Dedicated to @Confused_Oracle because she helped me with Italian. And also she's generally amazing. Check her out.

Alessandro didn't know how he had ended up in front of that bar. One moment he had kissed Laelia's hand in goodbye, Giacinto scoffing next to him. The next, the Greek had muttered a 'Good Night' and disappeared down the street. Alessandro was left alone under the dark velvet sky. He had looked up at the stars, felt the sea breeze stroke his cheek and had started walking.

What felt like a blink of an eye later, he stood in the middle of a narrow street, empty, apart from the drunkard swaying in the distance. A glance at the moon told Alessandro it was in reality at least an hour later. He blinked, his senses slowly returning to him.

He knew the way the orange light fell through the narrow windows. He knew the way the wooden sign swung lazily in the wind, creaking in protest. If he stepped inside, he would know the voices inside. He would know the heavy smell of dark wine and the burning note of stronger spirits. He would know the weight of the clay jugs.

And if he closed his eyes, he could still feel the arms of his friends around him. Could hear the laughter and feel the alcohol drumming in his veins.

It had been three years. Three long years. Yet the house felt just the same. Out of some self-destructive impulse, he pulled the door open, automatically ducking to not hit his head - even that his muscles remembered - and stepped inside. No one looked up. Three years ago, he would have just snatched a glass and sauntered to his friends. Even now, he looked there first: table in the corner. He didn't recognize anyone. Now he just stood in the middle of the room, lost and, if he dared admitting, confused. He had spaced out and ended up here, the one place he had avoided like the plague all these three years.

Why was he here? He turned to storm out when a hand settled on his shoulder. He jumped.

"A bit tense, officer," Lorenzo laughed, "But nothing wine can't fix. Join me?" He nodded towards a table near the counter.

No. "Yes," Alessandro said.

Lorenzo shot him a dazzling smile. He seemed popular around here, they stopped several times when one of the guests turned to slap Lorenzo's back and laugh about old jokes.

When they finally sat down, Alessandro's stomach tightened. He felt watched, eyes burning into the back of his skull, averted when he turned to check. Some of the men Lorenzo had talked to had sent him peculiar looks. Did they know him? From his years here? Or from his reputation as an officer? Had they been here that night? Were they whispering about him just now, behind his back?

"Why are you here?" Lorenzo poured two clay cups of wine.

"I don't know."

Lorenzo blinked, then laughed. "I guess we all don't. This is the haven of the lost."

Haven of the lost ... it fit the old tavern, Alessandro mused. Too good of a place for street rats and dirty hands, too bad of a place for glittering nobles. The wine was good and the food was warm, the people neither stuck up nor brute. Most of the guests were middle class, but during Alessandro's time a few nobles had found there way here - the second sons, the fugitives from the tight rules of their palaces, those looking for an honest laugh. With Lorenzo here, that apparently hadn't changed.

"Not one for many words, huh?" Lorenzo asked. "Well, cheers!" He raised his cup.

Alessandro clinked their cups together, offering half a smile.

Lorenzo downed his cup. "You don't like the wine?" He glanced at the untouched cup in front of Alessandro. "I'll order another -"

"I don't drink."

"You ..." Lorenzo started laughing. "Oh my, you're funny!"

Alessandro stayed expressionless.

"... you're serious? But you ...?"

"Used to? Yes." Alessandro stared down at the table.

"Why stop? I wanted to be just like you when I was young! I watched you!" Lorenzo frowned. "Uh, that came out wrong. Your duels, I mean. Did you ever loose? You were amazing! Not that you aren't amazing now! You're sort of a legend, solving all those cases."

Alessandro raised an eyebrow.

Lorenzo shifted under his gaze. "Sorry," he scratched the back of his neck. "I'm usually more reserved. A bit. I try."

"It's fine."

The younger one's eyes sparkled at that. He looked like he wanted to talk more about past-Alessandro. "Are you on a case now?" he said instead.

"No."

"But you're wearing uniform?"

"No time to take it off."

Something mischievous sneaked into Lorenzo's eyes. "There's always time to take it off."

Alessandro cleared his throat. "Do you come here often?"

"You're not supposed to ask that question like in an interrogation," Lorenzo winked at him over the edge of his cup. Wiping the wine off his lips, he shrugged. "Yeah, I like it here. Giacinto's here often, too."

Alessandro perked up at that.

"I'm terribly insulted you find him that much more interesting than me," Lorenzo said. "Then again, who'd find me that interesting? Not my father, that's for sure," he answered his own question. "Only when I mess up." Bitterness hardened his jaw. He poured himself more wine.

"I'm sure-"

"Nice try, but no. Sorry, wine got my tongue loose."

He knew Lorenzo's slumped shoulders, the tight lips, the grown up man still feeling like the kid tugging at his father's cloak for attention. It reminded him of someone, long ago. Had he managed to save him from that strive for validation, Alessandro might have sat here today, on the table in the corner, without uniform, with longer hair and a laugh on his lips. "He is working with me on a case. I should know a little about my partner," Alessandro explained.

"I thought he was a banker?"

A banker. A banker? It was hard to imagine him as anything other than cracking bad jokes and threatening someone.

Lorenzo pursed his lips. "Right! He often stays over at the Zeno palace. Another artist died there right?"

"Yes," Alessandro said, "What's the relationship between the General and him?"

