FOR DROWNINGSARAH FROM THEPREROGATIVE
For: drowningsarah from theprerogative
Gift: Fanfiction
Title: Loyalty
Pairing: Gamma59 [platonic] & GammaUni [implied]
Rating: PG13 for death and blood
Note: I guessed you might have really wanted a Gamma59 fic but I'm horrible at romantic Gamma59 so I tried something else instead. I'm sorry if this may not be what you wanted (since I totally missed your prompt) but here's hoping you have a great Christmas nevertheless. I would write you your 8059 if I have time [=
*
“Is that the only trick you’ve got?” The blond dodges another attack sighing.
An explosion and a shout. “Maybe.” The younger version of the right hand man.
It is a tone of defiance he knows so well. It sounds like him twenty years ago. Hayato Gokudera takes cover, not before flinging something at him. Dynamite. Gamma raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.
Trying to fly before you grow wings? Impudent brat. And Gamma fries him again.
“When I was your age, I would opt for an instant kill without hesitation,” the blond starts, allowing a smile to curl up and settle on his lips, buying them time.
“But now, I like to listen to what my opponents have to say,” he pauses ominously, watching them pretend to have a plan. It tickles him like nothing has in years.
“Otherwise I’ll quickly forget about the people I’ve killed.”
“And I’ll rather not forget you.” It is a blatant bait and the other takes it like he knew he would. It is true, Vongola haunts his nightmares and Gamma wants to forget. But he sees him now. Youthful bursts of energy so bright, trying to extinguish his flame. It is pointless but the other right hand man does not know.
And it is over when he fires next. Shot plasma. Foxes. Flashes of light.
There is a brief moment of silence after the cackle of static and electricity, a reprieve. It hums like a hymn, a death knoll and Gamma feels his mood take a dip for the worse. He won and the game is over. The right hand man down, but it feels like hell.
Hayato Gokudera, you disappoint.
Gamma strolls over, cue stick still in hand. He toes the half Italian’s almost crisp body. The other is alive and Gamma knows he should not do a half assed job; that he should finish him off now. But something stops him. A vision of his past, the slowing down of heartbeats and the burn of something deeper inside. He is no longer the esteemed right hand man (only aliens can have two heads or two right hands and Uni is not) but he knows what is it like to be Hayato Gokudera.
“You don’t know how to take a life and yet you don’t want them to die.” Head bowed and eyes closed, Gamma mutters under his breath, as if in prayer.
He turns to leave only to stop halfway, weighed down by a deadly aura. Kyouya Hibari. And for a split-second, Gamma thinks it is a good day to die.
Just not me.
*
A fleet of European cars, quiet mean machines slide into place, bulletproof glass gleaming. The crunch of gravel and the rush of Italian brogues against concrete steps signal the arrival of the Giglionero party at the Vongola estate. Like clockwork, flying suits part, Armani, Armani and more Armani line the porch, waiting. Gamma’s eyes dart from behind tinted glass, surveying and assessing, marking out potential threats. They only stop when Vongola Decimo descends.
Seeing the brunette alone by their car, Gamma’s frown deepens. He takes it like an insult. Not even your right hand man? You’ll regret slighting us Vongola. A runner scrambles to get the door open but Sawada Tsunayoshi waves him away with a kind smile, eyes like the leaves that bring fall.
For the briefest moment, the blond entertains a thought that the tenth Vongola boss is a child, naïve and slow to the way of the mafia. But the right hand man of the Giglionero famiglia forgets, that beneath golden smiles and gentlest gaze, Sawada Tsunayoshi is a mafia don, a man that commands one of the strongest crime fractions in the world. The sound of manicured nails against leather reminds Gamma of her and he immediately berates himself for the disrespect.
There will come a time he will regret that children like them have to grow up surrounded by criminals and bloodshed. He does not know the time has come.
But he should have known with the arrival of that letter. Folded over countless times, the embossed paper is creased and nearly broken but the contents fly to his lips like the Princess’ security measures he personally goes over every day.
