The day felt strange somehow. Leonardo went about his business, bought his supplies and met with people who had expressed interest in a painting but he found himself unable to shake the dark feeling weighing on his mind despite the sun shining so cheerfully upon the city. It wasn't until he reached his workshop that he got a hint of why everything was off. The hidden blade sat on his worktable-it hadn't been there when he'd left.

“Ezio?” he put down his things to walk deeper into the building but found no other traces that the assassin had visited at all. Perhaps it is in need of repair? The artist picked up the bracer housing the weapon and tested the mechanism. Perhaps not. Other than some dried blood flecking the front part of the emblem he saw nothing wrong with it. His day, it seemed, could only get stranger.

He could not have gone far without his blade. Why would he leave it? An assassin couldn't be found if he didn't wish it so Leonardo didn't try to search him out. Ezio always sought him in his time of need and surely this time would be no different. In any case he had work to attend to that couldn't wait much longer to be completed.

So involved was he in his sketching that he didn't hear the door open and shut. Only the footsteps across the floor made his hand pause. He turned almost immediately, charcoal still poised to draw in his hand. Ezio's face hid from view under the white hood, Leonardo found himself focusing on the endless shadow cast by the material and wishing he could see more than the down turned lips. The way the broad shoulders sagged caught his attention after that. Something is wrong. After only a moment of hesitation the assassin held the sculptor in a tight embrace.

“Ezio. What has happened?” he didn't wait to return the hug-Ezio rarely initiated them. There had to be something of great importance that had caused a change in his behaviour. His shoulder was weighed down by the other man's head a second later, followed by the arms dropping to his sides.

He is not answering. It didn't take long for worry to take hold. Had there been bad news? Or had the brunet suffered a serious injury? He patted his friend's shoulder in the hopes it would provide some measure of comfort.

“Leonardo...”

“Please, tell me what has happened, my friend. Is your mother, Claudia, Mario all well? Do you need something?”

“Frederio. Today he would be...”

“Mi dispiace, Ezio,” he held him tighter, knowing without having to be told anymore that today was the older brother's date of birth. Maybe that had been why he felt odd the entire day-Maria had mentioned it in conversation but Leonardo often found keeping things like dates in his mind difficult. Of course Ezio would find such an occasion difficult to endure. He noticed a second that that his shirt felt wet.

“I have killed Uberto but it has done nothing,” the deep voice cracked and he felt a stab in his heart. What could he tell him? Everything wouldn't be alright-not the way Ezio would have hoped anyway.

“I will make you a drink, sit and we will talk, yes?”

Ezio pulled away to walk to a chair next to Leonardo's work area which he fell into heavily. The crying was mostly silent but when he looked over the artist could clearly see the tears falling then spattering on the other man's knees like droplets of rain. Even a few feet away is too far. Leonardo retrieved the wine quickly and held the cup out, then put it down on the floor when Ezio didn't take it, staying knelt on the floor of his studio. If he could only see the brunet's face instead of that of a weapon, an assassino then he could say the right thing to make him stop crying Leonardo was sure.

“Even if I fight, it will do nothing. My brothers are gone. My father is not coming back. My mother has not spoken since I told her.”