So they had retreated to Venice for some months and found themselves kindred spirits in their neighbours, the aforementioned Moslem, Yusuf al-Kaysani, and his Genoese ‘companion’, both of whom were just as bad at hiding their relationship as Desmond and Leonardo.
Honestly, Ezio and Giovanni despaired of them all, Leonardo especially, because the man had actually been accused of sodomy in his youth and Ezio remembered the scars Leonardo still bore, late into adulthood. But once Desmond was added into the mix - poof! All thoughts of caution simply evaporated out of the blond’s incredibly intelligent head.
Thank the Lord Giovanni was on his side.
(No, Ezio was not being a hypocrite, he knew the meaning of subtlety. Whatever did you mean?)
Niccolò di Genova was thankfully as unlike his Florentine counterpart as could be, taciturn to the point of being withdrawn, but Desmond and Giovanni enjoyed his reserved nature, leaving Ezio, Yusuf, and Leonardo to stir up a lively ruckus in their courtyard. Yusuf had been gleeful to hear of a Turk who shared his name and good nature, pawing at Niccolò in his eagerness as he begged for more tales of his Turkish counterpart and tried to upstage them with outrageous tales of his own.
For his part, Niccolò fended off the man who was his spouse in all but name with an ease borne of familiarity, looking long-suffering and indulgent at the same time. Ezio could at least report that he, too, knew the meaning of discretion- apparently Niccolò had even been a priest at one point in his life, although he was obviously no longer a man of the cloth. In spite of his reticence, Niccolò was clearly besotted by Yusuf and turned to putty around the man. They also discovered in the worst way possible that the man knew his way around a longsword.
And a crossbow.
And a pistol.
And the collection of weapons Yusuf was so proud of, their blades polished and sharpened to a shine.
…surely, it could not be natural to attract this amount of trouble. They were meant to be on holiday, for God’s sake!
(500 years on, Nicky and Joe were taking Nile through the Louvre in the calm that had settled after Merrick’s clusterfuck, remarking upon the scandal behind this artwork or that, peppering in offhand commentary on what they remembered of the artists’ personal lives.
Nile had stopped at the Mona Lisa to sneak a selfie, inwardly marvelling at just what was her life, when Nicky absently said, “That one caused Leonardo no end of grief. He actually came to Venice to get away from the thing.”
Joe chuckled. “The way he went on about it!” he agreed. “His poor husbands- his poor son. To think his assistant had to chase him all the way to Venice to get any headway on that thing. Woe upon whoever mentioned it- by the end of their holiday, we were all sick of it!”
“Wait, wait, wait, what?” Nile interrupted. “What- husbands?” she demanded. “Son?”
Nicky cast her an indulgent look. “I am certain Giovanni went on to do such bright and beautiful things; his talent was evident despite his young age. Especially as Leonardo’s assistant was also his brother."
"You forgot about their fearsome feline protector," Joe teased. "I was grateful for our gift; I'm certain that was the only reason our ankles survived our holiday intact."
"Hush, my love," Nicky sniffed, "Nile had a question. Which husband were you more interested in, Nile?” he asked her. “The Florentine, or the Florentine?”
“Pah,” Joe scoffed, “Desmond was no Florentine.”
“I would recognise that annoying twang even if I were deaf, dumb, and dead,” Nicky retorted.
“So he learnt Italian from Ezio. That man was a Levantine brother if I ever knew one,” Joe declared. “I have never heard anyone speak such fine Arabic since, it was like music to my ears.”
Nicky just turned that indulgent look Joe’s way, an actual smile curling at his lips. If Nile didn’t interrupt now they were likely to start cooing at each other, and damn the security guards eyeing Joe’s beard and the colour of her skin.
“No, you don’t!” she hissed, stepping between them. “What the hell? You can’t just drop a bomb like Leonardo da-freaking Vinci having had two husbands and a son and not get into it! Where the hell is their Wikipedia page?”
