WOOT. Another one filled. More fluffy stuff. T.T And to think I just went to the dentist.

Pt.2 pg.36

Salai drug himself through the door, panting heavily. With a grunt and a wince, he moved his leg in, which was bleeding and probably broken.

"Maestro?" his voice was hoarse as he pulled himself into the studio, only to find he wasn't there, but his medical supplies were.

Biting his lip, he tried to fight back the tears as he clutched his side and breathed in deeply. He knew there was a reason he hated going out with Leonardo. He became the next target for bored city guards. He could fight—and he could fight well, too—well enough to fight most of them off, but he wasn't like Ezio: he could take on a handful of them, but when there were more than five to ten, he didn't fare so great.

He swallowed and pulled himself to the table, collapsing on the workbench and leaning back. He inhaled and exhaled slowly before he reached into the kit and tried to find the needle and thread, antiseptic, something. As his hand rifled through the kit, he felt his eyelids grow heavy.

When he woke up next, he winced. He forced his eyes open and looked around. There were two chairs near a fireplace, and a neatly organized desk. He blinked—it was Leonardo's: Salai had organized it earlier that week. He looked at the bed: they were his master's sheets.

"Maestro?"

He winced at the sound of his voice as he heard the door open.

"Maestro?"

"You are awake."

He tried to open his eyes completely but found that one was swollen shut. With his good eye, he could see Ezio walk in quietly with a small bowl of soup.

"I thought you could defend yourself better."

He frowned the best he could. "Shut up. I had some alcohol in my veins."

"Some?"

"Not enough to hinder me from killing most of them."

He coughed, lurching forward, and his chest hurt terribly. He wheezed for breath, but it only made it hurt worse, and he was trembling by the time he managed to get a hold on himself. He felt Ezio rubbing lightly on his back, and he let out the tiniest whimper.

"Leonardo thinks you have several broken ribs."

He closed his eyes, wishing he were dead already. "How long will I be here?"

"For quite some time. You've got a broken, ripped up leg and an injury to your ribs, as well as a black eye and bruises all over. They really did a number on you."

He leaned back in the bed slowly.

"You're in for a tough time. I've been in your position many times before."

He didn't say anything.

"Either way, Leonardo has prepared some food. I'll give you my bowl for now."

He heard the soft "thud" as the master assassin set the bowl down and left. Salai groaned in pain. He wished he had some wine to help the time pass—and the pain, always the pain. Leonardo came in a while later and sat by his side.

"Salai, my boy," he whispered as he sat in the chair by his side. "My God, you had me so worried. You were attacked by guards, no?"

Salai opened his good eye and gestured to the empty bowl limply. "Thank you for the food, maestro."

He felt Leonardo kiss his cheek, and he smiled. "I am glad you are still alive. What happened to your leg?"

"They got me in the ribs, and I ran, jumped the rooftop, and landed on my leg wrong and on a crate."

"Salai! How on earth did you make such a miscalculation?"

"I had a little to drink."

He didn't have to look to know Leonardo was frowning.

"It was the alcohol that gave me enough to pull myself home."

He felt Leonardo gently running a hand through his hair, and he smiled a little. Leonardo sighed and continued.

"You had me so upset, Salai. I thought for sure you were dead. Please, stop going out and wasting money on things like this. I was so worried that you wouldn't wake up. Oh, Salai."

He looked at Leonardo. He looked so upset. Salai wanted to reach out and hug him, but his injured ribs prevented him.

"How long will I be stuck here?"

"Several weeks before your ribs are healed." He had resumed brushing Salai's hair, and the boy barely suppressed a shudder: weeks before he could clean the studio. Heaven help him when he tackled cleaning it again.

He'd have to find his hair tie he used to pull it into a bun so he wouldn't get as hot and sweaty. Salai pulled it up every time he worked. He used his oldest underclothes to clean in. He hid them every time: they were filthy and stained. Ezio had laughed when he first found the apprentice scrubbing a particularly well grounded stain.

"What did you do to incur Leonardo's wrath?" he had asked.

Salai didn't even spare him a glance. "Leonardo is not here."

He felt the man walk up behind him as he ground his teeth and pressed against the stain on the maestro's tunic. Ezio squatted down beside him, smirking.

"I haven't done anything to bring about his anger. The man cannot get angry with me. I'm a cleaning up this filthy place because it's bothering me."

"I do not believe you."

"You don't have to. Just go away so I can clean up all the dirt you've drug in."

The assassin raised an eyebrow. "Isn't this a little big to clean by yourself?"

Salai sighed and sat down, giving Ezio a "duh" look. "You're not leaving, are you?"

"I am curious why you would clean if you are not required. It does not fit the description he gave you."

Salai rolled his eyes and resumed viciously scrubbing the tunic. "I usually clean other rooms when he's working. When he's not, I'm cleaning up after him. He's so airheaded he doesn't really notice."

"How could he not?"

"As long as I keep things organized the same, he doesn't think about it. Which, given who he is, is expected."