In these tumultuous times, the Vongola famiglia will like to extend our hand of friendship to the Giglionero famiglia. We seek to make peace and rebuild war torn Sicily. Vongola Decimo dreams of a future where days are not marked by deaths and hopes that the Giglionero famiglia will align itself with us.
Gamma does not admire the graceful signature but the name flies out at him like the fastest throw of a knife. Hayato Gokudera. Vongola Decimo’s advisor.
You better not be playing the same game as the Gessos. He bites back a curse, crushing the letter in his fist, wondering what thoughts ran through Hayato Gokudera’s mind as he penned the letter. Gamma does not understand the need to cut complicated lines across a pie that is big enough for all of them. Yet he knows that the mafia lives on elimination, competition and that cover of mystery. Ever since the induction of their tenth generation, the Vongola famiglia has become another frustrating enigma and the blond hates unknown variables.
“Wait for me in the car.”
Her small voice breaks his train of thoughts but it is her quivering sigh that sends the alarm bells ringing. He knows better than to question (there is no why Gamma, sometimes we just do or die) but it doesn’t stop hawk-like eyes from chasing her pale figure in the rear view mirror. He does not nod but she cannot see and the door opens. The car’s dark interior is flooded by softest evening light.
“Giglionero-san.”
Gamma steals a look as Tsunayoshi Sawada offers a gallant arm, taking his place beside the Princess (his place) and thinks that a smile like the sun is dangerous for a girl so fair. But the Princess said to wait, so Gamma obeys, confident of her return. What he does not know is that when she does, she has chosen the enemy and the brilliant autumn sky will fall, crash and burn, gunshots ringing.
*
Gamma does not believe in love at first sight (heck he does not even believe in love, only loyalty and it belongs to her) but he dislikes Byakuran at first sight. It is in his nature, a right hand man thing. Instinct, experience, a cross of both and the blond is certain that the niggling feeling will grow by the minute. He is right.
He stands behind her, a looming shadow, but Byakuran continues to smile that bastard of a knowing grin, as if his secret will kill Gamma (it kills her, killing him). The second time he sees the Gesso don, the feeling has intensified and when the hour is done, he vows to hate him for everything he has done to her.
But everything can never compensate when she is no longer his Princess.
A loud snap (one, three, two dozens) drags Gamma from his reverie but not from her beside him. He quickly becomes her bullet vest, a human wall and his gaze is sharp, a sprinting cheetah. Intuition tells him it is a Glock 19 but relentless hope says it is the pop of a firecracker. He knows better, denial never got him very far.
The stampede of leather soles followed by a howl that threatens to break a heart confirms his worst fears. Stuffing the shell of a Princess into an armoured car, he follows with his eyes and it comes as no surprise when he recognizes the tuft of wild hair. Smile like the sun. From afar it is like a fashion show gone wrong, freak show. The runway is a zigzag mess, suits pile on each other, broken. Their model like frames are drenched in blood but the rain does not let up.
Gamma cannot tear his eyes away from the Vongola Guardians. He recognizes Hayato Gokudera from the files the Millefiore has kindly provided (know your enemies like yourself). Later when he thinks back, Gamma will realise it is not the half Italian’s kneeling posture, holding onto the core of the famiglia, that caught his eye but that gaze. Feral, hedonistic and impossibly woeful, and it reminds him of youthful days, his younger self, so naïve and full of useless ideals.
For whose sake he does not know but Gamma hopes that Hayato Gokudera pulls himself together. It is crunch time now and even if they are the enemy, he does not want Vongola to go down without a fight. It would be too easy, too boring, an overkill. After seeking the Princess’ permission, he sends them flowers. Respect.
Do you know what Easter lilies stand for, Gamma?
Resurrection, Princess.
And a note attached to Hayato Gokudera. Just one line. Gamma does not sign off.
