Title: Last Words (1/1)

Fandom: Da Vinci's Demons

Rating: PG

Pairing: Vanessa Moschella/Giuliano de Medici

Summary: Vanessa visits with Giuliano.

Warning: MAJOR spoilers for the last couple episodes of season one, including the finale.

. . .

His Grace, Lorenzo de Medici, and his wife, Lady Clarice, were already standing within the ornate mausoleum when Vanessa walked inside. They had been talking in low voices, but they only broke off when she stepped inside, having heard her shoes echo on the patterned black-and-white marble floor.

They both looked up at once from the coffin, clearly startled to see a visitor. On any other occasion, Vanessa would have felt guilty and impolite to intrude. But she had a hard time feeling anything but grief and hopelessness these days. Lost. And nauseous. She loved the child inside her, she did, but he had been making her retch every morning this past week and she'd had more than enough of it already.

"Pardon me," she murmured, dipping herself down into a curtsy as she faced the rulers of Florence, "I had thought he would be alone this late into the night."

"He hasn't been alone in hours," Lorenzo replied, and the dark half-circles beneath his stormy eyes attested to the fact. Vanessa wondered how long he'd stood awake by his brother's casket since Giuliano had been murdered, and how much longer his vigil would last.

When Vanessa snuck a quick glance at the nobleman's imposing wife, she saw that Clarice, too, looked tired and drained. Her usually flawless and sculpted visage looked pale and drawn, as if someone had stretched her skin much too tight over her usually striking cheekbones.

They both looked worn and wounded from all the chaos and the death that the Pazzis had inflicted upon the city since the massacre last Sunday at Easter Mass, but Vanessa was relieved, at least, to see them here.

"I'm glad he's had his family with him," Vanessa told them, and truly, she was grateful. Both for herself, and for Giuliano. He'd never spoken about his older brother in their time together, but she liked to think Giuliano—or at least his spirit, what was left of him—was comforted by Lorenzo's presence. Swallowing, and finding her voice again, she finally announced her intention, "I… I was hoping I might have a moment alone with him, however." She bit her lip, feeling both their sharp, dark eyes on her. She so hoped she wasn't overstepping. She still didn't understand the rules here, though she knew enough to be careful not to cross either of the two. "I, I tried to come visit him earlier, but the guards wouldn't let me in while he was being treated and dressed." Her eyes strayed to the coffin. She could just barely make out the curls of black hair atop Giuilano's head from between Clarice and Lorenzo. "I just want a minute to speak with him before the service, before he's—" She broke off. She didn't want to speak of him locked away forever in this tomb. She hardly wanted to think of it. "Would you mind?" she finally asked, not being able to say anything else.

Vanessa waited with bated breath for the reply, her stomach turning again much as it had this morning. She watched as Clarice looked to her husband for the decision as well. Vanessa wasn't sure she could comprehend the look in Clarice's eyes—nor in Lorenzo's. But before she could ask again, he answered.

"Of course you may visit with him," he murmured, stepping away from the coffin. For a moment she was so relieved, she actually smiled. She had been expected to be ordered out. Lorenzo took his wife by the arm and led her with him from the room, telling Vanessa as he passed, "Take all the time you need. I will make sure no one disturbs you."

"Thank you, Your Grace." Vanessa curtsied to them both again as they passed, watching as they made their way to the door she stood by. Just as they were about to reach it, Clarice broke away from her husband and approached Vanessa. The girl tried to calm her nerves, but even just the sight of Clarice Orsini made her heart jump in nervousness. Coupled with the morning sickness she was now experiencing almost constantly, she suddenly feared she might void herself, or faint, and had to close her eyes and hold onto the edges of her skirts to steady herself.

Then, she felt a hand on her arm doing the steadying for her. Her eyes flashed open, and Clarice's sharp, ever-observant eyes met hers. For a moment, however, after she blinked, Vanessa thought she almost looked kindly. "I am truly sorry for you," she began quietly. "Not just for Giuliano's death, but for what effect his loss will have on your child, as well." She took in a breath, letting go of Vanessa's arm as her slim shoulders rose and straightened. Vanessa wondered how any person could look so regal just breathing. It was the basest ability—infants, children, even mental deficient could do it—but Clarice Orsini made it look like the most civilized action one could ever hope to have the privilege to perform. She continued, her voice softer than before, possibly so her husband would not be able to hear, "Giuliano would not have been much of a father figure, I can assure you, but he still would have been something. I am sorry you and your child will not have him, not even just to look upon from afar."

Vanessa nodded, knowing there was not much else to say on the subject. All Clarice had said was true. So Vanessa simply bowed her head and murmured, "I am sorry too."

Clarice drew away after that, and left her alone with Giuliano, and Vanessa was grateful. She let the sound of their footsteps die out, and finally, alone with the silence and him, she took her own steps across the marble towards the coffin. Her shoes echoed as she walked—not as loud as Clarice's had—but the sound became deafening in the empty room.