“Darling, you must understand the times,” Joe replied, eventually managing to tear his eyes from Nicky’s face. “Publicly, it was known that Desmond was his apprentice- well, his other apprentice, I suppose, and Ezio was Desmond’s cousin, Giovanni the son of a family friend whom Desmond had taken in to raise. Honestly, it was to the man’s credit that you would never have known he wasn’t Giovanni’s father.”
Nicky nodded. “They were very loving towards the boy, not that it was any true hardship - Giovanni was very precocious. The bambino was such a bright child, he knew exactly how to divert Leonardo off that damn painting under the pretence of learning. He’d probably been doing that all his life.”
“Wow,” Nile said. “Like, wow. Mind officially blown, man, I can’t even imagine.”
“Claiming Desmond as Leonardo’s apprentice was a horrible excuse, though,” Joe laughed as he recalled. “He was a terrible artist. Remember that sketch he drew to show you how the Roman aqueducts worked? It was barely even legible!”
“His artistic prowess was hardly what made him attractive to Leonardo,” Nicky replied evenly, causing Joe to gasp in mock-surprise.
“Gossip, Nicky? I didn’t think you had it in you.”
The man just rolled his eyes. “All you ever talked about were weaponry and fortifications. Also, they might have claimed Rome as residence, but that Florentine accent was unmistakeable. ”
“My love is biased,” Joe told Nile, the bloody hypocrite. “But we also spoke of our travels,” he continued, “and that is how I know for certain that Desmond was a Levantine brother. I hadn’t been to Masyaf in over 300 years by then, but the way he described it reminded me of things I had thought long lost to time. He even remembered that dumb kid who could never control his nag in the market, spilling apples everywhere.” He shook his head. “It was such a beautiful city. Damn the sieges that tore it apart; those people deserved better.”
Nicky was watching Joe reminisce like it was the sweetest little story ever, but Kill Bill sirens were blaring in Nile’s head.
“Uh, Joe?”
He looked to her. “What is it, Nile?”
“When did you meet Leonardo da Vinci and his husbands again?”
Joe squinted. “Early 1500s. Around 1510, perhaps?”
“When did you say you were last in, uh, what was that place called, Massaf?”
“Masyaf?” Joe corrected. “After 1170 but certainly before 1189, I wouldn’t forget those goddamned Crusaders riding through town.”
“I was hardly goddamned,” Nicky protested, teasing. “In fact, I was god-ordained.”
Joe groaned, covering his face with his hand. “My love, there is truly no one on this earth quite like you.”
“Guys,” Nile interrupted, “are yall seriously not seeing it?”
“What is it?” Nicky asked, the crease between his eyebrows deepening.
“You met this guy in the 1500s in Venice. There was no way he could’ve known about that apple cart in Masyaf from the 1100s!” she exclaimed.
Realisation slowly dawned on both their faces. They really hadn’t realised it.
“Truly,” Joe said slowly, “I hadn’t heard Arabic like that since the 12th century. And the way Desmond spoke of Masyaf and Acre- he and Ezio had visited the area just before coming to Venice and were heartsore at the ruin it had fallen into under Byzantine rule. Ezio was- disappointed, he had had greater expectations of the city, but Desmond truly mourned the place it had been. He had been glad to speak of it as it had been in its prime - as he had experienced it.”
Nicky looked troubled. “I did not realise it then - if Desmond noticed anything strange about your reminiscence, he never said anything, either. He just - he looked so relieved to find a kindred spirit.”
“Do you think he was…?” Joe asked, hushed.
“But we had no dreams,” Nicky protested, “and we know each other by sight, by touch- something just clicks. We touched often- clasping hands, clasping shoulders, Desmond was very warm and welcoming once he decided to let you in.”
“He was much younger than Ezio and Leonardo,” Joe added. “That was part of the scandal- Desmond was in his 30s and Leonardo was nearly twice his age, Ezio only slightly younger.”
