For all that Shaun had made it sound like he was just stepping out, he didn't return for another three days. As it happened, Desmond was in the front room when the front door opened, so he was able to stand there with his hands planted on his hips, tapping his foot like a disappointed parent.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" he scolded. Shaun arched an eyebrow.

"Three in the afternoon?" he dropped his backpack to the floor, shut the door behind him, and headed into the kitchen. Desmond followed.

"Where did you go? Did you find out anything?"

"I don't want to get your hopes up."

"What? I don't care, do it! Strap them to a rocket for all I care. Did you find anything?" He watched Shaun start the coffee maker, and knew exactly what Shaun would do next: get out the coffee creamer in preparation, leave it on the table, and come back later to look for it in the refrigerator and be confused about where it had gone.

"I'll let you know shortly," Shaun called over his shoulder as he left the kitchen, and then Desmond was alone again.

"Well, fine," he huffed, speaking to the empty room. "I'll just go back to what I was doing, then."

Which had been nothing, but he stalked back to his bedroom to do it, all the same.

Shaun all-but disappeared for another two days, although this time, he didn't leave the building. And he wasn't alone; he'd roped in Rebecca, who worked just as feverishly. Only Desmond and Lucy were left out, and she wasn't a great companion in solitude, because she frequently left for the day anyways. What he did wasn't moping, exactly, but it wasn't much better, either. He'd hit a dead end in his studies of Leonardo's descendants. All had been contacted; none knew anything that had helped. The most information he'd gotten was that one knew Leonardo had left Italy for France, which really, all of them should have known, since they all had family in France.

On the morning of the third day, Desmond was sprawled on the couch, staring out the window and thinking of how much Ezio always missed Leonardo, when Shaun raced into the room.

"You're never going to believe this," he announced.

"Probably not, since you guys have told me nothing."

"Stop pouting. Come on, you're going to the Animus." Desmond shrugged and followed instructions. "I went to France," Shaun added casually, like that was just a place people went all the time, with no warning. "I saw that man you couldn't manage to get ahold of. And he had some very useful information."

It figured, that Desmond's fifteen leads would go nowhere, and Shaun's one would be successful. All because Desmond couldn't speak French. Why hadn't he studied it, in high school or something?

"And?" Desmond prompted. "Are you going to share it with me?"

"He had a lock of hair."

"Uh… just one?"

"No, I mean, Leonardo's. He had one of those lockets," Shaun waved a hand vaguely, led Desmond into the room, pointed him towards the Animus. "And we've reformatted the Animus to read someone else's DNA instead of your own."

"So…" Oh. "I mean, we could have just jumped forward in Ezio's life, right?" Desmond asked, sinking back into the chair, turning his head so he could watch Shaun fuss with the computer. Shaun didn't look at him. "They never saw each other again, did they?" Desmond said it too softly to be heard, but he'd known, somehow. Ezio had known, and so had Desmond.

Leonardo had a daughter. A beautiful, lively burst of sunshine in his life, delivered to him four years ago late one night, lighting up all the darkness. It was how Leonardo learned of the death of his brother and his brother's wife, and he had to admit that his first thought have been of the world he'd left behind – assassinated, targeted, crime rampant – but no, this had been an accident. Routine, undeserved sadness, and that was the difference, between this world and the last, where pain and suffering were earned. It was odd, how simple and fair that had made things – the people Ezio killed had deserved it, had brought it upon themselves, and Leonardo had never thought to mourn for them. But in this life, with its current of normalcy that swept him away, tragedies were random and undeserved and they gutted him.

Colette, though. She was the most beautiful part of Leonardo's life, and at six, he was astounded at everything about her. She was this tiny little person, filled with personality and likes and dislikes and opinions, so many opinions, and when she'd shriek for him from another room, he'd go running to her, only to find her peering down at a bug or pointing out the window or waving around something she'd found.

"Papa," she'd look at him with her eyes bright, "look, look!" And she'd show him, her newest discovery and more recently, her newest creation, because she'd moved on from just finding to creating. A little tower made of sticks, a drawing of a wagon with a built-in table for her to use while he towed her around, and she shared his brother's brilliance and creativity, and Leonardo's too. And oh, how Leonardo loved her, his bright, brilliant little girl.

