I Know Those Eyes
Summary: You never thought you’d see those eyes again. Not since he died all those years ago. But that doesn’t change the fact that the man you ran into (literally) has the same eyes.
Pairing: Ezio Auditore x Reader (AC: Brotherhood)
Word Count: 4.3K
Genre: Angst with a happy ending
Warnings: Abuse, Implied past abuse, Canon-typical violence (ie Ezio assassinates someone), Swearing
A/N: This is my first time writing angst, but I’m pretty happy with how it turned out. The story is loosely inspired by the song ‘I Know Those Eyes/This Man Is Dead’ and I highly recommend giving it a listen for the vibes. This is physical evidence of my need to be held™
If you’d like to make a request or leave feedback, don’t hesitate to send an ask! Enjoy!
It’d been years since Ezio had even thought about stepping foot in Florence and if it weren’t for the man he was targeting, he wouldn’t be here in the first place.
The stillness of the night and the warm glow of lanterns adorning the doorways were familiar to him, but the eerie quiet only worsened the haunting feeling. And the accompanying sounds of armor from the guards in the streets didn’t help much either. There were too many painful memories. Too many things he’d had to leave behind.
But he was back. Back to take down another one of Cesare’s lackeys: Marco Esposito.
He was a man that Ezio believed wouldn’t be too much of a problem, but he was wrong. Backed by the power of Cesare, the coward believed he could do what he wanted and it was Ezio’s duty to make him realize otherwise.
Unfortunately, with the increase of guards throughout Firenze, this was not going to be easy.
He’d recognized the posts upon rooftops and throughout the streets, but the groups had gotten bigger. Which just meant more hassle for him. It also didn’t help that, when he’d walked by Esposito’s estate, it was swarming with them. Coward.
Now, with his travels and canvassing of the city over and done with, Ezio just needed a place to rest. His feet dragged and the horseback journey here hadn’t exactly helped his growing back pain.
Had Ezio been paying attention to what was in front of him he probably would have seen the person barreling around the corner of the building ahead of him, but he’d been too busy scanning the rooftops for a tower of some sort to take shelter in.
A blur crossed his vision before he realized that that blur was heading his way. It became apparent that the blur was a person when it sprawled on the ground upon impact with his chest.
“Oh, Mi dispiace, Signore. I didn’t see you there.”
It was a woman. A familiar woman. Someone he never thought he’d see again.
Ezio stiffened. His heart felt like it had stopped and sped up simultaneously. The blood roared through his ears, silencing all thoughts to his brain.
It was you.
And you were still struggling to get up from the ground.
“It is fine. I should’ve known that the streets of Firenze are never completely empty.” He held out a hand for you and you took it with a small smile, eyes downcast so as to keep him from revealing your identity.
It didn’t help.
Pulling your hand away, you wiped discreetly at your face before bringing your hand back down and sucking a deep breath in, followed by a shaky exhale. A quick scan of your face revealed puffy eyes and tear tracks left behind in carelessness.
His heart clenched.
“Grazie, Signore.” You ducked into a curtsy, before finally glancing up to meet his gaze momentarily. Panic seized Ezio and he swept into a bow to avoid your own recognition of his identity. His heart seemed to be beating straight into the hand draped across his chest.
Get out of there.
Clearing his throat as he straightened, Ezio gave you a nod before opening his mouth to speak once more.
“Be safe, Signora. Buonanotte.” He all but whispered, his statement lacking all his usual charm in favor of a speedy getaway. Sparing you no further glance, he ducked into an alley and made it to the rooftop in time to watch you walk slowly away.
He only wished his heart didn’t long to follow.
—
It couldn’t be, could it?
Could he really have returned to you after all these years?
It wasn’t likely. No. It wasn’t just unlikely, it was impossible.
He was dead. You’d heard it.
When his father and brothers were hanged, he was hunted down. He was too reckless in his need for revenge and he’d been caught by the guards of Firenze.
He had died the following morning.
And your spirit had died with him.
But if that was the case, how was he here now? It was a story that your— since passed— father had told you. Had he lied to you? You scoff to yourself, earning a side glance from a passing merchant but you pay him no mind as you trudge your way through the streets.