Desperate to fill it, but not knowing what to say, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "Your family's been, um, very accommodating, you know," she told him, coming to a stop beside the large wooden box, elevated high enough that its edge reached her chest. She laughed softly, remembering the day Clarice had informed her that this magnificent palace would be her new residence for the next nine months. She hadn't wanted it—hadn't even believed it at first, in fact, and most mornings, just as she woke up, she still wondered where she was. "I guess I'm living here now; until the baby is born, at least. They won't have me staying alone above the tavern, not so long as I carry your child and their heir…" She sighed, bowing her head and closing her eyes as she folded her hands tight above the edge of the coffin. "I was right about this place, you know: just a prison with better linens." She sniffed, and pushed the memories of that one morning with him away before continuing, "Though now it seems like more of a zoo—and I happen to be the main attraction." She laughed bleakly, and the sound filled the somber room with a mocking happiness she doubted its solemn walls had ever heard. "I cannot wait until I start to show, truly. Then all the eyes in Florence shall be upon me, asking questions and making judgments and whispering, "Whore."" Vanessa shook her head, opening her eyes and lifting them to look upon him. "As if some of those women hadn't taken you into their beds themselves!" She threw up her hands, but it was not in anger towards him, just frustration at her own state. Since the moment they had met, she had always known exactly who he was. What type of man he was, and would continue to be, despite their brief flirtation.

It had surprised her, however, and even flattered her, that he had not known exactly who she was the moment they'd met. Everyone else knew on sight, and categorized her accordingly to what suited them: girl, woman, model, actress, bar wench. But she'd been something different to him—and apparently something mysterious, from the way he had stared at her and sought her out and kept coming back to her. She had so liked discovering herself anew through his eyes. She had never done that before.

And she would never do it again. He was dead now, and there was no coming back from the dead, no matter how much she prayed or begged or bartered with God. Vanessa sniffed her eyes at the thought, brushing away the tears that were threatening to gather in her eyes, and bowed her head low over her folded hands. She didn't know what to think about God anymore. Her mind was still trying to come to grips with the fact that he'd allow a slaughter on Easter Sunday in His own house.

She shut her eyes and cursed the Pazzis, and when she opened them, a remnant of their destruction lay before her. She stared into his closed eyes, wishing she could see the happiness and the mirth and the life that had once lit them up so brilliantly.

"I never wanted to be your wife, you know," she told him honestly, as she had that first morning they'd spent together in her bedroom. "But I… I did want more time with you. I did not ever want it to be just one night between us." She closed her eyes. "I meant what I said when I offered to be your mistress. That, I could've done. That, I could've lived with—happily. Even if you eventually cast me aside for another, at least I'd have all the memories to look back on. All I have now—and I'll ever have—is our one night…in which you were spectacularly drunk." Despite herself, she laughed a little. "If you hadn't been so sweet the next morning, I would've thought you were too drunk to even remember me."

Her hand trembled as it curled it around the wood frame of his coffin. She was so close to him. She wanted so badly to reach out and touch him, but she feared the coldness of his skin. She only remembered him hot and alive around her, inside her, and she didn't want to know what his skin felt once that life was gone from him. She didn't want to remember him like that. Part of her—so much of her, in fact—still didn't want to believe he was truly dead.

He looked so peaceful lying in his sarcophagus, and if it weren't for the ghostly pallor of his previously healthy cheeks, she would've thought he was only sleeping.

"When our son is born," she told him quietly, for she knew in her heart that the miniscule being inside her was a boy, "I shall name him after you. Nevermind what your brother or his wife says. The boy is yours and he shall carry your name, even if it can't be the Medici name. If they want to cast him back to the common people with me when they throw me out after the birth, that's fine. He shall not have much, but he will have your name, that will be enough for me."

She sniffed, suddenly thinking of raising the child alone. No, she hadn't been pleased when she'd been summoned to the Medici's palace. She had argued when they'd ordered her to stay until the baby was born. But now that she was here—with food and maids and any and all assistance she could ever require—she was suddenly very scared what she would do without the support once they let her go. Andrea would help her, no doubt, if she asked, but he did not have all the time in the world to aid her with her burdens. He'd done enough, besides. Usually, she would turn to Leo, or perhaps Zo, but they'd all set sail after the Pazzi siege had ended, and who knew when or if they were ever coming back…

"I don't know how I'll raise him," she whispered to Giuliano, rolling her lips together nervously, "but I can promise you that I will take care of him best I know how. My mother, she—well, she wasn't that good of an example," Vanessa admitted with a weak chuckle. She didn't know why she was laughing. Nothing about either situation was funny—her mother had all but abandoned her when she had been a girl, and now her own child would never even know its father. But it felt better to laugh these days than cry. Sometimes she worried that if she cried too much with the child inside her, he would start to believe she didn't love him. And she loved him so, even already. No matter what kind of person he turned out to be, he would be his father's son, and that alone would ensure her undying love for him.

"I'll learn from my mother's wrongs," Vanessa promised Giuliano quietly. "And I'll learn everything I can while I'm here. I—I'm not sure your sister-in-law likes me very much, and I don't know if I even like her, but that doesn't mean she can't teach me and I can't learn. I've seen her with her girls; she's so good with them. So kind and loving and patient—but strict, too. I don't know how she balances it, but she does. Maybe I can be as good as her, with our son."

Vanessa bent down, pressing her body against the polished wood of the coffin to be as close to him as possible. Finally, mustering her courage and pushing down her fear, she reached out a hand to touch him. She brushed her fingers against his cheek, feeling both the softness of his skin and the coarseness of his beard. She remembered feeling it scratch against her cheeks, her chin, her breasts. She reached out with her thumb, running it over the curve of his lower lip, feeling it cracked and dry, and remembering when it had been wet and warm and soft. He was cold and he was dead now, but he was still here before her—just for this last day before they laid him to rest within stone forever.

Vanessa closed her eyes then, and knowing it was the last opportunity she would ever have to say it to his face, she finally told him the one thing she'd never gotten the chance to tell him while he was alive: "I love you, Giuliano."

. . .

Author's Note: Reviews would be LOVELY! Thank you so much for reading. :)

PS—Trust me, there will be many more light-hearted Vanessa/Giuliano fics coming. I've already got one in the works. :)