"And you let him go about spewing how bad you are?"

"He took me home to teach me to paint. I have no interest in painting."

"But in thieving."

"And current fashions. Someone has to take better care of appearances. They mean everything." Salai smirked and held up the tunic, the stain gone. "Perfect."

"You possess an immense amount of vanity and are as good as any woman at cleaning, but even women work in packs. Would you like some help?"

He whipped his head around to stare at Ezio. "Huh?"

The assassin had begun taking off the armor and outer clothing. Salai opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He shook his head bewilderedly and put the tunic in the cleaned clothing basin to put out to dry.

"If you wish to help, you can."

"Very well then, I shall."

The two had worked until dusk, when Salai called it clean enough. He went and changed into fresh clothing. He grabbed his brush—with the finest bristles, because money be damned, it hurt to brush his hair. As he came down the stairs, he noticed Ezio had changed into extra clothes he had stored in Leonardo's room. He went and sat in front of the fire, relaxing on the clean floor.

"Are you not even winded?" Ezio said.

Salai looked at him as he stretched out in front of the fire. "Not at all, why?"

Ezio shook his head. "Admittedly, it was the hardest workout of my life. I should send my apprentices over. Tomorrow, I will be sore."

Salai couldn't help but laugh and sit up. He reached to undo his hair tie, but found it knotted. Damn the curls. With a soft hiss, he tried not to pull too hard as he worked the piece of leather.

"Come here, Salai."

He looked at the assassin.

"I will help untangle it. I have dealt with such things before."

"At the whorehouses?" he almost sneered.

Ezio frowned. "Yes, back before Leonardo had ruined me for anyone else."

Salai laughed as he grabbed his brush and scooted closer, sitting in between Ezio's legs and watching the fire. He could feel the strong hands touch the leather.

"She had a sensitive scalp. Do you as well?"

"Yes."

"And so the brush is explained."

He closed his eyes as Ezio began to undo the hair tie. Salai couldn't deny Ezio was gentle, more than himself. He patiently sat as Ezio worked through the tangles, painstakingly getting the small piece out.

"I can see why Leonardo enjoys painting you so much. You have not moved a muscle this entire time."

"I am willing to sit still however long it takes, so long as you are willing to work it out."

He heard Ezio hum and continue working. Eventually, as the fire died down, he saw Ezio's hand in front of him.

"May I have the brush?"

He handed it to him without thought, and when he felt Ezio start brushing his hair, he balked.

"I can brush my own hair, thank you!"

He turned and glared at the assassin, who chuckled. "I have never met a person who did not like having someone brush his hair. I enjoy it, and Leonardo does. You have worked with me all day, surely this is nothing?"

Salai scowled. "Why are you suddenly so nice? You have never liked me."

"Perhaps I have finally seen your cleaner side."

He rolled his eyes at the terrible pun, but turned back around and sighed.

"Then, would you? Please?"

His eyes fluttered closed when he felt the brush touch his scalp. He loved having his hair brushed. Ezio was every bit as gentle as he had been before, and Salai could feel himself relaxing.

"Why do you not demand recognition for keeping the studio clean?"

"Hm?" He opened his eyes. He should stay awake.

"You do not claim recognition for cleaning his household. Why not?"

Salai flushed. "It is more for myself, really. I become easily irritated the dirtier it gets, until it just drives me crazy. So, I clean until my mind stops demanding it get done. There are times I see some small spot ridiculously dirty, and I cannot sleep until it is completely spotless. Plus, the money I find is more than enough for me and my gambling."

"An obsession, then."

"I suppose, yes."

"I should bring you to the hideout. We could use you."

He had scoffed, but the assassin had eventually wrangled him in there, and Salai went ballistic with how dirty it was. Ezio had laughed at the apprentices as Salai had directed them how to clean properly. But at least it had become "spick and span."

And the young man was right, as he lay in the bed and waited for his ribs to heal. He saw the papers build up, and the room clutter, and it began to bother him more and more as the days passed. He would twitch and wince at the same time, desperately yearning to tidy it up. It was even dirtier than after those men had kidnapped Leonardo, which he had cleaned immediately after Ezio had left.

The assassin—Salai hoped God blessed the man's soul—came in and straightened things up a bit whenever he was there. He almost wanted to kiss the man for it, but he would leave that to Leonardo.

Finally, but the end of four weeks, the pain was bearable enough for him to move around. The artist had stepped out to purchase food, and Salai was out of bed faster than a bolt of lightning. He gasped in pain and collapsed on his bad leg, groaning in pain. When it subsided slightly, he ground his teeth determinedly: he would have the bedroom cleaned. He stood up shakily and limped over to the desk. As he was tidying up the papers and notebooks, he heard the window slide open.

"Salai, how are you…"

He turned and looked to see Ezio look around, spotting him at the desk near the door.

"What are you doing out of bed?"

"I am cleaning. It is driving me crazy."

Ezio frowned and walked over, gently pulling the papers from his grasp. "You should be in bed. That leg should not have any pressure put on it."