Your father, in his years in this world, wasn’t known for his kindness. It was him who’d pushed you into a marriage to a man nearly fifteen years your senior. You had no say in the matter and your husband— the word sent bile up your throat every time— had all the wealth your father could ever hope to gain. The whole ceremony was a loveless affair but, when questioned by the other noble ladies, you say that you have a simple, romantic relationship. Something that you wish you could convince yourself of as easily as they had been.
You pause in the entrance to the plaza of your husband’s villa. Your husband’s, not yours. He loved to remind you of that fact. Nothing was truly yours: not your home, your freedom, nothing.
Were you hallucinating? Had you just seen the face of the only man who ever cared for you because you’d taken one too many blows to the head? Were you on the verge of death and that was the ghost of him greeting you from the other side?
No, the creaking feeling in your bones as you kneeled at the base of the stairs reminded you that you were very much alive. And so did the droplets of water that began to rain down upon you from the darkened clouds in the sky. Distant rolls of thunder and the puddles collecting on the too-perfect cobblestones of the plaza.
You should move, before he sees.
The thought sends a fresh wave of hot tears down your face, a stark contrast against the pins and needles of the chilling downpour.
This was never what you wanted.
What you wanted was a life with Ezio, a man that was snatched from this world too early. Or so it seemed.
You knew those eyes, the ones you’d spent hours gazing into. Those wonderful brown eyes. In fact, you swore that they looked almost golden at times, a brightness that put the finest jewels to shame. They were the ones that haunted your dreams for years, how could you ever forget them?
But that man, he had those exact eyes. Lines of age had altered them slightly, but they were still his. You’re sure of it.
Which meant that you could see them again.
It’s this thought that carries your bruised and broken body out of the chill of the storm.
—
It’s not until late in the evening, two days later, that you spot him on the streets again.
Despite the hood that hides his identity, the stark white stands out against the quickly darkening clouds of the night sky.
Based on his reaction at your last meeting— the fact that he pretended not to recognize you— you decide to follow him. The fear that he’d avoid you in a direct conversation seizing at your chest.
As you moved with him, the crowds from the evening market began to thin out until, you noticed, as he emerged into a courtyard, there was no one around. He walked to the center of the plaza, the slivers of the moon peeking through the clouds adorned his robes, the glow of the pure white seemingly otherworldly and out of place. You could almost believe that he was a ghost if you hadn’t physically run into him two days prior.
So mesmerized by the ethereal look of him that you hadn’t noticed him turn your way until he called out to you in the darkness.
“There is no point in hiding. Come out and face me.” He spoke confidently, as if he knew you’d been there the whole time— though he probably did. You notice that he’s ducked down and his feet are spread into a stance, poised and ready to attack. Despite this, the sound of his voice sends a shiver down your spine, similar to that of a familiar melody playing again after being lost to time.
You know it’s him and it’s this certainty that encourages you to step out from the archway and into the light of the courtyard to speak the words that have been eating away at you since you ran into him.
“Is it really you?” He stiffens at the sight of you then clears his throat and straightens in an effort to look casual and composed. Obviously, he was expecting someone else. A thought that makes your heart clench slightly.
“I have no idea what you are referring to, Signora.” He’s fiddling with the lapels of his robes, gaze avoiding you altogether in favor of recovering from the shock he’s received; obvious only to you as you’ve always been one for an attention to detail, especially when it came to him. Satisfied with the array of his clothing, he finally levels his eyes with your figure standing across the plaza from him.
There’s a moment of hesitation before, as if looking at you were similar to looking straight at the sun for too long, he sweeps himself into a bow. Exactly the same as the one you received two days ago.
“I’m sorry for the confusion I may have caused, but I have some business to attend to. If you’ll excuse me.” The fluidity of his turn has you reeling and the quick dismissal is one that keeps you stuck where you stand until it hits you—
He’s leaving.
He’s leaving.
No
You stumble forward, tripping over the cracks in the cobblestones.