One evening, when he was tucking her into bed, she peered up at him, worry on her face. "Papa," she asked, and he was sure she was going to ask about the story she'd just heard, because she always had questions. Why didn't the little bird just tell its friends about the misunderstanding, why wouldn't the villagers stop and ask the dragon if it needed help, why wouldn't the woodsman be nicer. "Are you never, ever going away?"

"What?"

"Like my mama, and my other papa." She knew about her parents, Leonardo had been telling her about them for years, how they'd loved her and how they'd died but given her to him, because he loved her too. At first, Leonardo had felt undeserving, that she'd call him the same thing she'd call his brother, but he thought his brother would be happy about it. "They went away. Are you going away too? Never, right?"

"Oh, Colette," Leonardo sat back on her bed, bent to kiss her forehead.

"I know we don't know about bad stuff that might happen," she persisted, "sometimes, sad things happen. But, you promise, if no sad stuff happens. You'll never go away."

"I promise," Leonardo said, petting over her fine hair, the same color as his own, "I will never choose to go anywhere. The only place I want to be is with you."

He was still awake long after she'd gone to sleep, thinking about it over and over as he sat at the kitchen table, and stared out the window. He knew in his heart that he couldn't live without her now, knew it with a bone-deep sureness, that he loved her more than anything, anything, and it was the moment that he finally understood Ezio. Leonardo couldn't ever bear to leave Colette, and he couldn't do anything that could mean he'd be taken from her; Ezio had said, years ago, that he couldn't, had looked at Leonardo with such sadness, and hadn't asked Leonardo to stay for him. There were laws Ezio knew how to avoid, and there were those he didn't, and he was scared, because of how much he loved his son. Leoanrdo could pack up tomorrow and take Colette to Italy, but he knew he wouldn't; what he'd gain wasn't worth the risk, because he loved Ezio from the depths of his soul, but being Colette's father was to be his love for her, everything he was, everything he felt.

At once, Leonardo knew: he would never see Ezio again, and that Ezio had loved him.

"Oh," Desmond said, and all he felt was hollowness. "So that was it. They really never saw each other again." Shaun was the only other one in the room, and when Desmond looked over, Shaun's eyes were sad, too.

"What happened?"

"Leonardo had a kid. Sort of, he adopted his niece when his brother died. And he – he gets it. Why Ezio wouldn't ask him to stay. I guess it was just… really illegal, for them to be together, and Ezio wouldn't risk it, because of his kid. And now Leonardo has a daughter, and he understands. They never see each other again." Desmond tipped his head back, sighed out a breath. "That's stupid. That's so stupid, how can it end like that?"

"Sometimes things are sad," Shaun said, and if Desmond was expecting sarcasm, there wasn't any there. "Sometimes you don't get to be with the person you want to be with." He looked like Leonardo then: accepting. Shaun, brilliant, oddly funny, unexpectedly thoughtful Shaun, looked just like Leonardo, who was all the same things, but one more – loving from afar, and only from afar.

"Hey," Desmond sat up, looked at Shaun, who was staring down at his desk. "You wanna go get coffee?"

"What?"

"Like, right now. Come with me. It's a date. Go with me." His ears felt hot with his blush but he didn't back down. Shaun stared at him.

"You're asking me on a date."

"Didn't you see what just happened? I'm not going to be them." Right now, they felt like the very beginning – when Ezio had looked at Leonardo for long moments and thought he's so smart, I can't believe he even talks to me, and really liked the way Leonardo smiled at him. Desmond thought that maybe, if he acted fast enough, they could diverge from the reflection, and end up somewhere different. He could begin here, liking Shaun's company too much and wanting to make him laugh, and end somewhere else, somewhere with Shaun. "Well?" Desmond prompted, aware he sounded embarrassingly hopeful.

"I mean, since we still don't have an espresso maker," Shaun said, but he was smiling, shy and delighted. The way Leonardo would have looked, if Ezio had ever kissed him, Desmond thought, and he was sure this was the first step away from following them down the same path.

"We sure don't," Desmond agreed, jumping to his feet, "so you'd better come with me."

He led Shaun away, away from the saddest reflection of the future they could have become, towards the one where maybe, if it all kept feeling just like this, they would always be together.