Nile choked. Joe noticed and smirked. “There was no lack of affection between the three of them; they had a very active sex life and were hardly quiet about it. Well, at least not under their own roof.”
“Wow,” she said. She honestly couldn’t imagine. Hadn't Joe also mentioned something about that guy being that other guy's cousin? “Just- wow.”
“I do not think he was one of us,” Nicky said slowly, “but at the same time, I cannot account for his knowledge. It was only Desmond- Leonardo’s life and death were well-documented, and Ezio was clearly a man of his time.”
“Yes,” Joe drawled, “we all remember the arguments the two of you got into.”
“Well, in Genoa-,” Nicky started heatedly, but Joe quickly interrupted him.
“We were in Venice then and we are in Paris now,” he said, and then he softened. “I do not know how Desmond came upon his knowledge, but he was a good friend, a good husband, and a loving father.”
“I just remembered something,” Nicky said abruptly. “His accent was Florentine, yes, but he also spoke strangely. He drew me the Roman aqueducts once but he also sketched me a water pump with pressure gauges and then he and Leonardo went off on their wild flights of fancy. This happened several times. Ezio despaired while Giovanni loved to egg them on, and many of their scientific concepts flew above my head then, but with the knowledge of hindsight…”
Nile did a quick Google search. “Pressure gauges weren’t invented till, like, the 1600s,” she reported.
“Do you think there’s a chance he still lives now?” Joe asked, almost painful in his hope. Nile didn’t get it, not really, but she’d only come into her- God, her immortality- a year ago. A girlfriend she’d had used to talk about how important shared life experiences were; Andy was literally older than Jesus, Qúynh had been drowning for 500 years at this point, Nicky and Joe had fought and died in His name almost a millennia ago, Booker used to be in Napoleon’s army, and she’d killed a megalomaniac billionaire by hurling him off his own skyscraper- and herself along with him.
Nile was kinda short on shared life experiences these days.
She didn’t doubt that Nicky and Joe loved each other given how sappy they were given the chance, but she did wonder just how much of it was because of said shared experiences and how there was literally no one who could understand them quite like each other. That also meant Booker had been fucked from the get-go, having been a family man before he discovered his immortality; watching them die of old age one after the other had marked him in the worst possible way.
(Nile wasn’t thinking of her family. She wasn’t.)
Nicky took Joe’s hand and raised it to his lips. That security guard who had been eyeing Joe looked away at the intimacy, flushed with guilt. Ha, Nile thought, filled with vindication.
“My love,” Nicky was whispering, “no matter who Desmond was, he lived a good life. He loved and was loved in return. That is its own comfort, is it not?”
Joe swallowed harshly. “We- have time now, don’t we?” he asked. “Could we- we haven’t been to Venice in many years.”
Nicky smiled. “And to Rome after,” he reminded Joe softly, “they lived there, remember? There was some mention of Tiber Island, too- although I think Desmond said that he and Ezio were from Monteriggioni, originally.”
Joe cleared his throat, colour returning to his swarthy face. “An Italian tour,” he pronounced before looking at her. “If our dearest Nile doesn’t mind.”
Nile grinned at them both. “Dude, are you kidding me? Before this, the only time I’d ever been out of the States was to a fucking warzone. My virgin trip to France didn’t exactly start out the way i’d hoped, but this is totally making up for it.”
All of Nicky’s warmth was in those deep blue eyes of his, but Joe didn’t bother restraining his mirth, a big bright smile spreading across his handsome face.
“Thank you, Nile,” he said. “We will convince Andy to come with us- we could all do with a bit of a holiday ourselves, I think. We will go through Italy- to Rome and Venice and Monteriggioni- and then we can end with Genoa in the North and the love of my life can tell us everything that was wrong in the rest of the states-.”
Nicky opened his mouth to protest and then they were off again, an old familiar argument building between them. Nile watched them and felt her heart ache even as it softened. Despite everything, it was a good life they lived.
May it never change, and may it never change them.)