No
His back is turned to you. You hone in on it as if it were your lifeline. At this point, it might as well be.
NO
With your heart racing alongside your footsteps, you call out to him with everything you have left.
“Why didn’t you tell me?!”
He pauses, his back still faces you. But you have a hold on his hand, latching onto the warmth of him.
“The man you’re searching for is long gone,” He glances over his shoulder, that amber gaze— cold in contrast to the heat of his hand, a practiced iciness— barely making contact before his other hand comes up to gently pry your fingers away, “I’m sorry.”
The apology is spoken in a whisper, but it’s barely audible to you over the ringing in your ears.
Once free of your grasp, he steps wordlessly away and stalks to the exit on the other side of the courtyard. The glow of his robes disappear in the shadows, along with your hope.
Your knees find the rough cobblestone of the plaza when he’s out of sight and the tears find their familiar tracks down your cheeks. You fold in on yourself, forehead pressed to the ground as the air rushes out of your lungs in a silent sob.
He’s gone.
He is really, truly, gone.
You never should’ve allowed yourself to hope in the first place.
—
The wringing of his heart hadn’t stopped for days and it was only going to get worse from here.
In fact, the thought of tearing out his heart entirely seemed like the less painful option at this point. Maybe then Ezio could pour his focus into the mission ahead of him.
His target needed to be eliminated tonight, Machiavelli had emphasized as much to him in the letter he’d received the day prior. And it was the one thing he couldn’t bring himself to pay much attention to. Not since his run-in with you.
Considering the fact that Marco had been on high alert, increasing guard patrols and instilling a curfew over the city, Ezio had expected him to send someone to follow him. But what he didn’t expect was you.
You
Bathed in moonlight as you stepped out from the shadows. Looking just as beautiful as the day he left you. The day tragedy had torn his life to pieces.
Ezio believed that, after all these years away, he’d gotten better at controlling the ache that bloomed in his chest whenever he thought of you. He was wrong. These run-ins had taken that belief and ripped it to pieces.
He longed to run to you. To sweep you into an embrace that you would never leave. He longed to kiss you. Deeply and tenderly, the way he knew you always liked. But he couldn’t.
Not anymore.
Not with the life he led.
So, he’d stayed rooted to his spot, moving mechanically to part ways with you. Rushing into one last goodbye, taking those last moments to commit your form to memory. A sad smile twitched at the corner of his lips, one which he hoped you couldn’t see because it would make this all the more harder for him.
What Ezio wasn’t prepared to face was the grip of your hands on one of his. The trembling from your fingers that sent jolts through his body. He would’ve told you everything with just that simple gesture. But he steeled his nerves and with his other hand— shaking just as much as yours by now— peeled your hand back before his resolve crumbled completely.
He’d hidden behind the archway instead of leaving immediately, listening to your heart breaking along with his. It was unfair of him, yes, but it’s what needed to happen. This wasn’t something you could get involved in. He’s lost too many loved ones to this fight and he refused to add you to that list.
A shaky inhale past the knot in his throat awoke him to his reality. His thoughts came back to him. The mission. Cesare’s man. He needed to leave now.
Pushing off the wall of the archway, Ezio takes a shaky step forward before striding towards the building he intended to scale.
—
By the time your eyes had dried out and the only remnant of tears were the crusted trails on your cheeks, the moon was high in the night sky. The clouds had almost dissipated, making way for the twinkle of the constellations. It was a reminder that you needed to be back soon.
You absentmindedly make your way through the familiar streets, the route back to the villa engraved into your movements, allowing you to trudge back without much thought. Despite your muddied attire, you enter through the front doors.
The servants of the household pay you no mind, knowing that making a fuss over their lady’s appearance would bring the wrath down upon you as well as them. It’s only Giulia who dares step away from her duties to help you up the stairs to your chambers.
Giulia, a beautiful and lively woman of almost 60, has been by your side since you were born. Despite her place as the head housemaid in your old home, she took it upon herself to look after you when your mother died in childbirth. When you were married to Marco, she’d been the only remnant you had of home when she became head housemaid of your husband’s abode.