"They're not fucking," Lorenzo laughed at Alessandro's expression, "Giacinto is as straight as a pole."

Alessandro shot him a questioning look.

"I tried," Lorenzo took another swig of wine, "What? He's got a pretty face."

That was true. Strangely pretty, with the pointy nose and sharp features, bronze skin, wild curls and quick eyes. Still, Lorenzo was bold. Bold, if not suicidal. Only during carnival, when all sin was a game, the council would turn a blind eye on same-sex relations. Any other time of the year, they'd hang. No noble name would save him from the bishop's unforgiving hand. His flirting might be excused as a bad character trait - his open admission not.

"The General is an old family friend, they sent Giacinto over for some time. Two years ago? He's not often in the city though, travels a lot," Lorenzo explained, playing with a blond curl that had escaped his tiny ponytail.

"He's from Greece?"

"This is really starting to sound like an interrogation. Luckily, I like you," Lorenzo said. "And I'm drunk. Yeah, from Crete."

Alessandro had been to Crete. There was no noble family by the name of Marinos.

Before he could ask, a bottle of wine shattered behind them, alarm bells ringing in Alessandro's mind. The sound of a chair being pushed back scraped through the startled silence, a dull crash following when it toppled over.

"Cheater!"

The two men turned their heads. At the table in the corner a man had jumped up, knocking his chair over. "You dealt me the bad cards!" His bald head was red, a vein pulsing at his temple.

Alessandro got up, the scraping of his chair on the floorboards making all heads turn. Now they recognized him, an apparition in red and gold.

"Officer! Good you're here! That bastard cheated!" The man thrust his finger at the other player, seated with his back to Alessandro. He had been the only one not to turn around and study the inspector.

"Don't!" Lorenzo hissed, "That guy is trouble. Always starts fights, then somehow weasels his way out and watches the rest bash their brains out!"

Alessandro shook the other's hand off his arm. Whispers followed him when he crossed the room. He would notice far too late that Lorenzo hadn't meant the bald man ...

"Hah! You'll pay for--"

"Cheating? You repeat yourself, you're starting to bore me," the other player laughed sophistically, "I didn't think you'd figure it out, took you long enough."

"I want my money back!"

"Want, want, want ... we all want something, don't we?"

Alessandro reached the table. He still couldn't see the other's face, hidden by a cascade of chestnut waves, only two hands holding a few cards. Something scratched at the back of his mind, trying to claw its way back into consciousness. Something about that voice, he knew it. Not exactly, tone and words altered, but something underneath it was familiar. Something about those hands, slim, long fingers sparkling with golden rings. Something about the freckles sprinkled all over them.

"I want my money!"

Alessandro barely heard him, the voice far away ...

"You little people and your money. How endearing."

Alessandro was yanked from his haze when the bald man swept all cards off the table. "My money, you son of a bitch! I'll gut you--"

"Signore, turn over the money." Alessandro towered over the table.

The brunette yawned. "There, there." He swept the coins from the table, sending them dancing and spinning on the floor. "and that's for my terrible audacity to cheat." He flipped a gold coin right at the man. "Now, why don't you crawl around on the floor like the peasant you are?"

The entire tavern went still. They had, of course, tried to snatch the coins for themselves, but a dark look from Alessandro had sent them right back into their seats. Now they didn't even seem to breathe. This called for blood. The air hummed with tension.

Alessandro's hand immediately was at his sword, ready to step in. No one would let an insult like that slide.

The brunette plucked a non-existent hair off his immaculate shirt -- fine silk, a dark burgundy shade glowing in the candle light.

The bald man leapt -- barreling into Alessandro, who had appeared in his way. The inspector caught his fist, feeling the muscles tremble underneath him as he wrestled the man back. "Not in here."

The other struggled, and the scuffle of their boots and the strain of muscles tensing to hold him back shoved Alessandro back in time. A struggle, then stillness. Blood on his hands. Grunts, then sudden silence.

It was enough for the other man to wind himself out of Alessandro's grasp. "I'll--"

"Settle this outside," Alessandro hid the tremor in his voice under layers of steel, "But if you're wise you take the money and leave."

Blood. Aching head. Blood.

"I'm not kneeling for that bastard!"

No one in their wildest dreams could have foreseen what happened next. A gasp rippled through their audience. "Alessandro, no!" Lorenzo.

Alessandro knelt, knees hitting the floor. He could feel the ridges in the floor through the linen of his pants, pressing into his skin. He gathered the coins, stood up, pressed them into the man's hands. "There's no need to spill blood over this." His voice was raw and he didn't know why.

The man stared at him as if he had seen a ghost. Then he bolted. The customers went back to their drinks and chatting.

Alessandro turned to leave, too, when a voice drew him back. "Not so fast."

The inspector slowly turned back. The stranger hadn't moved an inch during the commotion, still sitting with his back to Alessandro. "You wouldn't leave without greeting an old friend, would you?"

"Do I know you, Signore?"

The stranger didn't answer at first. Then his chair moved back, he turned and rose. The tips of their boots almost touched, would they breathe at the same time, their chests would brush. The man was exceptionally tall, less than a hand's width smaller than Alessandro. Then he raised his head, hazel eyes locking with Alessandro's, thin lips curling into a pleased smile and Alessandro's entire world froze.

"Long time no see, Orino*."

( * Orino: Italian diminutive of 'oro' which means gold, therefore it's roughly 'little golden boy/ goldy' )