(no subject)
Firenze, 1519.
"Here we go," he said, lifting Flavia from under the arms and setting her on her mattress. "To bed with you -- oof."
It had taken hours to feed the children, bathe them, change them into their sleeping clothes and get them to bed, but he'd done it. He'd be feeling the consequences of all that rambunctiousness in the morning, mostly in his back, but it was good to know he was still capable of it, even if it took Sofia bedridden with the flu to let him do it. Sofia seldom let her aging husband tend to the children on top of everything else around the villa. He didn't exactly take an interest in the more tedious or thankless aspects of raising children, but he would have liked to share the load.
He would have been a better father if he'd started a few decades earlier, maybe. If he'd started when his parents had, he would have grown grandchildren by now.
But that opportunity was forty years gone.
"I don't want to sleep," Flavia whined, pulling the covers up over her face. Her older brother, Marcello, was already fast asleep on the other cot.
"If you don't sleep, tomorrow won't come," he told her, with a smile.
"That's not true," she retorted. "The sun comes up whether I sleep or not!"
He laughed, sitting down on the edge of her bed. The frame creaked, quietly, the mattress sagging under his weight. She rolled over, reaching for his hand, and he let her take it.
"You're right. But what good is tomorrow if you're too tired to do anything with it, hmm?"
Flavia paused to contemplate, and Ezio just looked around his children's rooms. It seemed rather sparse, to him, but then again, he could endlessly be filling his children's lives with gifts and things and never be satisfied. He had never been much of a material person, but the more he faced his own mortality, the more he wanted to leave behind for his family. Maybe he'd learn some carpentry to build her a little wooden riding horse, or something. She'd been interested in learning to ride, even though he wasn't about to put his five year old on a live horse just yet.
"Papà," Flavia mumbled. Her voice had taken on that sleepy lilt, and she nestled down in her blankets a little more.
"Yes, tresorina?"
"Why are you so old?"
Ezio glanced at her, eyebrows lifting a touch. He shrugged.
"Old? I just look old. I'm just as young as your mother, on the inside."
"You ACT old," Flavia argued, barely above a murmur.
He supposed that was fair, too, and he gave an amused huff, running his thumb over the back of her tiny hand. Her eyes were closed, her cheek scrunched up against the pillow, and she let out a long, sleeping breath. He gently let go of her hand to stroke her hair. He waited a few long moments before replying, quietly.
"I wanted to make sure the world was safe before I brought my children into it."
But she had already drifted off to sleep.
--
He had assumed Sofia was sleeping when he crept into bed, but she shifted into his arms when he settled down. He pulled her close and she tucked her head under his chin neatly, two bodies made to fit together. She felt clammy to the touch, but a lot more relaxed than the previous few nights.
"Amore mio," he said, quietly, "are you alright? You should be sleeping..."
"I think my fever has broken," she mumbled. "Are the children asleep?"
"Now they are." He pressed a sleepy kiss to the top of her head, and breathed in deeply. Her face was warm against his clavicle. He shifted to put a hand to the back of her neck. She was very warm, but not like she'd been for the past few days. That was good.
"They didn't give you trouble, did they?"
"Our children are never trouble," he replied, closing his eyes. "You, on the other hand..."
She made an amused noise. "Go to sleep, old man."
He chuckled under his breath, but waited for her to fall asleep first. Then, finally, when he was sure she was comfortable and at rest, he drifted off as well.
"Here we go," he said, lifting Flavia from under the arms and setting her on her mattress. "To bed with you -- oof."
It had taken hours to feed the children, bathe them, change them into their sleeping clothes and get them to bed, but he'd done it. He'd be feeling the consequences of all that rambunctiousness in the morning, mostly in his back, but it was good to know he was still capable of it, even if it took Sofia bedridden with the flu to let him do it. Sofia seldom let her aging husband tend to the children on top of everything else around the villa. He didn't exactly take an interest in the more tedious or thankless aspects of raising children, but he would have liked to share the load.
He would have been a better father if he'd started a few decades earlier, maybe. If he'd started when his parents had, he would have grown grandchildren by now.
But that opportunity was forty years gone.
"I don't want to sleep," Flavia whined, pulling the covers up over her face. Her older brother, Marcello, was already fast asleep on the other cot.
"If you don't sleep, tomorrow won't come," he told her, with a smile.
"That's not true," she retorted. "The sun comes up whether I sleep or not!"
He laughed, sitting down on the edge of her bed. The frame creaked, quietly, the mattress sagging under his weight. She rolled over, reaching for his hand, and he let her take it.
"You're right. But what good is tomorrow if you're too tired to do anything with it, hmm?"
Flavia paused to contemplate, and Ezio just looked around his children's rooms. It seemed rather sparse, to him, but then again, he could endlessly be filling his children's lives with gifts and things and never be satisfied. He had never been much of a material person, but the more he faced his own mortality, the more he wanted to leave behind for his family. Maybe he'd learn some carpentry to build her a little wooden riding horse, or something. She'd been interested in learning to ride, even though he wasn't about to put his five year old on a live horse just yet.
"Papà," Flavia mumbled. Her voice had taken on that sleepy lilt, and she nestled down in her blankets a little more.
"Yes, tresorina?"
"Why are you so old?"
Ezio glanced at her, eyebrows lifting a touch. He shrugged.
"Old? I just look old. I'm just as young as your mother, on the inside."
"You ACT old," Flavia argued, barely above a murmur.
He supposed that was fair, too, and he gave an amused huff, running his thumb over the back of her tiny hand. Her eyes were closed, her cheek scrunched up against the pillow, and she let out a long, sleeping breath. He gently let go of her hand to stroke her hair. He waited a few long moments before replying, quietly.
"I wanted to make sure the world was safe before I brought my children into it."
But she had already drifted off to sleep.
--
He had assumed Sofia was sleeping when he crept into bed, but she shifted into his arms when he settled down. He pulled her close and she tucked her head under his chin neatly, two bodies made to fit together. She felt clammy to the touch, but a lot more relaxed than the previous few nights.
"Amore mio," he said, quietly, "are you alright? You should be sleeping..."
"I think my fever has broken," she mumbled. "Are the children asleep?"
"Now they are." He pressed a sleepy kiss to the top of her head, and breathed in deeply. Her face was warm against his clavicle. He shifted to put a hand to the back of her neck. She was very warm, but not like she'd been for the past few days. That was good.
"They didn't give you trouble, did they?"
"Our children are never trouble," he replied, closing his eyes. "You, on the other hand..."
She made an amused noise. "Go to sleep, old man."
He chuckled under his breath, but waited for her to fall asleep first. Then, finally, when he was sure she was comfortable and at rest, he drifted off as well.