In these tumultuous times, if you still dream of peace, prepare for war.
*
Gift: Fanfiction
Title: Loyalty
Pairing: Gamma59 [platonic] & GammaUni [implied]
Rating: PG13 for death and blood
Note: I guessed you might have really wanted a Gamma59 fic but I'm horrible at romantic Gamma59 so I tried something else instead. I'm sorry if this may not be what you wanted (since I totally missed your prompt) but here's hoping you have a great Christmas nevertheless. I would write you your 8059 if I have time [=
*
“Is that the only trick you’ve got?” The blond dodges another attack sighing.
An explosion and a shout. “Maybe.” The younger version of the right hand man.
It is a tone of defiance he knows so well. It sounds like him twenty years ago. Hayato Gokudera takes cover, not before flinging something at him. Dynamite. Gamma raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.
Trying to fly before you grow wings? Impudent brat. And Gamma fries him again.
“When I was your age, I would opt for an instant kill without hesitation,” the blond starts, allowing a smile to curl up and settle on his lips, buying them time.
“But now, I like to listen to what my opponents have to say,” he pauses ominously, watching them pretend to have a plan. It tickles him like nothing has in years.
“Otherwise I’ll quickly forget about the people I’ve killed.”
“And I’ll rather not forget you.” It is a blatant bait and the other takes it like he knew he would. It is true, Vongola haunts his nightmares and Gamma wants to forget. But he sees him now. Youthful bursts of energy so bright, trying to extinguish his flame. It is pointless but the other right hand man does not know.
And it is over when he fires next. Shot plasma. Foxes. Flashes of light.
There is a brief moment of silence after the cackle of static and electricity, a reprieve. It hums like a hymn, a death knoll and Gamma feels his mood take a dip for the worse. He won and the game is over. The right hand man down, but it feels like hell.
Hayato Gokudera, you disappoint.
Gamma strolls over, cue stick still in hand. He toes the half Italian’s almost crisp body. The other is alive and Gamma knows he should not do a half assed job; that he should finish him off now. But something stops him. A vision of his past, the slowing down of heartbeats and the burn of something deeper inside. He is no longer the esteemed right hand man (only aliens can have two heads or two right hands and Uni is not) but he knows what is it like to be Hayato Gokudera.
“You don’t know how to take a life and yet you don’t want them to die.” Head bowed and eyes closed, Gamma mutters under his breath, as if in prayer.
He turns to leave only to stop halfway, weighed down by a deadly aura. Kyouya Hibari. And for a split-second, Gamma thinks it is a good day to die.
Just not me.
*
A fleet of European cars, quiet mean machines slide into place, bulletproof glass gleaming. The crunch of gravel and the rush of Italian brogues against concrete steps signal the arrival of the Giglionero party at the Vongola estate. Like clockwork, flying suits part, Armani, Armani and more Armani line the porch, waiting. Gamma’s eyes dart from behind tinted glass, surveying and assessing, marking out potential threats. They only stop when Vongola Decimo descends.
Seeing the brunette alone by their car, Gamma’s frown deepens. He takes it like an insult. Not even your right hand man? You’ll regret slighting us Vongola. A runner scrambles to get the door open but Sawada Tsunayoshi waves him away with a kind smile, eyes like the leaves that bring fall.
For the briefest moment, the blond entertains a thought that the tenth Vongola boss is a child, naïve and slow to the way of the mafia. But the right hand man of the Giglionero famiglia forgets, that beneath golden smiles and gentlest gaze, Sawada Tsunayoshi is a mafia don, a man that commands one of the strongest crime fractions in the world. The sound of manicured nails against leather reminds Gamma of her and he immediately berates himself for the disrespect.
There will come a time he will regret that children like them have to grow up surrounded by criminals and bloodshed. He does not know the time has come.
But he should have known with the arrival of that letter. Folded over countless times, the embossed paper is creased and nearly broken but the contents fly to his lips like the Princess’ security measures he personally goes over every day.