There was nothing you could keep from her and, from the look she was giving you as she ran a comforting hand down your back, you’d have to tell her about what had transpired tonight.
A warm bath and a fresh nightgown later, Giulia had you seated in front of the fireplace, working through the tangles in your hair with a comb.
“So, are you going to tell me about it, or are we going to continue to sit in silence?” Giulia’s attempt at cheering you up. You let out a dry chuckle, shoulders shaking with the effort of keeping the disappointment down.
“I—“ you sigh, “I thought he came back.” The fingers working through your hair never hesitated. She knew who you were referring to.
“I mean— he was right in front of me. I ran into him two days ago. He was there, tonight, i-in the courtyard—“ You continued on, telling her of all that had happened these last few days. Listening to you explain his sudden appearance and disappearance in your life with steady hands continuing to ready you for bed. Nothing about your story fazed her, it seemed. And by the time you were through with regailing her of your encounter, you were laying in bed, having the leftover tears wiped away in her motherly manner.
The slamming of the door to your chambers sent a jolt through your body and your heart sank. You hoped you’d be asleep by the time Marco wandered in from his late night, that maybe you could avoid whatever “punishment” he had for being gone all day.
You curled tighter into the mattress, grip on your pillow ironclad as Marco dismissed Giulia with a belch. The shuffle of her footsteps faded away while his heavy stomps neared the bed. His wine-stained breath reached you before he did and you had to stifle a gag as his rough hands reached to grab hold of your shoulder.
You have no idea what possessed you to— perhaps the knowledge that you’d seen the man you loved is what lit the fire in you— but before you knew it, you’d twisted out of Marco’s hold and brought your nails down on his face.
With a bellow, Marco sprang back from your form, a hand to his eye as you rolled off the bed.
“You bitch!” He brings his hand back, revealing the rivulets of blood running from the gash on his cheek. He staggers towards you in his blind and drunken rage while you run to the vanity, rummaging through the combs and cosmetics to find something, anything to use against him.
A simple eye pencil was what you were rewarded with. You snatched the tool off your vanity and whirled around in time to meet the palm flying to meet your face. The force of the blow sent you to the rug, the pencil flying from your grasp as the wind was knocked from your lungs and the stinging in your cheek flamed hotter with the heat of the fire next to you.
Still working to refill the breath you lost, Marco clunkily settled his weight on your abdomen. His hands closed around your throat, slipping slightly in his drunken stupor, but the threat remained as his fingers squeezed.
“If I knew how much trouble you’d be for me, I never would’ve wasted my precious time,” his fingers squeezed tighter, “and,” tighter, “money!” Tighter.
He was going to kill you.
He was going to kill you— and you couldn’t do anything about it. Even your scratching at his hands and arms seemed to do nothing. Your vision blurred, marred with black spots that were growing larger by the millisecond. The grease of his hair ran through your fingers as your limbs grew heavy. His face, contorted in rage and turning red as he spoke, grew fuzzy.
At least you could die knowing you gave him hell.
“No children, no fortune, nothing,” he was leaning closer and closer, almost determined to be the last thing you saw of this world, “You are the most useless—“
The loss of his hands around your throat along with the weight of him from on top of you, brought the world back into focus. You rolled onto your side, coughing and gasping for air as you caught sight of a familiar form hunched over your husband. The ringing in your ears subsides enough to catch the tail-end of his statement.
“-not fit to even breathe the same air as her,” the sound of a blade sinking into flesh followed by a wet gargle, “Requiescat in Pace, bastardo.” The venom in his low whisper sends a shiver down your spine.
Another series of coughs rips through your throat, drawing the attention of your savior. He moves swiftly to wrap his arms around your shoulders, allowing you to lean against his chest. The warmth of his hand soothes down your face.
Your vision clears enough to truly see the face of the man holding you.
“I knew it.” You croak out. He folds his body over yours in an awkward, yet loving, embrace. You can feel the shaky laugh he lets out as you reach to wrap your own arms around his shoulders. His smile presses into your neck and his other hand cups the back of your head.