Salai scowled. "Try to stop me. I'm never going to rest until the rest of his room is cleaned."

Ezio frowned. "Do not test me, Salai."

Salai stuck his tongue out and turned back to the desk, beginning to file through stacks of papers. He yelped when he felt the chairs be spun around, and the assassin lifted him up.

"Put me down!" Salai shouted, clutching onto his armor. He wasn't going to risk struggle and have his leg bumped.

"I will, once you are where you should be, insolent brat."

He came close to slapping the man, but thought twice about it. The man set him on the bed, and Salai immediately started to climb back out, but Ezio growled.

"Stay. Put."

Salai gave him his most defiant glare. "No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"If I clean up for you, would you shut up?"

Salai's nose wrinkled. It was as good as he would probably get. He knew the assassin was just as stubborn as he was. "Yes."

Ezio sighed and peeled off the armor, setting it neatly to the side. Salai sat at attention, watching his moves. He could feel his fingers twitch, the need to clean the room unbearably strong now that he could "walk." He directed Ezio how to clean Leonardo's room down to the smallest detail, and when the assassin was done, Salai could feel the urge to clean fade away.

He glanced at Ezio, who was breathing slightly harder than normal. Cleaning could be quite the workout, and he made sure the room was spotless. The man was leaning against the desk, trying to cool down in the warm afternoon sun. His hair was tied back, and he was down to his underclothes. He met Salai's intense stare.

"You," he exhaled and sat in a chair, closing his eyes as he leaned back, "are insane. As much as your master, if not more."

Salai scowled. "It's not my fault."

He heard Leonardo enter and eventually come upstairs. The artist opened the door to his room and smiled. "Salai, you are still doing well?"

Salai nodded and gestured to Ezio. Leonardo stepped near him and studied him closely.

"He's out cold. He must have had an exhausting mission…"

He watched the artist come over and sit on the bed.

"How are your ribs?"

"They are doing well. I tried standing today."

"And?"

"I could stand well enough."

"Despite your leg?"

"Despit—"

"Do not believe the liar, Leonardo."

They turned and looked at Ezio as he roused himself from slumber.

"What?"

Salai scowled as Ezio rubbed his eyes and stretched.

"I caught the boy trying to clean the studio."

He winced at what was coming next.

"Salai! I told you not to put strain on your leg! It is still injured—what were you thinking? If you had ripped open the stitching, you could've set yourself back weeks in recovering, and I need you as soon as possible. Salai, your bone could shift and heal wrong, and then you'd have a limp for the rest of your life, and given your current lifestyle, I would think that you'd prefer to have full use of your legs."

He looked at the artist, putting on a façade of hurt. "I am sorry, maestro. It will not happen again."

He ignored the look of disbelief on Ezio's face and lightly took one of the artist's hands. He felt Leonardo squeeze lightly, and he chanced a glance at the man. He looked upset and worried, and Salai looked away. He felt the artist's other hand gently brush the side of his face.

"Listen, Salai, I know you do not like being bedridden, but please do not aggravate your wounds by getting up and walking around."

He let Leonardo move onto the bed and pull him into a hug.

"Regardless of how I complain, I do enjoy your company."

"You should not tell him that, Leonardo. It will only encourage him more."

Salai only smiled sweetly at the artist and kissed his nose. "Thank you, maestro. For a second, I was doubting you'd keep me around."

"I don't think he could get rid of you if he wanted to."

Salai laughed. "Probably not."

Leonardo let go of him and rose. "I will get dinner going and bring it up to you."

"Are you sure I can't—"

"Salai."

He turned away from Leonardo's stern look. "Fine."

And while he did enjoy receiving attentions from Leonardo, he did not enjoy it like this. The quiet stroke of his brush could lull him for hours; the feel of the hairbrush could put him in a stupor, and the artist's mumblings as he worked could pacify all his energy. There were none of these things in the bedroom. It was simply a place of rest for the man, and Salai hated it.

But when the artist returned with three bread bowls and Leonardo sat on one side and Ezio on the other, he thought it might not be so bad. Leonardo talked and talked and pacified his energy with all his words, and occasionally, Ezio would comment or Salai would laugh. The quilt kept a comfortable layer over his bandaged leg when Ezio would shift and their legs would brush together and made a nice napkin when the soup may have spilt a little—Salai found that out after the assassin had, because he was always careful on the maestro's quilt since he knew who would have to clean it.

There were no apologies for the spill, no offers to clean it, just the faintest curl of his lips when the assassin looked at the young boy. Salai cursed him and his future brood—that spill would drive him "bananas."

And when they were all done, after Leonardo had taken the remains downstairs, when Salai was half asleep and resting his head on Ezio's shoulder, enjoying the resonance from the assassin's voice as he murmured quietly to Leonardo, who was running one hand up and down his upper leg comfortingly, he thought that perhaps even though it would be Hell to sit in the bed until his leg healed, he could "make due" long enough with more moments like this.