You are thinking too hard, sorella.

[This coming from a man who just woke up from a coma a few days ago. Ezio gently sits himself beside her, giving room but not too much so that she feels alienated. He's quiet with her for a long while, stares out to the horizon and offers a presence rather than words. Sometimes that just works better than trying to find the words to say in the first place.]

A Roma, a casa mia. ["At Rome, at my home." It is welcoming and pleasing to him to find another Italian speaker, even if she is not from his time. There are very few of them left here.

He stretches his arms at this, but places them gently back in his lap before thinking of anything else to say.]

I have not stayed there recently, currently I am in Constantinople. [A beat.] You should be careful how lost you get in your thoughts, Natasha. It is easy to lose your footing and drown.

[He's done it before, got lost for twenty years before he finally pulled away from vengeance because he learned it never accomplished anything.]

In qualche mondo. [Somewhat. He chuckles a little at her question, amused at what she calls a trip, he calls otherwise.]

It is not so much a trip as it is a pilgrimage. A chance to rediscover myself. [Thirty years have changed him from the bright-eyed seventeen year old who walked down Florence's streets as a noble, oblivious to the world around him.] The answers I seek there, however, I have already found here.

[To hear of what she's been thinking of, however, he lets out a huff.] Out of concern, or something else?

[That gets him to raise an eyebrow, and his own smile to widen just a little.]

That is true enough, but you can still be there if he needs you.

[It reminds him of his own life, the ironies of it and how over time, he began to see the truth rather than the cloudy haze he had when he was younger. There is a pause as he lets out a breath, thinks for a moment, then begins again.]

Did I ever tell you how I came to be an Assassin, Natasha?

[He won't push when she's not willing to explain- though he's certain in time, she'll find her own way of learning what she needs to.

At her prompting, however, he straightens, looks out to the horizon for a moment, before turning his head back to her.]

I was seventeen when I first donned the robes. They were not mine, but my father's. At the time, he and my two brothers had been wrongfully accused of treason, and were thrown into prison while I was out on an errand. That night, I journeyed to the cell to have my father tell me to wear the robes and his blade, and give a letter to an ally of his. It was given in the hopes that he would set them free, come morning.

When morning came, however, his ally betrayed him, and I watched half of my family hang in the square, accused of treason, and I myself now a fugitive in my own home. I killed the ally when I had the first chance, escaped with the rest of my family, and sought refuge in a villa away from Florence.

For almost twenty years, I sought a path of vengeance, one that went from anger to eventual understanding of who and what the Assassins are, and why we protect as we do. All the while, my family as well as friends and allies reminded me of which way to look, and guided me along the path I was forging.

[It's the short version, but it gets his point across- even if this was his own journey, people have helped. Some in big ways, such as his uncle. Others, in the small ways, such as Rosa. Each one was special in its own way.]