When Ezio is well enough to walk again he has lunch in the main hall. No sooner has he crossed the threshold than a recruit thrusts a steaming cup of tea into his hands and darts off again.
Anetta walks in a moment later holding a bowl of some sort of delicious-smelling soup. It occurs to Ezio after listening to the clamor in the kitchen that Anetta has completely taken over kitchen duties. As an unwitting test subject for her food the past few days, he has to admit that she has a gift for it.
He also becomes aware of a very strange balance between their care and respect towards him. His greatest fear upon becoming ill was that he would lose face. While to a degree this is probably true, the recruits have also simply become more familiar, both to him and to each other.
Ezio would be glad of this new camaraderie, were it not for the fact that it also united them in there desire to coddle him like some tiny child.
“For the last time, I feel fine,” he lies to the recruit who’s been following him around all morning, hovering well within his personal space in case he falls like he did the first night.
The recruit nods. “Of course, Messere,” he says, and walks back the way they came.
Three minutes later Ezio spies him trying to follow once more, but further back. Deciding he has had enough of this game, Ezio leads the inexperienced recruit up the stairs to the roof and jumps.
Try following that, he thinks with a derisive smirk.
The haystack grunts when he hits it.
“What the – Zita, what are you doing here?”
“Um, practicing?”
Ezio manages to dig through the hay to find her face and glares.
“Oh, fine. Adele told us to make sure you didn’t leave while you were still sick.”
“I am not still sick,” he insists as he vaults out of the cart. The motion makes him dizzy, but he grips the cart with one hand and stays upright. “And how are you going to stop me from leaving?”
“I will – um, I don’t know,” Zita says as she fumbles her way out of the cart. “I didn’t expect you to actually try to leave this way. But I will think of something! Just . . . give me a minute . . .”
Ezio sighs. “Why are you all doing this? Don’t you have missions to complete?”
Zita opens and closes her mouth without sound several times before finding the words. “Because,” she says, quietly but with conviction. “You saved our lives in Roma. It is only fitting that we protect yours. And . . . we talk about our former lives over dinner sometimes. Many of us lost family to the Borgia; some lost their homes entirely, before you came. But then you helped us, and brought us here, and now we live here with others like us and you -” she pauses for a moment before continuing. “If I may, you are famiglia, Maestro.”
Ezio insists to himself that he is absolutely not touched by the sentiment. He does not reply, and is only letting Zita lead him back inside so she does not try to fight him as he leaves, that's all.
As he drifts to sleep that night, he tries to convince himself that the knot of warmth in his chest has nothing to do with the recruits who don’t remind him of little brothers and sistes.
Famiglia.
But he can't deny it's the best sleep he’s had in years.
Ill Mentore 3/3
Anetta walks in a moment later holding a bowl of some sort of delicious-smelling soup. It occurs to Ezio after listening to the clamor in the kitchen that Anetta has completely taken over kitchen duties. As an unwitting test subject for her food the past few days, he has to admit that she has a gift for it.
He also becomes aware of a very strange balance between their care and respect towards him. His greatest fear upon becoming ill was that he would lose face. While to a degree this is probably true, the recruits have also simply become more familiar, both to him and to each other.
Ezio would be glad of this new camaraderie, were it not for the fact that it also united them in there desire to coddle him like some tiny child.
“For the last time, I feel fine,” he lies to the recruit who’s been following him around all morning, hovering well within his personal space in case he falls like he did the first night.
The recruit nods. “Of course, Messere,” he says, and walks back the way they came.
Three minutes later Ezio spies him trying to follow once more, but further back. Deciding he has had enough of this game, Ezio leads the inexperienced recruit up the stairs to the roof and jumps.
Try following that, he thinks with a derisive smirk.
The haystack grunts when he hits it.
“What the – Zita, what are you doing here?”
“Um, practicing?”
Ezio manages to dig through the hay to find her face and glares.
“Oh, fine. Adele told us to make sure you didn’t leave while you were still sick.”
“I am not still sick,” he insists as he vaults out of the cart. The motion makes him dizzy, but he grips the cart with one hand and stays upright. “And how are you going to stop me from leaving?”
“I will – um, I don’t know,” Zita says as she fumbles her way out of the cart. “I didn’t expect you to actually try to leave this way. But I will think of something! Just . . . give me a minute . . .”
Ezio sighs. “Why are you all doing this? Don’t you have missions to complete?”
Zita opens and closes her mouth without sound several times before finding the words. “Because,” she says, quietly but with conviction. “You saved our lives in Roma. It is only fitting that we protect yours. And . . . we talk about our former lives over dinner sometimes. Many of us lost family to the Borgia; some lost their homes entirely, before you came. But then you helped us, and brought us here, and now we live here with others like us and you -” she pauses for a moment before continuing. “If I may, you are famiglia, Maestro.”
Ezio insists to himself that he is absolutely not touched by the sentiment. He does not reply, and is only letting Zita lead him back inside so she does not try to fight him as he leaves, that's all.
As he drifts to sleep that night, he tries to convince himself that the knot of warmth in his chest has nothing to do with the recruits who don’t remind him of little brothers and sistes.
Famiglia.
But he can't deny it's the best sleep he’s had in years.