In these tumultuous times, the Vongola famiglia will like to extend our hand of friendship to the Giglionero famiglia. We seek to make peace and rebuild war torn Sicily. Vongola Decimo dreams of a future where days are not marked by deaths and hopes that the Giglionero famiglia will align itself with us.
Gamma does not admire the graceful signature but the name flies out at him like the fastest throw of a knife. Hayato Gokudera. Vongola Decimo’s advisor.
You better not be playing the same game as the Gessos. He bites back a curse, crushing the letter in his fist, wondering what thoughts ran through Hayato Gokudera’s mind as he penned the letter. Gamma does not understand the need to cut complicated lines across a pie that is big enough for all of them. Yet he knows that the mafia lives on elimination, competition and that cover of mystery. Ever since the induction of their tenth generation, the Vongola famiglia has become another frustrating enigma and the blond hates unknown variables.
“Wait for me in the car.”
Her small voice breaks his train of thoughts but it is her quivering sigh that sends the alarm bells ringing. He knows better than to question (there is no why Gamma, sometimes we just do or die) but it doesn’t stop hawk-like eyes from chasing her pale figure in the rear view mirror. He does not nod but she cannot see and the door opens. The car’s dark interior is flooded by softest evening light.
“Giglionero-san.”
Gamma steals a look as Tsunayoshi Sawada offers a gallant arm, taking his place beside the Princess (his place) and thinks that a smile like the sun is dangerous for a girl so fair. But the Princess said to wait, so Gamma obeys, confident of her return. What he does not know is that when she does, she has chosen the enemy and the brilliant autumn sky will fall, crash and burn, gunshots ringing.
*
Gamma does not believe in love at first sight (heck he does not even believe in love, only loyalty and it belongs to her) but he dislikes Byakuran at first sight. It is in his nature, a right hand man thing. Instinct, experience, a cross of both and the blond is certain that the niggling feeling will grow by the minute. He is right.
He stands behind her, a looming shadow, but Byakuran continues to smile that bastard of a knowing grin, as if his secret will kill Gamma (it kills her, killing him). The second time he sees the Gesso don, the feeling has intensified and when the hour is done, he vows to hate him for everything he has done to her.
But everything can never compensate when she is no longer his Princess.
A loud snap (one, three, two dozens) drags Gamma from his reverie but not from her beside him. He quickly becomes her bullet vest, a human wall and his gaze is sharp, a sprinting cheetah. Intuition tells him it is a Glock 19 but relentless hope says it is the pop of a firecracker. He knows better, denial never got him very far.
The stampede of leather soles followed by a howl that threatens to break a heart confirms his worst fears. Stuffing the shell of a Princess into an armoured car, he follows with his eyes and it comes as no surprise when he recognizes the tuft of wild hair. Smile like the sun. From afar it is like a fashion show gone wrong, freak show. The runway is a zigzag mess, suits pile on each other, broken. Their model like frames are drenched in blood but the rain does not let up.
Gamma cannot tear his eyes away from the Vongola Guardians. He recognizes Hayato Gokudera from the files the Millefiore has kindly provided (know your enemies like yourself). Later when he thinks back, Gamma will realise it is not the half Italian’s kneeling posture, holding onto the core of the famiglia, that caught his eye but that gaze. Feral, hedonistic and impossibly woeful, and it reminds him of youthful days, his younger self, so naïve and full of useless ideals.
For whose sake he does not know but Gamma hopes that Hayato Gokudera pulls himself together. It is crunch time now and even if they are the enemy, he does not want Vongola to go down without a fight. It would be too easy, too boring, an overkill. After seeking the Princess’ permission, he sends them flowers. Respect.
Do you know what Easter lilies stand for, Gamma?
Resurrection, Princess.
And a note attached to Hayato Gokudera. Just one line. Gamma does not sign off.
In these tumultuous times, if you still dream of peace, prepare for war.
*