“You did,” he pulls back slightly, eyes earnestly finding yours, “and I am so sorry for not telling you. You have no idea how much I regret it.” His gaze bounces back and forth between your eyes. The hood of his robes has fallen off, which makes his stare all the more intimidating. Still, you can’t give in easily and accept his apologies without an explanation.
“Why?” Is all you whisper, but he knows what you’re really asking. He shifts a little and clears his throat, the heat of his hands still pressing into your head and waist. He seems to be contemplating how to tell you until he takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, shakily.
“The life I lead now— it’s a dangerous one.” His gaze never leaves yours, a silent plea for your attention, though he already had it.
“Since the day my father and brothers,” he pauses, the lines around his eyes and brows deepen, the memory of it clearly still painful, “I’ve dedicated my life to taking down the man responsible: Rodrigo Borgia.” He spits the name out with venom lacing it. Your brows knit together in confusion and a slight frown settles on your lips.
“The Pope?” His hand comes up to tuck a stray hair behind your ear and moves to smooth the space between your brows with his thumb— an action you instinctively relax into. It was a comfort he provided all those years ago whenever he found you upset or frustrated.
“Sì, the Pope. It affords him friends in high places and I’ve been eliminating those same friends one by one.” He nods to the form of your husband laying in the corner of the room. You swallow hard.
“So, does that mean he’s—”
“Dead, sì,” He confirms grimly, “Although, that bastardo deserved a fate worse than death.” Ezio’s hold on you tightens just slightly as if to subconsciously confirm that you’re here, alive, and in the safety of his embrace. You guide his head to you once more and his face softens. There was just one more thing that didn’t make sense.
“I spent every single day thinking of you, wishing I could go back to the way things were, but it was all too dangerous. And I thought that if I let you continue on without me, that you’d be safe from that danger.” He chuckles dryly, tilting his gaze to the ceiling, “Look how well that turned out.”
The last of the puzzle pieces had fallen into place. Everything suddenly made sense. Why your father had been so ready to tell you that Ezio was gone. Why Marco Esposito, a man so hated by the nobility, had suddenly shot into a position of power. Why Ezio had avoided you in your encounters.
“Sometimes life doesn’t go the way we want it to, but we’re here now,” you shift so you’re matching his kneeling stance, bringing a hand from his shoulder to rest it on his own that found purchase on your face, “together.” The familiar grin splits his face. One you haven’t seen for a long, long time.
“And I am so unbelievably happy to know that you, Ezio Auditore, are alive and sitting here in front of me.”
He leans in, taking up what little space there is between you, eyes half-lidded and mischievous glint in his eye. His thumb brushes across your bottom lip, coaxing you closer ever so slightly.
“And I, Ezio Auditore, am so unbelievably happy to be here as well.”
He closes the distance, lips meeting yours in the gentle way that only he possesses. It makes your heart flutter like you’re kissing him for the first time. A feeling that you’ve longed to have for years. His other hand leaves your waist to cup the other side of your face, deepening the kiss. It’s earnest and sweet, making up for lost time. There’s a reluctance in him as he parts from you, breath ghosting ever so softly over your lips.
“I’m so sorry that I kept you in the dark for so long. And I’m sorry for making you wait this long for me.” Another kiss is placed on your lips, shorter this time, but it makes your stomach flip pleasantly nonetheless. You pull him in for an embrace. His hands are holding you so tightly, it’s as if he’d never let you go no matter what.
“Come with me.” He pulls back so abruptly it leaves your head spinning, falling forward onto his chest with the force of it.
“What?”
“Come back with me. To Roma.”
You’re frozen. The thought of reuniting with Ezio and running away with him all in the same night leaves you reeling. It’s quite possibly the best decision you could ever make. There was nothing here for you.
Ezio, obviously mistaking your silence for denial, adds hastily, “I-I mean, I understand if you choose not to. The life I lead is not for everyone. I should’ve-”
You silence his anxious ramblings with another long kiss and you feel his body physically relax under your hands.
“Of course I’ll go with you. There is nowhere I’d rather be than by your side.”
“You have no idea how happy I am to hear that, amore mio.”
